Her Rough Mechanic - Jagger Cole Page 0,1
fucking over this shitty little town that I could scream.
“Does anyone fucking work here!”
“Yeah, I do.”
I almost scream at the deep, gravely, manly voice behind me. I whirl, and my eyes drop to the pair of boots sticking out from under the car on the ground that I apparently missed. Big, grungy, boots. The dirty saying of “you know what they say about guys with big shoes” pops into my head for a second. But I scowl those thoughts away with a roll of my eyes.
“Well, can you service me please?” I snap.
A second goes by before the man under the car begins to slide out, apparently laying on this little rolly thing. Boots, and then dirty, ripped jeans, and then for a second, I see abs—crazy defined, ripped abs. The man slides out more, and then I can see the edge of his undershirt pushed up above his muscled stomach. Big hands reach out and grip the edge of the car, and then bulging biceps as he slides himself the rest of the way out. Suddenly, my breath catches as his face slides out. Because dear God, the man is freaking hot.
He’s absolutely beautiful, and it hits me instantly like a slap to the face. Dark, tousled hair, two-day stubble on his defined jaw, and a set of sexy blue eyes that captivate me. His jeans and undershirt are grubby and torn and streaked with grease. So are his tattooed, muscled arms and those big hands. But all it’s doing is making him even hotter. My mind wanders, and I imagine those dirty hands moving over my clean, pressed clothes, making them filthy with his touch. But I quickly shake those disgusting thoughts away.
“You tell me, sweetheart,” he growls in a low, rumbly baritone. “How do you need me to service you?”
I feel the blush hot on my face. I scowl harder in hopes that it hides it. “I need my car fixed,” I snap.
The man raises one brow and looks around the shop. He sits up and then stands, every muscle in his body rippling as he stands tall and looming above me. He’s easily six-foot-something and built like a freaking tank. I tremble, and my cheeks continue to burn as my gaze moves over him. The grease-streaked undershirt might look grubby on any other man in the world. On him, it looks sinful.
“You missing something?”
“Excuse me?”
“I said are you missing something?”
“Like?” I say testily. Hot or not, I am so not in the mood for anything but getting back on the road right now.
“Like a car, sweetheart.”
My lips purse. I glare at him. “It’s broken down, out in the desert.”
“So, you need a ride and a tow.”
“Yes,” I hiss. The guy arches one brow again, looking amused. I roll my eyes. “Yes please,” I mutter.
He grins, and it’s infuriating and hot at the same time. “Not from around here, are you?”
“Gee, what gave it away?” I mutter.
“That brat attitude, for one.”
I scowl up at him. “You know what? This isn’t how you treat customers. I’d like to talk to your manager instead.”
His smile widens, and he shrugs. “No problem, sweetheart. Sit tight.”
He turns away. I start to smile smugly, when he just keeps turning until he’s facing me again.
“Howdy,” he says with a smug grin of his own. He sticks a dirty hand out. “Rowan O’Neil. I’m the manager around here. Also, the owner.”
I roll my eyes. “Ugh. Seriously?”
“You want a ride or not?”
It’s like there’s a perverted elf whispering in my ear. Just like before with the thing about big shoes, him asking me if I want “a ride” has me blushing like a schoolgirl. He definitely notices it too, because his grin widens and there’s a glint in his eyes holding mine.
“Well?”
“Huh?”
Rowan sighs. He brings a hand up to scratch his perfect jaw. “Do you want a ride or not?”
“Yes,” I nod. “Yeah.” He arches a brow again, and I sigh. “Yes, please.”
“Now was that so hard?” He chuckles to himself, and before I know it, he reaches down and pulls his dirty undershirt off. I suck in a breath of air and suck on my teeth as my eyes drink him in. Sweet God, he’s absolutely gorgeous. Every muscle on his chest, shoulders, and arms, ripple and clench as he tosses the dirty shirt away. His back and arms are covered with tattoo ink, not to mention the handful across his chest and on his ribs.
He walks over to a table and picks up