Flirting With Disaster Read online

  He'd moved here for a fresh start and hoped he could run a small bookstore—Nichols' New and Used Books—that wouldn't die within the first year. Independent bookstores were dying all over the country. Somehow he'd made it, barely. Something drastic was necessary to bring him over the hump for year two.

  Dane climbed the steps, opened the door, and there to his right sat Naomi at her desk. Three days before, on Friday, she had had smoky eyeshadow that made her brown eyes seem wider, more sultry. Yeah, he felt the natural hit of attraction to a beautiful woman, but it was nothing compared to how Brooke made his heart race.

  That surly mechanic found him maddening and vice versa. They traded quips whenever they met, and it was insane for him to be charmed nonetheless by her biting retorts. Yet, it felt like an epic tango whenever they sparred, and Dane would be lying if he said he didn't look forward to their exchanges.

  If, a big one, he'd done what she'd accused, he'd have readily apologized. But he'd gone into Hall's Mechanic and Body Shop, expecting to find a slender redheaded man working under a hood of a car, and instead there she was in a ball cap and coveralls decorated with engine oil.

  The outfit couldn't hide the full hips and high and tight breasts. Everything about her was lush and soft and had hit him with an intense longing he hadn't felt in a long while, if ever. He did what any man would do in the same situation: he'd flustered, and then shamelessly flirted with her.

  Brooke had taken that as some sort of slap to her choice in profession. He didn't find it surprising that it was a sore spot. He did find it annoying as fuck she felt the need to berate him for a perceived slight. So after she implied he was a misogynistic asshole, he politely suggested she should jump off the stick that was lodged up her ass.

  And thus began their war of words.

  If her initial reaction hadn't set him so on edge, he would have tried to hit the reset button to put them on better footing. But she had set him on edge, and now he welcomed their bickering. He'd never forget what or who she reminded him of—women so bitter that all men had to pay for any and all perceived slights. He'd loved a woman like that before, and in his opinion, types like her were no better than men who felt all women should pay for their exes's faults.

  He blew out a breath to let that anger go when the door's turtle-slow hinge finally shut behind him with a loud thud. Naomi glanced up, her eyes widened in surprise at first, then a smile crept over her face.

  No change in his pulse. Nothing. Life simply wasn't fair. Naomi should be the one who made his blood roar. She seemed uncomplicated, nice and looked happy to see him whenever he came around. Except it was Brooke...

  “Morning, Naomi,” he said. “You look beautiful, as always.” The words weren't a line, he meant them. Unfortunately all he felt toward her was a general appreciation of her beauty.

  “Now why can't you be that charming to Brooke?”

  He sidestepped the question. “What you said on Friday got me thinking.”

  She straightened. “About the calendar?”

  “About doing something with the community. I know you're bringing in a new librarian soon and hoping to boost patron numbers. I have an idea that could be beneficial to both the town and Nichols' New and Used Books.”

  She pursed her lips. “What you want is a meeting with the mayor?”

  He smiled and stepped closer to her desk. “A meeting with you. An hour of your time for me to explain it. You approach the mayor and this can be your pet project.”

  Naomi sat up, ambition lighting in her eyes. “Oh, you're good.”

  His life before Tanner Creek involved knowing how to make a hard sell. Hell, his life before this small town had taught him a number of things. So he'd showed up with a plan like he still lived in a big city. He shrugged, but since humor could soften the hardest of sales, he added, “Good looks only take you so far.”

  She tilted her head back, and for the first time since he’d known her, she looked as cunning as any politician. “Lucky for you, my lunch hour is open. We can meet at Steeped and Brewed for coffee. The sandwiches will be fresh, and they have a pastrami with rye that I've been craving.”

  “On me,” he offered. “And since it's your lunch, I'll get the hard sell out of the way within thirty minutes.”

  “Deal, but you could have just called me,” she pointed out.

  He liked that she was smart. “I could have, but I've found it's harder to say 'no' when someone is standing right in front of you.”

  She clasped her hands on top of the mahogany desk. “If you're going to benefit from this, I think you should take another moment to consider that calendar.”

  He sighed. She was smart and a loyal friend. Dane could understand that. If the library needed new shelves, he'd have plugged his friend's, Tate, construction business. “To help Brooke.”

  “To help Tanner Creek,” she corrected him without blinking. “Revenue is down across the board. More than one money stream could give us breathing room. So…make, model, year?”

  He'd underestimated her. She came across nice, carefree, but there was a shark underneath that warm smile. Fuck. A politician.

  He had to respect the hell out of her for it. “Broach the idea to Brooke, and maybe I'll tell you.”

  She considered him for a moment. “But did you go with Juan Jr. to fix your car?”

  “I just needed him to look at it and tell me if it was worth fixing.”

  She tapped her fingers on the desk. The sound echoed in the large, mostly empty building. “You push her buttons for some reason.”

  Since Brooke pushed every one of his, he considered them even. “Spoken like a true friend.”

  She laughed. “Maybe, but it's the truth. I'll see you at lunch.”

  He left it at that, said his goodbyes, and got ready for the meeting.

  When lunchtime rolled around, he saved them a seat in the corner of the coffee shop. The simple setup gave them an opportunity for privacy as well as an outlet to be social.

  Everyone in Tanner Creek visited Steeped and Brewed for their caffeine needs. The booths were evenly spread apart, sedately colored in cool beige tones and made comfortable with dark red cushions.

  As he waited, Miss Christopher—a retired schoolteacher—talked his ear off and showed him photos of her grandchild. Jessica, the barista, took pity on him and gave him free coffee. Little gestures like those were why he loved the small town.

  Growing up he'd lived in a big city with a fast pace he never had trouble keeping up with, but he'd lived at that pace for all of his life and had needed a change. He had his friends, Reid and Tate, and his bookstore to keep his brain from suffering due to atrophy. Much to his surprise, since the move here had been a whim, it was enough.

  He reshuffled the papers he'd printed out. They were reports from other cities that had teamed up with their local independent bookstores. There was a long list of incidents of mutual back-scratching. He fiddled some more with the order of his paperwork because nerves were getting the best of him. Naomi wasn't late; he was early and eager. He needed this.

  The bell dinged as someone pushed open the door. He glanced up, his heart jumped into his throat, and then it stayed there.

  Dammit.

  He should have known the meeting wouldn't be simple. He should have also known that Naomi would construe his silence as agreement that Brooke should be a part of the session.

  Naomi and Brooke were friends. Likely best friends. He'd seen them together and often, along with Peyton Tanner—the mayor's daughter. Naomi would do what was best for her friend. Dane was stuck with her loyalty. Dammit.

  Since Brooke hadn't seen him yet, he straightened and braced himself for another round of bickering.

  She suddenly stopped, her head whipping toward him. She sucked in a slow breath, something she always did whenever they looked at each other. He knew that shocked feeling, as though the sight of him stunned her breathless. That was a small recognition he didn't want to acknowledge, and he'd tried for a
year to ignore it.

  Her gaze narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

  She'd tied the sleeves of her coveralls around her waist. The white tank top beneath it hugged her full, round breasts. His gaze zeroed on her nipples pressing against the soft material. Every damn time he tripped up on her simple, yet telling, physiological reaction to him. Maybe Brooke was always cold. Maybe anger naturally turned her on. But, fuck, he was a man. He had to have some sort of fondness for nipples that always beaded in his presence.

  His dick hardened at the erotic sight, and an invisible hand squeezed his throat. She was the last woman on earth he should be sporting a wood for.

  He shifted and hoped the damn thing would die down. Didn't help. Her dark brown skin and light brown eyes complimented the simple femininity of her soft features. Even knowing that her lush lips would soon form into an insult, the attraction burning in his chest refused to ebb.

  His mind blanked and only a single word mattered. “Brooke.”

  She stepped forward, her eyes still narrowed on him. “Naomi,” she said darkly. “I'm going to choke her.”

  “She's being economical. Surprising for someone who works for a politician.” He put up his hand to stem whatever biting remark she had in her arsenal, and then he gestured to the chair across from him. “We might as well talk since she plans to kill two birds with one stone.”

  She glanced at the papers on the table and then at him before settling across from him. “Something about the library.”

  “What?”

  “You proposed something that has to do with the library. She countered with the calendar again. Am I close?”

  “Pretty much.” He nodded toward the stack of papers on the table. “Getting authors to wave a fee is a huge deal when they drop in for a reading or book signing. Sometimes that price is too much for a library, likely way too much for ours. If I approach authors as a bookseller, they might be more than happy to do an event at no cost. The library gets to count visiting guests as patrons. I sell the books the author moves.” He paused. “What are you doing here?”

  “Not a bad set up.” She sounded impressed while ignoring his question. “What else would you want a kick back for? Not sure, but you might be able to get access to withdrawn titles to sell in the used section of your store.”

  “Maybe. I'd have to look at the fine print,” he said, surprised at the speed her mind worked.

  He didn't doubt her intelligence, but there was knowing one’s field, and then there was knowing someone else's. In the back of his mind he noted they hadn't argued once yet during the conversation. How long could they sustain this begrudging peace? He often wondered that and then reminded himself her soft, curly hair hid horns.

  “What are you getting out of this?” he asked.

  She glanced over her shoulder to the door, sighed, then looked at him again. “With enough time and the right parts, I can make any car run. The only reason she mentioned this calendar is because I was bitching about my numbers on Friday. She gets shark-like when she's in a helpful mood.” Brooke crossed her arms and settled back into her chair like him. She assessed him for another moment before adding, “Fixing up classics is part car porn and part advertisement. Although I should be angry at her, I can't be. Life kicked her in the gonads when her husband left her, and she's learned to kick back.”

  He couldn't help but smile at that. “Classic cars are porn for you?”

  She smiled back. “It's the simplicity. When you pop a hood now there's all kinds of stuff underneath it.” She moved her hands as though that could better describe her meaning. “There was a time all you had was an engine and the road. Makes my heart pitter-patter. I care about how shitty classic cars are for the environment until I hear a 1962 Mustang's engine rev. For a moment, I forget, and there's just me and that growl.”

  Dane's shoulders tightened, and he tried not to be aroused by her description. One, it was weird. Two, it was weird, but her voice had gone husky and her gaze had softened. He balled his fists to keep from reaching across the table and dragging her to his mouth. It took another second for him to suck in a steadying breath and another just to speak. She'd watched him the whole time with a confused but curious expression.

  He cleared his throat. “And you're hoping if you fix up all these imaginary cars business will bustle. Not just from people in this town, but all over.”

  “Of course.”

  She was honest to a fault. He couldn't help but doubt, for a second, he had reacted in a way that gave her every right to dress him down.

  He shook his head. “My car won't be enough.”

  “I have a contact...” She shifted and just looked shifty as hell while she did it. “But I'd rather get majority of the cars from Tanner Creek. This town is small. You trusting me with your car will make one hell of a difference.”

  “Why?”

  “Everyone knows we hate each other,” she said.

  His chin lifted up, because what he felt for her only created self-loathing. She reminded him of his ex—the kind of ex that can change a world view and fuck you up a little in the process. His dick should be flaccid at the similarities, and no amount of naked flesh should change it. But, nope, because the world was an unfair jackass.

  “I wouldn't say hate,” he said.

  “Semantics.”

  Her gaze strayed down to Miss Christopher. The older woman's eyes were wide and her mouth partially open. Though she sat near the cash register, clutching a coffee cup, there was no doubt she paid attention to their every word.

  She said, “Before the end of today, everyone will know we had a meeting to talk about this. I still want to choke Naomi, but I can't fault her for being sharp.”

  He blinked and took in the coffee shop again. It wasn't filled to the brim, but it was filled with the right people if you wanted gossip to spread around fast. The midday sun filtered in and brightened the shiny equipment behind the counter. Hell, that light shone on all the curious faces pretending they weren't eating up every word exchanged.

  Dane was backed into a corner. He had to take the truce or people would think he couldn't put aside his own reservations for the community. “You're right. She's damn good. Is she even going to show up?”

  “What time is it?”

  He told her and she nodded. “She'll come in the next twenty minutes, with apologies about being late. She’ll say she should have texted us both about the change in plans. She'll smile and be sweet. If you are watching for it, there will be a gleam in her gaze. I blame Peyton.”

  He laughed at the proud but sour note in her voice. “Peyton has nothing to do with this.”

  “She has everything to do with this,” Brooke insisted. “She knocked over the first domino. For months, she's told Naomi the mayor will take notice if she takes more initiative. Now here we are talking about a charity event.”

  Getting the two people in town who argued for shits and giggles to agree? On anything? Yeah. That was something Naomi should put on her resume. Better still if she could get both his project for the library and the charity event off the ground successfully.

  He glanced at Brooke. He didn't doubt she still hated him for that perceived slight over a year ago, but she'd work with him. How could he refuse without shooting himself in the foot? He couldn't.

  Not once had they fought.

  She was smart, engaging, funny and even while covered in grease and wearing the most shapeless outfit, she made his blood travel south. This conversation had to be a fluke, Dane reassured himself.

  He offered his hand. Brooke's brows rose at the gesture. He waited, and finally she sighed, reaching across the invisible divide. They didn't have the details ironed out, but it didn't matter. They were going to be partners for however long it took. They'd have to be civil, which was not quite the same as nice. They'd likely have more conversations where he would forget that she should be the last woman he'd let get under his skin.

  Yet her hand felt so delicate and small in his.
His sex stirred again. Ah. And there was the unruly attraction he felt whenever near her. Hell, whenever he looked at her. He recognized all the earmarks for disaster, and refused to fall face first into it.

  She exhaled again, her face flushed with color. “To being civil with each other?”

  He ran his thumb over her wrist and paused it atop her racing pulse. Dane couldn't help but be aroused by that simple fact that she suffered from the same attraction that plagued him. Their chemistry despite their war of words pissed her off and that's usually why she went prickly with him.

  He didn't know why, told himself he didn't care to know either, but her skin was soft and warm against his.

  Being civil was the least of his problems.

  He chuckled. “Civil. Or something like that.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Car ten was in no better shape than all the rest they had looked at since that morning. It was now at the tail end of the afternoon. Dane made a sound of frustration and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

  Brooke didn't even bother to glare at him as they waded through the waist-high grass. The front of the Falcone property probably resembled some lawn geek’s idea of heaven. The three acres in the back were a different story. Apparently, they cared about the way the world saw them. Yet the Falcones were willing to face embarrassment for a good cause. He liked the older couple for that alone.

  The same couldn't be said about their mechanic. Her contempt for them was evident.

  Brooke circled the car, her hand running over the rusted black paint. “1971 Dodge Challenger convertible. I'll save you the really over-the-top details. I can’t believe they just let this jewel rot in their backyard.” She scoffed.

  Once she stood next to him again, she took out her notepad, jotting down whatever she might need for the detailing. He couldn't see what she did when she looked at an old car. None of that mattered, because this one might be shit under the hood too. Dane sighed.

  She muttered, “If all you were going to do was breathe down my neck and make frustrated noises you could have stayed home.”