Hot-Wired / Coming on Strong: Hot-Wired. Tawny Weber

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СКАЧАТЬ eyes or the lush fullness of her pink lips or the semitumble of her hair. It was her mouth. There was something so damn sexy about the fact that with the rest of her obviously a mess—he was almost certain that was mustard on her left breast—her lipstick had been perfect. In fact, he was pretty damn sure she had the most perfect mouth he’d ever seen.

      He tugged a black T-shirt over his head and tucked it into his jeans. She wasn’t at all what he’d expected. He realized he’d sketched her in his head as thin, angular, rigid—a paragon of cool efficiency. But this woman was all curves, and she’d just blown a gasket with him.

      If he pushed just a little harder, he’d have her right where he wanted her, so frustrated she’d toss in the towel and Caitlyn would be forced to start all over.

      He hung his own wet towel on the hook outside the shower and slid open the door. She was still standing with her back to the bathroom.

      “I’m as decent as I’m going to get. Now, what can I do for you, sweet thing?” Damn, he sounded obnoxious.

      She pivoted to face him. Even with her mouth tightened like that, her lips were lush and full. “I’m Natalie Bridges,” she said, extending her hand.

      “Ah, Nightmare Natalie.” He’d never been rude to a woman before, but he was doing a damn good job now. He took her hand to shake it, and it was as if a sparkplug had fired inside him. Her brown eyes widened but he wasn’t sure whether it was because she felt the same surge or a reaction to the name he’d hung on her, or perhaps both.

      She reclaimed her hand and totally threw him off track when she laughed, a husky, rich sound. “That’s flattering…coming from Beau the Bastard.”

      He chuckled, thoroughly enjoying himself. “I’ve been called worse.”

      “No doubt.” She smiled sweetly, and it had the same effect as when he hit the nitrous switch on his car and three G’s slammed him back against the seat.

      A brief knock sounded and then the door opened. Scooter, wearing an unrepentant grin, stuck his head in. “We’re outta here.” He nodded toward Nightmare Natalie. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Bridges.”

      “It was a pleasure, Mr. Lewis.”

      Ha. All three knew Scooter had set her up to walk in on him in the shower.

      Scooter laughed. “Yes, ma’am. See ya in the morning, boss.”

      Scooter closed the door, once again shutting out the track noise and leaving them alone. She shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, and he realized it was all the more awkward because she was missing the heel on one shoe.

      “Have a seat, Miss Bridges. Or is it Mrs. Bridges?”

      “Thank you,” she said, perching primly on the edge of the couch. “And it’s Miss. I’m not married.”

      “Here, let me help you out.” He squatted in front of her and grasped the back of her left calf in his hand. She gasped and her muscle flexed against his palm. Her skin was warm and soft and he quelled the urge to stroke his hand along that tantalizing expanse from knee to ankle. Instead, lifting her leg in one hand, he plucked her shoe, the one with the heel still attached, off her foot. Her toenails were painted a similar shade of pink as her lips. Sexy.

      “What are you doing?”

      He stood. He placed the long, narrow heel on the counter with the rest of the shoe facing down. Beau slammed his hand down on the back, rendering her former stiletto a ballet slipper. He handed it back to her. “Now they match.”

      She quickly leaned forward and slipped the shoe back on, as if to preclude him from doing it. “Thank you…I think.”

      “You’re welcome…I’m sure.” He dropped to the sofa, more the size of a love seat, beside her, angling toward her and stretching out his legs. Deliberately invading her space and crowding her should definitely up his asshole quota.

      “So, you’re a wedding planner who’s never been married? It seems it might limit your qualifications.” He stretched his arm out along the back of the love seat. He was invading her space and conversely she was invading his. He was intensely aware those luscious lips of hers were ever so close, and all he had to do to release those hair pins was lean a bit to the right, raise his hand and pluck them out.

      “Some professions don’t require firsthand experience, Mr. Stillwell.” He gave her points for standing her ground and not squirming closer to the kitchen counter. “Morticians. Brain surgeons. You know, that kind of thing. They manage just fine and so do I.” She pulled a day planner out of her purse and opened it. It was a schedule and a neat script had pretty much every space filled in. She was a busy woman. “Now if we can just nail down some dates, I’ll be more than happy to get out of your hair, Mr. Stillwell.”

      She obviously wanted to be anywhere other than in his company. That she wanted to leave, in and of itself, was something of a novel experience, except he had gone out of his way to be a jerk. Most of the time women were eager for his company. And while he’d been looking forward to watching some test and tune runs of the other drivers, he was actually having a damn good time needling the unorthodox and intriguingly unpredictable Ms. Bridges.

      “Why don’t we discuss it over dinner?”

      “As appealing as that may be—” yet another kiss my ass “—I’m not particularly dressed for the occasion and as you so gallantly pointed out, I need a shower.”

      “The offer still stands to use my towel.”

      “Ever the gentleman, but I’ll wait until I get home.”

      He’d been turned down. By Nightmare Natalie, no less.

      “I JUST NEED a date when you’ll have the remodel complete.”

      For God’s sake, just give me a date so I can get the hell out of here. She was desperate, or maybe all the stress was getting to her and Beau Stillwell had just pushed her over the edge because he was arrogant and infuriating and the reason that a several-hundred-dollar outfit, shoes included, was now ruined, but some crazy, totally irrational part of her had wanted to accept his dinner invitation.

      She had the oddest sense he was deliberately goading her. It was possible he was just an obnoxious jerk who went around calling women “sweet thing” and then insulting them in the next breath. There were plenty of sexist men who operated that way, but there’d been a flash of something in his blue eyes…And Natalie’s foster-sister Shelby and Caitlyn Stillwell had roomed together in college. In all the time Natalie had known Caitlyn, which had been casually for almost five years, the younger woman might’ve been occasionally exasperated with her big brother, but there’d never been any doubt she respected him. It was difficult to imagine strong-minded Caitlyn respecting a jerk.

      “How about a guesstimate,” she prompted.

      He shrugged those impossibly broad shoulders. “I can’t give you a finish date until I get out to Belle Terre and see what has to be done.”

      “That makes sense.” She nodded in agreement, trying to get along. “When are you available to do that?”

      His eyes captured hers. Natalie found herself drowning in those blue depths. “When do you want to do it?”

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