She’ll prove she’s as good as she says she is.
He’ll prove her place isn’t under the hood.
It’s over it.
“Don’t let the bastards get you down.”
For twenty-six years, I lived by my daddy’s motto. Which is why “Mechanic Wanted” is all it takes for me to apply for the job at the garage we once owned.
And I meet the biggest bastard of them all.
Dexter Ryne. Hotter than Hell in July and a firm believer that my place is on reception, taking phone calls and looking pretty. Not getting dirty under the hood of a car.
Determined to prove each other wrong, we make a deal.
I have three weeks to prove my worth as a mechanic. If I don’t, I’m on telephone duty.
If I do, he’ll accept defeat and make my job permanent.
Now, all I have to do is fight my attraction to the cocky little… beep.
Problem is, an engine isn’t the only thing he knows how to make purr…
“Can I help you?” I asked. He blinked and met my eyes. “What the hell are you doing over there?” I pushed to stand up straight. “Right now?” He capped his water bottle. “Well, honestly… I’m just thinking you’d look better over the hood of that car than under it.” I unhooked the hood and slammed it down, spinning on the balls of my feet. Our eyes met properly. I didn’t like what I saw in his—desire, attraction, need. Which was obviously why a shiver ran down my spine. I cocked a hip, putting my hand on it. “The only time you will ever get me over a hood of a car is if a wiper blade needs changing. So, unless you’re a wiper blade...” Dex pulled his phone from his pocket and started tapping the screen. I blinked. “What are you doing?” He peered up at me through his unfairly thick eyelashes. “Seeing if I can get a wiper blade costume for Halloween.” “I don’t even know how to respond to that.” “You can buy wiper blade glasses.” “What?” He raised his eyebrows. “And a lady here on eBay will hand-make any costume. There’s my Halloween sorted.” I stared at him. “You’re not getting me over anything, Dex. Definitely not a car hood. No matter what you think.” He clutched his chest dramatically. “You wound me.” “Unfortunately not fatally,” I muttered. “You also underestimate me.” “There’s a lot of that going around in this garage.” I put the bottle of coolant away. “Touché.” “Thank you.” “Can I ask you something?” I sighed and turned to face him again. “What?” Earnestly, he asked, “Can you stop wearing those tiny shorts? Or yoga pants that make me want to touch your ass every five minutes?” I looked down at the ripped shorts of my dungarees. “Can you keep your thoughts to yourself? Control yourself, maybe? Not look at me and see someone worth screwing?”
By day, New York Times and USA Today bestselling New Adult author Emma Hart dons a cape and calls herself Super Mum to two beautiful little monsters. By night, she drops the cape, pours a glass of whatever she fancies—usually wine—and writes books. Emma is working on Top Secret projects she will share with her followers and fans at every available opportunity. Naturally, all Top Secret projects involve a dashingly hot guy who likes to forget to wear a shirt, a sprinkling (or several) of hold-onto-your-panties hot scenes, and a whole lotta love. She likes to be busy—unless busy involves doing the dishes, but that seems to be when all the ideas come to life.