Shifting Gears (10 page)

Oh, God.

That
was what she was afraid of. Of losing his respect. Of having him see her as someone weak and foolish.

Was it too late? Did he already see her that way?

No. She wasn't going to let that happen. She wasn't going to settle for shrinking back into the shadows again. She was going to get what she wanted, just like she went after the crew chief position just now … and
got
it.

She wanted Grady Hart and this time she wasn't going to let anything stand in her way. Especially not herself.

Chapter 7

Grady should have been focusing on getting ready for the upcoming race. Or Carbon Works. Or any number of things that needed his attention.

Instead, all he could think about as he drove to the garage the next morning was the heat between Annabelle legs, and the way she'd felt when she'd arched into his hand.

I liked it.

That's what she'd said to him, after he'd put some distance between them, to be sure that he wasn't simply reacting to an amped-up situation, even though he'd already known he wasn't. It was all Annabelle. All
about
Annabelle. He wanted her like he'd never wanted another woman.

But he also wanted her to be sure about him. He wanted her to be able to trust him and depend on him to be good to her. It hadn't been easy to stay away yesterday, but luckily, after the mess with Fogerty, they'd all been swept into the demands of the day, getting the guys started on loading up Kerri's car for her race this weekend and getting Lee's truck ready for the trip to Guzmán's shop in Raleigh, to get retested on the dynamometer.

By the time he'd gone to Raleigh and back, Annabelle had already gone home, and he hadn't been sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. But he'd pushed it aside and stayed up late, working at the garage to get the testing done on his muffler. He hadn't gotten home and into bed until nearly two o'clock that morning, but the tests were done and the muffler was solid.

Carbon Works had its first product.

Today, he would put in a few calls to some of the auto manufacturers whom he knew through his racing connections, letting them know he had something ready to launch in the market. Things were moving in earnest now. If a manufacturer took him up on his product and agreed to try it …

He'd be
someone.
Finally, a success in his own right.

If he could just survive wanting Annabelle.

Last night, as he'd slept, the dreams he had of Annabelle had taken on a much more intense, realistic quality—almost as though now that he'd seen more parts of her that she'd been keeping from him before, his mind was allowing him to think of sex with her as a real possibility. A real,
vivid
possibility.

He almost hadn't been able to shake himself awake when his alarm went off, but he hadn't even given a second of a fuck. The Annabelle of that dream fantasy had been worth it. But he wanted the real, flesh-and-blood version.

I liked it.

He exited off the highway, the words beating through his brain in time to something so primal and intense that he didn't think he could bear it. He wanted her. In every way, in every position, rough and gentle and fast and slow.

Didn't you?

God, yes. He'd liked it too much.

What
would
happen if he got involved with Annabelle? Did he even have the time to devote to her, between work and work and—well, work? Thoughts of her already intruded far too frequently, and that kiss had nearly made him forget about everything he'd done and worked for in the past few years, as though it was so easy to erase.

He shut his eyes. That wasn't right. But no matter what he wanted to think, he couldn't argue with the fact that, when he'd kissed her, he hadn't been able to think of
anything
except the wet heat of her mouth. He could have kissed her for hours and not wanted anything more than her lips on his, her breath with his breath …

Aw, hell. Back to mooning over Annabelle.

I liked it. Didn't you?

Yes. He liked it. And he liked her. What he knew of her, anyway.

When he turned into the parking lot of Hart Racing, Annabelle's car was already parked near the door. He got out of his truck and headed toward the garage entrance, something tight and excited building in his limbs. He was almost running by the time he opened the main door.

But when he walked in, what he saw made him stop in his tracks.

Holy shit.

Annabelle.

She was wearing coveralls. Not just jeans or something that wasn't a skirt.

Coveralls.

It had only been a day since he'd seen her. Less than that. Had the Apocalypse happened in Charlotte and he'd somehow missed it? She was leaning over the engine of that old sedan that his mom had given him to run tests on, for when he had his carbon parts ready to go.

For a moment, all he could do was stand there and stare, dumbfounded, at her beautiful, rounded ass right in front of him.

He could see the lines of her panties through the fabric of the coveralls. Which probably meant she wasn't wearing anything except her underwear beneath them. His cock got hard so quickly that he nearly fainted from the rush of blood from one head to the other.

But he didn't look away. He kept staring at her like this, imagining opening the zipper in the front of her coveralls, revealing her beautiful breasts, her warm, soft skin—

“Good morning, Grady.” Annabelle had straightened up as he'd been daydreaming about exposing her, and she was now looking at him with an amused expression.

He couldn't help it. His jaw dropped.

Her bright red hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail and she wasn't wearing a speck of makeup. She looked fresh and happy and, along with those snug coveralls, the look revved his engine ever harder than the silk blouses and flowy skirts she usually wore. In fact, it hit him in that moment that she looked more like herself wearing the thick canvas one-piece jumpsuit than she ever had in dresses and makeup.

She frowned a little, probably puzzled by his silence, but … hot damn. He was nearly choking on his tongue at the moment and it wasn't exactly conducive to speech.

“Rough night? How was Guzmán's yesterday?” She gentled her voice like she thought he had a hangover or something.

God, don't do that.

The soft, low tones of her voice made him think of her moaning against his mouth in the darkness as he fucked into her, pushing hard and hot. She said something else, but he was having a hard time hearing her past the bloodbeat in his brain.
Take. Want. Mine.

“…muffler on?”

What?

She stopped talking and looked at him … with concern. Like he was crazy or something. He wanted her to look at him like he was probably looking at her, damn it. The fact that she wasn't made him want to hit something, fuck someone, and get drunk. In that order.

He tore his eyes away from her breasts, hugged by those coveralls in the most tempting way, but his arousal remained, making him feel irritated for no good reason.

“Guzmán did a good job,” he bit out, probably sounding way too surly, but she didn't get upset, like his siblings would, or even Ranger.

She really was coolheaded.

“Glad to hear it. Um, I heard you carbon fiber muffler is finished. Do you want me to put it on the car? So you can do the tests?”

“No.”

He should say more, but his brain wasn't working very well.

She stood there for just a moment longer before she gave a half shrug and turned back to the car.

“What are you doing?” He practically barked it at her, the volume of his question making both of them jump a bit.

Damn. He hadn't meant for that to come out that way, either.

But before he could apologize, she gestured to the engine block of the car. “I'm trying to figure out what's up with your mom's car. It's my assignment from Bit. He wouldn't tell me what was wrong. I took it out for a drive, though, and I think I've figured it out.”

What?
That kicked his brain back into gear. Grady hadn't known what the test was that Bit had given her, and this was a surprise. He
did
know what was wrong, though. The car skidded a little on turns. But it wasn't enough for a regular driver to even notice. It would take a seasoned driver—and someone who knew cars well—to figure it out.

Annabelle was one surprise after another.

But just to be sure, he asked, “So … what is it?”

She shrugged, “It's skidding on turns. Not a lot, but it's there.”

Shit. She was good.

It made him want her even more. There was something about a smart, competent woman that did something to him.

But she wasn't done torturing him, it seemed. “There's a problem with the viscous coupling unit. The differential is off. Not enough torque. It's not driving the shaft hard enough.”

Driving the shaft …

Hard …

Grady had to close his eyes for a second at the words coming out of Annabelle's mouth. It wasn't supposed to be turning him on, talking about driving shafts and viscous coupling. But he was already battling lust just from seeing her in those coveralls, and now the way her mouth shaped around the word
torque
had his engine revving hard.

Torque, for fuck's sake. And the way she'd twisted her head to look at him just now, seemingly coy, even though he was pretty sure she hadn't intended it to be … well, it was doing something to his body that he was having a hard time controlling.

And someone help him, the words kept coming.

“I don't think the mechanism is flawed, but it looks like the viscosity is too high. It's not slick enough.”

There was that look again. That flirty gaze from under her lashes …

Holy shit.
She was doing it on purpose.

He took a step toward her, and he noticed her breath hitch, her breasts coming up high and pushing out.

Fuck. Annabelle Murray
wanted
him. Not right after a fight, not while they were under pressure, or rushed for time. She wanted him, just as he was. Just as they were.

His blood started pumping harder.

“When the driver shaft goes in, it's coming out just a tiny bit too slow.
Almost
unnoticeable.”

Her voice had slowed and deepened, so full of innuendo that he could practically touch it.

He wanted to touch
her.

If he didn't explode from lust first.

She gave him a mischievous smile. “But I rubbed some of the fluid between my fingers and—”

He stepped close, right next to her. “Stop. Jesus fucking Christ, Annabelle, just
stop.
”

He couldn't take it anymore. Thank God the race cars didn't have VCUs or he'd be hard all day, every day. These words from Annabelle … he groaned. Thinking of her all damp with perspiration as he hovered above her, pushing his cock in and out of her slick heat … it was destroying him.

She leaned toward him, her body and breasts filling the small space he'd left between them. She was barely pressed against him, but they were touching. Touching everywhere, every part of them. Like this, he could feel her breaths, quick and fast. Riled up. Needy.
Wanting.

And then she whispered, “I feel the same way.”

Fuck. He didn't wait a second longer before snaking an arm around her back, pulling her even closer, and devouring her mouth with his.

*   *   *

Oh, good Lord. This was actually happening. She was seducing Grady … and it was working.

Annabelle couldn't hold back a smile as he pulled her even tighter against him, lifting her until her legs were wrapped around his waist. But her smile died as soon as the ridge of his erection—hard even through the fabric of his pants—pushed up against the gusset of her coveralls, adding just the right friction to make her moan.

Now it was his turn to smile, a satisfied, possessive look that only fueled her arousal.

He carried her to one of the workbenches in the bay and set her down on it, his body still wedged between her legs, and kissed her again, pushing her back with the force of his slick, hot mouth, until she was lying on the cool metal surface.

They kissed for what felt like hours, with him poised above her, curving over her, dominating her body, until she was desperate to feel his skin against hers. Her hands roamed over his back, moving downward until her palms curled over his butt.

She squeezed.

He grunted and pressed his hips forward, rocking his erection against her.

“Grady,” she moaned, sliding her hands back up to grab his shirt in her fists, yanking it out from where it was tucked into his pants. She
had
to touch him.

He must have felt the same desperate urgency, because as soon as her fingers touched the warm, firm skin of his back, he tore his mouth from hers, and then
his
fingers were pulling at the zipper on the front of her coveralls, sliding it down all the way, until the top of it was falling off, exposing her bra and panties.

He stopped for a moment then, staring down at her, and she could feel a blush throughout her entire body. His eyes lifted to hers.

“You're beautiful, Annabelle.” He brought his hand to her waist, shoving the side of her coveralls away, and smoothed his palm down her body, squeezing her hip and making her arch up for more.

More contact. More Grady.

She sat up, the top of the coveralls falling away completely, and looped her arms around his neck, urging his head down to hers for another kiss while his hands wandered over her body, stroking her, making her writhe and squirm to get closer. Just before she started to get frustrated, he unhooked the clasp of her bra, pushing the straps down far enough so that it fell from her breasts, the cool air making her nipples pull even tighter.