Charmed By The Wolf. Kristal Hollis

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СКАЧАТЬ happened to your arm?” Tristan’s voice held no disdain, no disgust. Merely curiosity.

      Still, Penelope quickly folded her undamaged arm over the scarred one. “Car accident.” Oh, but it had been so much more, and the scars ran far deeper than the jagged, five-inch reminder along her wrist and forearm.

      Tristan turned into the overgrown driveway and parked next to her white Corolla. Penelope unbuckled, shoved open the door and slid out of the passenger seat before he’d pulled the keys out of the ignition.

      She unlocked her car to pull the hood latch. His footsteps crunched the dry grass behind her.

      “Hey. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Strong, gentle fingers molded around her shoulder and leisurely slid down her arm to cradle her wrist. Tristan’s thumb lightly caressed the hideous scar. Usually she had no feeling in the damaged skin, except for the needle-stabbing sensation that accompanied terrible storms. But Tristan’s touch was feather soft and tickled.

      Penelope turned around. Breathless, she stared into warm, decadent eyes the exact color of Hershey’s dark chocolate.

      Oh, she loved chocolate. Faithful and true, it never failed to bring up her spirits, which was why she indulged in eating a piece, or three, more often than she should considering every bite she swallowed ended up padding her backside.

      Something flickered in his gaze, something predatorial. Something primal.

      In a blink, it was gone.

      “Let’s check out what’s under your hood.”

      “Excuse me?”

      Already headed to the front of the car, Tristan walked with a loose-limbed swagger that resonated confidence, strength and sex.

      Blatant desire flooded her, head to toe, and she grew damp in places not already glistening in the morning humidity.

      Penelope didn’t usually have this reaction to strangers. Usually not to the men she dated, either—at least, not this overwhelmingly. And certainly not on the first meeting.

      Thankfully, Tristan was bent over the engine and didn’t see her jelly-kneed walk.

      “When is the last time you had the car serviced?”

      “A few months ago, maybe.” Penelope avoided driving in downtown Atlanta traffic as much as possible, riding the MARTA to work and taking the bus for errands.

      “A few as in three? Six?” He glanced sidelong at her. “A year?”

      “Definitely less than a year.” She nodded confidently.

      Tristan hmmphed. “The battery posts are corroded.”

      “Is that bad?”

      “Definitely not good, but it’s something I can take care of for you.” Tristan went to his truck and came back with a toolbox, a can of Coke and a bottle of water.

      After using a wrench to remove the battery cable connectors, he popped the tab on the cola. Instead of drinking it, he poured the contents over the corrosive buildup.

      “How’s that going to help?”

      “Trust me, it works.” While the soda worked its magic, Tristan checked the oil. “Looks clean, but it’s a little low. You should take the car in for service. Soon.” He fished a business card from the toolbox and handed it to her. “Ask for Rafe. He’s the owner. Tell him Tristan sent you and he’ll take care of you.”

      “Thanks.”

      Tristan set to work, scrubbing the connectors and posts with an old toothbrush. “Why the name Penelope? Was your mom into Greek literature or something?”

      “Yeah,” Penelope answered, stunned. “She loved The Odyssey by Homer. How did you know?”

      “My mom did the same to me. Ever heard of Tristan and Isolde? It’s not a Greek legend, but—” He flashed her a quick smile that sent her heart racing.

      “At least your name is easier to pronounce. Kids used to call me Penny-lope.” Antelope and cantaloupe were also among their taunts.

      “Ever go by Penny?” He poured water over the battery, rinsing away the gunk.

      “No. My mother never allowed anyone to call me that. She said I wasn’t a piece of currency shoved in a piggy bank.” Penelope dabbed the back of her hand along her moist brow.

      “I see her point.” Tristan wiped the battery down with a blue shop towel. “Penelope was a queen. Your mother wants no less for her daughter.”

      Penelope’s heart tweaked that a stranger had made a connection she had never seen herself. “Something simpler, less formal, would’ve been nice, though. Especially growing up. Penelope is quite a mouthful.”

      Tristan reconnected the cables. “That should do it.” He cleaned his hands and dropped the towel and wrench into the toolbox. “Crank her up and let’s see if she purrs.”

      Penelope slipped into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The engine roared to life. No expensive car repair in the immediate future. Relief and gratitude nearly brought tears to her eyes.

      Tristan closed the hood and strolled to her, toolbox in hand. “Do you know your way?”

      “I have GPS.”

      He squinted against the bright sun shining in his face. “Reception can be quirky. Why don’t you follow me? I’m headed to the resort anyway.”

      “Great!”

      He gave her a quick nod and turned toward his truck.

      “Tristan.”

      He swung around.

      “Thanks. For everything.”

      “My pleasure, sweet cheeks.”

      Sweet cheeks?

      Penelope wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or appalled.

      But he did just fix her car, so she’d let it slide this time.

      Tristan stowed his toolbox behind the second seat and climbed into the truck. He backed out of the driveway and waited for her to follow.

      They drove about thirty minutes before arriving in the picturesque town of Maico. He turned down Sorghum Avenue. Tooting his horn, he stuck his arm out the window, pointing at Wyatt’s Automotive Services.

      Yeah, yeah. She got the hint.

      Across the street was the town square—a quaint little park with huge canopy trees. Surrounding the square were a dozen or so mom-and-pop stores, including a market. The crowning jewel, though, was the large, Colonial-style courthouse.

      “I have to paint that,” she said. Getting her car serviced didn’t seem like such a chore if she could sit in the park with her sketchbook.

      Another ten minutes СКАЧАТЬ