Home for the Holidays. Sarah Mayberry

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ kids’ paraphernalia and still have room to spare.

      He was taking a shortcut through the local Elsternwick shopping district on his way to the commercial strip along the Nepean Highway when he passed a shiny black SUV on the side of the road. He slowed when he saw the big For Sale sign in the back window. It was parked in front of an automotive garage and Joe hesitated a moment before pulling to the curb. Why the hell not, after all? Might as well see what the private market was offering before he hit the big car lots.

      The SUV was a Mazda, only two years old with shiny alloy wheels. He did a lap of the car, peering in the window, checking out the panels. It was in good condition and a sign resting on the dashboard claimed that the car had been serviced since new at the garage and came with full records.

      Joe turned toward the open bay of the workshop. A blue sedan was up on the hoist inside, a red coupe parked beside it. A middle-aged guy in grease-stained overalls was frowning at the underbelly of the sedan. Tinny radio music bled out into the street. The workshop floor was spotlessly clean, the walls freshly whitewashed. A promising start.

      “Hey,” Joe said, walking forward. “Have you got five minutes to talk me through the Mazda out the front?”

      The man shook his head. “No point talking to me, mate. You need Hannah. She’s the manager.” He jerked his head toward the other car and for the first time Joe noted a pair of legs sticking out from beneath the front of the coupe.

      Right. A female mechanic. Apparently it was his week for finding women where he least expected them. In motorcycle leathers, beneath cars.

      He moved closer to the coupe and squatted to make himself heard over the radio. “Excuse me. Any chance you could take me over the Mazda? I’m in the market for an SUV.”

      “Sure. Give me a sec to tighten this sump plug … There we go.”

      No sooner had she spoken than the mechanic slid out from beneath the car. He tensed. It was the woman from last night, the noisy biker with the attitude. She was smiling, but the smile froze on her face when she saw him. He wondered if his own surprise was as obvious.

      There was a long moment of taut silence.

      “Well, are you going to say it or am I?” she finally said.

      She was still on her back on the mechanics’ trolley. He hadn’t noticed last night, but she had incredibly plump lips, the bottom lip rounded and full. Her sun-streaked brown hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, leaving her smooth cheekbones and small chin to speak for themselves. He’d noticed her curves last night, but it hit him suddenly that she was a very attractive woman.

      “I guess it’s up to me, then,” she said. Her tone was heavy with irony when she next spoke. “We really have to stop meeting like this.”

      Because she’d caught him off balance again, his first instinct was to retreat. He stood, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

      “I wanted to look at the car,” he said stiffly.

      She wiped her hands down the legs of her coveralls and pushed herself to her feet. He’d forgotten how tall she was. It was one of the reasons he’d been so startled to realize she was a woman last night—she’d been looking him almost squarely in the eye when she’d straightened and her face had been inches from his until he’d taken a step backward.

      Now, she held his eye as she offered her hand.

      “Hannah Napier,” she said coolly.

      Joe stared at her hand a second before taking it. “Joe Lawson.”

      Her hand was warm, her fingers firm. Her mouth quirked up into a lopsided, wry smile.

      “Look at that—almost civilized.”

      She turned toward the parking lot and started walking. Of its own accord, his gaze dropped to check out her body. More specifically, her ass. It was pure instinct, imbedded in him since puberty, and as soon as he registered what he was doing he looked away—but not before he’d noticed she had a full, sweetly curved backside.

      “It’s two years old, one owner since new. I don’t normally do this but he’s a good friend and I wanted to help him out,” Hannah said.

      Joe lengthened his stride to come abreast of her as they neared the car. “Why’s he selling?”

      “Scored an overseas job. It’s a good car. Bit greedy with gas, but safe, solid. You’ve got kids, right? There are built-in anchors for car seats.”

      He didn’t bother telling her his kids were well out of car seats. No point extending this encounter any longer than it needed to be.

      “What’s he asking?”

      “Thirty. It’s forty-five new, so it’s a good deal. Full leather upholstery, six-stacker CD. Cruise control, tiptronic transmission …” She glanced at him to check he was paying attention and his gaze got caught on the line of her cheekbone.

      “Is this the model with the turbocharger?” he asked.

      “Yep. It’s got it all. Like I said, it’s a good deal.”

      She lifted a hand to smooth it down the length of her pony tail and the neckline of her coverall gaped. He caught a glimpse of shadowy cleavage and white lace.

      He took a step backward, frowning. He’d seen more than enough here.

      “Right. Thanks for your time. I’ve really only started looking but I’ll keep this in mind,” he said politely.

      She looked surprised. “You don’t want to take it for a test drive, see how it handles?”

      He made a big deal out of checking his watch. “I’ve got an appointment I don’t want to be late for.”

      “Well, we’re open till five if you want to come back later.”

      He nodded, already drawing his car keys from his pocket. Her eyes narrowed and she propped a hand on her hip.

      “Be honest. You’re not coming back, are you?” she asked.

      He frowned.

      “Right. Let me guess—you don’t trust me,” she said, contempt in every line of her body. “What could a woman possibly know about cars, right? What was it you said last night? Leave it to the experts? Was that it?”

      She was bristling with aggression, her chin high. As he’d thought when he first set eyes on her, she was trouble with a capital T.

      “Like I said, I’ve just started looking.”

      A muscle flickered in her jaw, then she swung back toward the car. As though he hadn’t announced he needed to leave, she started talking.

      “Tires have got another two years in them, depending on the kind of mileage you do. Suspension is independent, double-wishbone at the back. Brakes are discs all round, and it’s fitted with ABS. It’s a six cylinder, and with the turbocharger you’re looking at zero to one hundred in about 9.8 seconds.”

      She moved to the front СКАЧАТЬ