Playing Dirty
Chemistry. Couldn’t make it, couldn’t fake it. It was either present with another person or it wasn’t...and it seemed that she and Mr. Ford Lassiter had it on the most elemental of levels.
Beside her, he leaned a hip against the Turbo and regarded her with an amused smirk on his own face. Oh, yes, he felt it, too...and unless she missed her guess, he was entertained by the notion of being attracted to a woman like her.
Beth had made it a point to live her life without worrying about what others thought of her, but it still stung when someone, even a stranger, looked at her like she was one of those wild Marchande girls from the wrong side of town. Well, fuck that. She was going to make him want her so badly his head would spin...and then she’d send him packing.
“Can’t remember? Even with all those fancy letters after your name?” She tilted her head, looked up at him, waited while he thought back to her question.
“I don’t recall.” He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed about it, though she noted that his spine stiffened a bit in defense. “I’m a busy man.”
“Seems to me that a busy man like you would have people who could take care of little details like car maintenance for him.” Though Beth’s lips curved in a smile, inside she went from irritation to anger. “This fancy machine here? Most people in this neighborhood have to work for five years to earn that kind of money.”
She wouldn’t focus on what she and her sisters could do—could pay off—with that kind of cash. Replace the furnace that threatened to quit every winter. Patch the place in the roof that let the rain in. “Some of those people might think that you’d want to take care of something like that. Take some responsibility.”
“You’re right.” There, finally, was evidence that he was human—the tiniest flicker of guilt. It was enough to melt her anger away.
Likely he hadn’t ever thought about how long other people would have to work to pay for one of his toys...and why would he treat it as anything special when he probably had a garage full of others at home?
“Can I get that in writing? I think it’s probably not something you say very often.” Beth arched an eyebrow. Ford blinked at her, seemingly stunned, before bursting into laughter.
It was a rich laugh, not the carefully controlled chuckle she would have expected from him, and it cut her off at the knees. To her, nothing was sexier than a man who could laugh at himself.
“Don’t get used to it. It probably won’t happen again.” As if he realized that he’d let his control slip, Ford’s grin quickly morphed back into stern lines. “In all seriousness. Now that we’ve established I don’t take proper care of it, what is wrong with it? Do you not have a part that I need?”
Beth couldn’t hold back the snort of sarcasm that slipped from her throat. “Well, that’s a start, but no, I don’t typically carry parts for cars like these. Not much call for them around here.”
Doing her best not to roll her eyes—they were clearly from such different worlds—she rubbed her hand over her cheek. The return of his smirk told her she’d likely left a smear of engine grease behind on her clean skin, but she didn’t care. That was her. Take it or leave it.
“Your transmission is shot. That needs to be replaced. I can call in a favor and have the part couriered in for the morning, since I figure you’re probably willing to pay the rush fee. But replacing it is going to be a full-day job.” She held up her hand as he opened his mouth, looking like he was prepared to argue. To her way of thinking, there was nothing to argue about here. “But if you stay consistent with the way you treat this car, then I would suggest you let me fix everything else that’s wrong with it while you’ve already got it in the shop. Your fuel and cooling systems need work, you’ve got some corrosion...and you need a basic damn oil change.”
“I see.” Ford gazed at her steadily, his expression unwavering. Beth stared right back, startled when he was the one to break away, huffing out a sound of exasperation and waving his hands in the air. “What are you listening to?”
“Sitar music.” She loved this playlist as much as she’d loved the heavy metal one she’d been playing earlier. Music was so deeply ingrained in who she was, she felt it was a shame not to appreciate as much of it as she could.
“Right.” This, finally, this was what seemed to throw him off his game—the music blasting from her phone.
Beth felt her breath catching as he reached out and sifted his fingers through the end of her braid. Her breasts pushed forward as she exhaled, and Ford looked her over again with that hungry stare—not lecherous, just an acknowledgment of that strange little click between them.
Beth didn’t believe in love at first sight...but oh, she sure believed in lust.
“Sitar music. Heavy metal. Purple in your hair, and the scents of vanilla and engine grease on your skin.” He sounded bemused. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a very unique woman?”
“All the time.” She was pretty sure it was a bad idea, but the way this strange man was looking at her made her very, very hot. Riding on instinct, she reached for the cherry-red can of Coke that still dangled from his fingers and lifted it to her lips. “But you’ve only scratched the surface. There’s a lot more to me than the color of my hair.”
“I can imagine.” He watched her with painstaking attention to detail as she lifted the can to her lips and sipped. The rush of sugar burst over her tongue, and she imagined she got just the slightest taste of him, as well.
“Are you always this forward?” He tracked her tongue as she ran it over her lips.
“Afraid of catching girl cooties?” Beth handed the can back and arched an eyebrow. “And yes, I often am. I’m usually pretty clear on what I want.”
Stepping away from where they were still curled together beneath the hood of the Turbo, she laced her hands together and dipped her head. “But sometimes I like to be told what to do, too.”
Her heart pounded as she made the admission. Had she judged wrong? She couldn’t have. She liked to go after what she wanted, true enough, and she felt no shame in wanting what she did. But she usually felt the subtle little click that she had with Ford when the dynamics between them were just right—as in, the other person wanted to be in control, and Beth wanted to relinquish it.
“I...” Ford took a step back, not the reaction that Beth was expecting. He looked her over again, and her skin felt on fire everywhere his gaze touched.
No, she wasn’t wrong. She felt it in her gut. But he didn’t seem to be all that pleased by the notion.
“I’ll tell you what to do, then.” The struggle to regain control was evident in his voice. One blink of her eyes, and the stern businessman mask was back in place, shuttering the hint of passion that she’d glimpsed below. “Order the part. Fix the car. And call me when it’s ready for pickup.”
Beth felt the same slight chill that she had when she’d noted that he seemed uncomfortable with whatever this was sparking between them—felt it and resented it.
She wasn’t asking for a ring—she was just embracing her needs and desires, like she and her sisters had always done.
“You didn’t ask how much the parts and work are going to be.” Beth’s temper rose, so she unlatched and slammed the hood of the Turbo closed, hard enough that most people would have turned to check that she hadn’t taken a golf club to the metal.
He didn’t turn, didn’t look back—not at the vehicle and not at her.
“Like you’ve pointed out already... I can afford it.”
Well, then. Clearly he wanted to highlight the differences between them. Beth cocked her head and watched as he headed out of her driveway and back in the direction of the café, probably off to research his accommodation options, which she could have told him were few. She suspected he wasn’t going far.
His gait was easy, the stride of a man who knew that he had the world at his feet. As if pulled by her gaze, he finally cast one look back in her direction.
The intensity of the connection when their eyes met nearly brought Beth to her knees. Yes, that attraction was there, burning brighter than any she’d ever felt.
So why was he turning away from it? From her?
She could dwell on it, could go cry into a bottle of wine with her sisters over the rejection, but she’d never seen the point. Sex was supposed to be easy, fun. And to her it always would be.
If Ford Lassiter was uncomfortable with being attracted to her, well, that was his problem. Beth was just fine with who she was. Still, it was a damn shame he was a stick-in-the-mud, she thought as her lips curved.
A man who looked that good in clothes? He would surely look even better out of them.
CHAPTER THREE
THE SURFACE OF the bar was sticky beneath his hand as Ford placed his whiskey glass back down. It was his second of the night, and he felt like he needed to indulge in at least one more, just to get his head back on straight.
He’d been feeling off center ever since the interlude with a certain little mechanic that afternoon. Damned if he could entirely understand why.
“One more?” Even in the dingy bar that was connected to the equally dingy motel he’d had no choice but to book a room in, the bartender who approached him was still more his type than the woman who’d laid into him about responsibility that afternoon. Tall and slender, with icy-blond hair and a neat sleeveless blouse, she more closely resembled the women he dated back in the city.
Neat. Proper. Nice.
He considered for a moment, contemplated indulging some of this frustration in a flirtation with the blonde. Maybe it would lead to a nice dinner and some equally nice sex.
Before he could consciously decide, his hand covered his glass. “Not right now, thanks.”
There was a flicker of disappointment in the blonde’s eyes as she nodded and walked away, and Ford cursed himself. That was the kind of woman he should be attracted to.
Curvy mechanics with rainbow-bright ink snaking over their pale skin didn’t belong in his life. Not even for a night. And not because of that brightness...but for other, darker reasons.
Settling back on the stool where he’d been seated since the need to escape the shabby motel room had clawed at his skin, Ford blocked out the thunderous music from the old-timey jukebox and allowed his mind to pull up the image of her—of Beth Marchande.
Nothing about her made sense.
She moved like she couldn’t care less about anything but was quick to speak up when she had something to say. Confident—she was quietly confident, owning her curves in a way that stick-thin women he knew back home didn’t seem capable of.
Her hair, in that long, thick braid, was midnight black up top and twisted with bright purple below. Purple...what kind of woman had purple hair?
And yet he couldn’t stop imagining it wrapped around his fist as he thrust into her.
Jesus. He needed to get a grip or he’d embarrass himself in the middle of this dive bar.
He’d been in her presence for less than an hour, and yet he already knew he’d never forget her. She was too vibrant to ever be erased.
“Forget about it.” He’d fucked it up that afternoon by being an asshole, he knew that. It would be best to signal that sweet blonde bartender and order another drink, to forget all about Beth Marchande of Marchande Motors.
But damn it...when she’d stood there, hands clasped submissively in front of her? When she’d issued that invitation, had said she liked being told what to do, while he could just make out the outline of a barbell piercing her right nipple, pressed against the tissue-thin fabric of that skimpy shirt?
She’d pierced right through to the core of his basest desires, the ones that he tried with an iron fist to keep locked away and buried.
Lots of men with his power, his position, indulged in all sorts of hedonistic things, and he didn’t judge them for that. But after seeing his father go through wife after girlfriend after mistress, treating them all like his possessions?
As far as Ford was concerned, nice men didn’t have the urge to tie their women up. Didn’t have their palms tingle with the need to redden white skin, to leave a mark of mastery.
The tattooed little mechanic made every one of those latent desires come roaring to the surface, threatening to boil over.
That just wouldn’t do.
And yet here he was. He hadn’t been willing to be far away from the Turbo, sure, but that wasn’t the only reason that, instead of calling a car to take him home, he’d taken a room in the one small motel he’d been able to find close to the shop.
The woman had hooked him. He was interested, even if he didn’t want to be.
Bad idea, Ford. Very bad idea.
“Excuse me?” Lifting his head, Ford raised his hand to signal for the bartender again. He’d have that third drink, and then he’d go take a long, cold shower. He’d work from his motel room until his car was ready, and then he’d go, as fast and as far as he could.
Out of reach of temptation.
The volume of the music increased with the next song, something slow and sultry that he didn’t recognize. Down the length of the vinyl-covered bar, a large young man wearing work boots stumbled onto a stool and slapped a fiver down. “I need a beer, Sallie, and I need it now. There’s one hell of a show goin’ on over there, and I’m thirsty.”
“Coming right up, Ned.” Ford watched as Sallie—the cool blonde—slid a longneck across the bar to the rough-looking man. The bartender then leaned against the length of covered wood, looking off in the direction the man had come from, and the man looked that way, too. Both seemed to be settling in to watch a show.
Ford followed their gaze, and lust was an instant, heated punch to the gut.
His sexy little mechanic was on the dance floor, and she was working it.
Torn, faded jean shorts cut off high on her shapely thighs, barely covering an ass that was curved enough for a man to get a good grip on it. A white lace camisole on top revealed enticing flashes of skin as well as a black bra that held her full breasts up nice and high.
Black leather boots with high spiked heels wrapped the length of her calves and all the way over her knees. He could imagine her with nothing but those boots on, hands clinging to his headboard as he moved, hard and fast, between sweetly spread thighs.
She was gorgeous. Not his type at all, with the crazy hair and the tattoos spilling over her collarbone and arms. But on her, it worked. He shifted uncomfortably and noted that it seemed to work just fine for him, too.
“Damn.” Ford couldn’t hold back the groan as Beth shifted, stepping into the light, and he realized that she wasn’t alone. No, she had a woman at her front, a man pressed to her back and her eyes closed, her expression dreamy as she rocked between the two bodies, every movement sensual and sure.
The man behind her was dark and swarthy, and Ford might have thought to be jealous if he hadn’t been so fascinated with the way the man fisted Beth’s hair and pulled her head back. What he’d seen of her today said that she’d protest being forced to do anything, but her lips, shiny with red gloss, opened with a moan that he couldn’t hear but that resounded in his head regardless.
The woman in front of her, a redhead in a tight dress, rubbed her breasts against Beth’s own. Ford shifted on his stool, his cock hardening fully as the woman dipped her head and licked a slow trail down Beth’s neck.
Damn.
As if he’d spoken out loud, Beth’s eyes fluttered open. Lifting her head, she looked across the bar, over to where he sat, aching...and right into his eyes.
Earlier today her eyes had been the color of the afternoon sky, but now they were sapphire fire, the flames licking along his skin. His gut tightened as she smiled lazily, then slowly, sensually disengaged herself from the tangle of limbs.
Behind her, the couple continued their dance, but Ford didn’t care—his eyes were on the woman who was crossing the room toward him with slow, deliberate undulations of her hips.
“Fancy meeting you here, Sir Lassiter.” She stopped well into his personal space, and that vanilla perfume made his mouth water and his jaw clench.
“Sir?” He arched an eyebrow and tried really hard not to do what he wanted, which was to reach out and place his hands at her waist, to slide her shirt up and feel the warmth of her skin beneath.
“Mmm, you seem like a sir.” Beth smiled and inched closer, stepping right between his spread thighs. He felt his expression darken—she knew exactly what she was doing, what she was asking for.
“What makes you say that?” His instincts told him to tug her flush against his body, to press her to him so she could feel exactly what she was doing to him.
He did not.
“You seem all proper and noble...like an aristocrat. A knight. Sir Lassiter.” Beth nudged forward just a whisper, and he felt the curve of her hip press into his inner thigh.
His mouth went dry.
“Like you’re trying so hard to do what you think is right. But tell me something.” Tilting her head back, she looked up into his eyes, searching. “Why is denying yourself something that you want, that we both want, the right thing? I know you feel it, too.”
Her open question gutted him. He’d been in the boardroom with billionaires, with sheikhs, with sharks, and he’d bested them all.
The little woman who smelled like cupcakes? She was bringing him to his knees.
“I—” He started to explain, but she cut him off, stepping back, her sudden frown breaking the spell.
“I see.” Her lips pinched together in a mockery of a smile. “I’m not the kind of woman you want to get involved with, right? Not even for a night. Let me assure you, that’s your loss.”
Wait...what?
“Wait just a damn minute.” When Beth would have turned, Ford did as he’d imagined, catching her by the waist and hauling her back into the vee of his legs. This time her pelvis connected with the steel length of his erection, and he savored her sharp little intake of breath. “What do you mean?”
“I think it’s pretty self-explanatory.” Beth regarded him coldly, though she didn’t back down. “My hair, my tattoos... I’m far too wild for you.”
“Oh, do you think so?” The way she was looking up at him, so certain she was right, was a challenge, and he felt something inside him roaring to life to meet it.
She thought he was turned off because she wasn’t his usual type? Well, he couldn’t deny that she was not at all the kind of woman he was usually drawn to, and his instant attraction to her puzzled him more than a bit.
But that wasn’t the problem. The problem was what she made him feel.
“I don’t give a damn about the color of your hair or the ink on your skin. Got it?” The need to prove that she wasn’t the problem was quickly overriding his sense of restraint, the only other thing that had held him back from accepting her sweet offer that afternoon.
“I don’t know you, yet you make me want things I’m not comfortable wanting. Make me feel things I shouldn’t.” His hands at her waist squeezed, hard, to emphasize his point, and he savored her resultant shudder, which ratcheted up his own excitement.
“Why would you be uncomfortable wanting something if it doesn’t hurt anyone else?” She was watching him again, lids heavy over those big eyes. “Or maybe you think that it is hurting someone?”
He kept his stare on her face, absorbing every nuance of her expression, which was open, honest.
Something told him that Beth Marchande wasn’t going to be disgusted with the demands he might make of her.
“Sometimes a little bit of hurt is good, Sir Lassiter...especially when I’m begging you for it.”
“Fuck.” Dragging his hands up her sides, over her rib cage and the swell of her breasts, Ford clasped Beth by the shoulders and tugged her forward, crushing her smirking lips to his own.
Rather than offering him a kiss as sweet as the vanilla she smelled of, she moaned beneath the pressure and opened, her tongue surging out to tangle with his.
One hand slid behind her head and fisted in the long mane of raven and amethyst hair, just as his fingers had itched to. He tugged her head to the side roughly and then dragged his lips down the column of her throat, settling over her pulse and sinking his teeth in to claim.
“Well, what’s it going to be, Sir Lassiter?” Beth’s breathy question rasped in his ear, and she shuddered when his teeth marked her skin. “Are you going to be good? Or are you going to be bad? What do you think?”
Shoving his glass aside—he felt intoxicated just from being near her—Ford stood, making sure that every plane of his body glided against hers as he did.
Her eyes glittered with the same need that he felt as he quickly pulled a fifty from his wallet and tossed it onto the surface of the bar.
“I think...” Ford deliberately wrapped his fingers around her own, drawing them up to his lips to nip. “I think that we’re going to go back to my room right now. And I’m going to find something better for that smart mouth to do.”
CHAPTER FOUR
WHAT AM I DOING?
This woman was different. Exotic. Wild. Not like anyone he’d ever been drawn to before, and he wasn’t sure why he was attracted to her now. He didn’t do exotic, didn’t want wild.
And yet when he placed a hand at the small of her back to guide her out of the heated bar, he swore he almost felt a physical shock from just the press of his fingers to that small dip in her spine.
The Turbo had been his first acquisition on the road to success. He’d kept it because nothing had ever felt as good as that first achievement. That first marker of success that he’d earned on his own, not riding on his parents’ coattails.
Over the decade since its purchase, he’d bought and sold cars, property, investments. Had pursued some of the most interesting and beautiful women in the world. Had grown his small hotel chain into something internationally renowned.
Nothing had come even close to recapturing that thrill, the high of knowing he’d achieved something on his own.
Nothing, that was, until now.
Beth said something to the giant man standing by the door as they passed, making the other man laugh. Then they were outside, the cool air of early fall in Massachusetts as refreshing as a swim on a hot day after the beer-soaked heat inside the bar.
He watched as she shook her long fall of wavy hair back. The bright purple seeming ethereal and mysterious in the fading light.
What was going on with him? Purple hair wasn’t sexy. Full-sleeve tattoos weren’t sexy.
Except that on her, it was.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets as she looked him over. Those blue eyes of hers seemed almost to glow, full of wicked intent as she took her time regarding him from head to toe.
His body responded, dark need curling tightly in his gut. No, he had no idea why he wanted this woman so badly, but he did, wanted her with a craving that seemed primal in its intensity.
“I’d invite you back to my place, but I could tell this morning it wasn’t exactly your cup of tea.” She smirked at him, a knowing little smile that made his mouth water. She was provoking him deliberately.
That exchange they’d had earlier in the garage. The dynamic between them. Unless he’d read it very, very wrong, she wanted the very thing that he tried hard not to offer.
“Clearly you didn’t think I was serious about finding something better for your smart mouth to do.” He couldn’t help it. The needs that he was usually fine ignoring were clawing beneath his skin, begging to tear their way free to be with her.
The sharp inhalation of her breath was confirmation. An ache spread through his core.