Dirty Delilah

“Major, I’ve known you for thirteen years. If you’d had work like that done I would know. Could you pass the chocolate shavings shaker?”

Delilah’s eyebrows rose and she bit her lip hard to keep from laughing, resisting the urge to run up to the two older bikers who didn’t look like they’d aged a day since she left. The retired Major and the reformed felon, Angel had met at her dad’s garage and instantly bonded over their love of tinkering with bikes and arguing over nothing.

She’d had no idea they also shared a fondness for expensive coffee.

Angel spotted her standing by the door and his eyes narrowed as he stroked his long, salt and pepper beard. “I think we should finish this discussion another time. Look whose here. Our little Del.”

The broad shouldered man with a severe crew cut and a perfectly curled and waxed handlebar mustache squinted in her direction. Clearing his throat, he lowered his voice and said, “No, Ronald. That must be another one of the Greek’s lady friends. I doubt that girl’s been dirty a day in her life.”

Angel rolled his eyes. “First of all, she can hear you, you old twit. Secondly, never call me that again. My name is Angel. It will always be Angel.”

Delilah’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter as the Major lifted one eyebrow and sniffed. “That’s not what your mother said,” he murmured just loudly enough to be heard. Then he took a step closer to Delilah. “Is he right, young lady? Are you little Del Dean? I could have sworn you had brown hair.”

Delilah sent him a pleased grin and lifted her hand to her long blonde waves. “Only after a day in the garage with you two.”

Angel let out a whoop, set down the petite cup that seemed so out of place in his stony hand and strode over to her, his arms wide. “Welcome home, girl!”

The Major put out one strong arm and held him back with apparent ease. “Take a breath, Ronald. Look at yourself. Now look at her. You’d need two showers and a set of fresh clothes before I’d let you anywhere near her.” The Major bowed his head gallantly. “Ms. Dean, we are honored you’ve graced our humble establishment.”

“Technically, you’re in her humble establishment,” a new voice pointed out, filled with what could only be resignation and the distinct trace of a truly delicious accent. “Unless you are on my side of the office. At my cappuccino machine. Again.”

Delilah’s eyes widened at the sight of the man standing in the doorway that led the other half of the building. This was the owner of Kosta Ironworks?

She clutched her leather case closer, as if to contain the new swarm of butterflies that had awoken in her stomach. Was the universe trying to give her a heart attack from hormone overload before lunch?

She had a file that had given her all the pertinent details on the man offering to buy Dean’s Garage. Sebastian Kosta was a thirty-five-year old millionaire from old money, an engineer who had turned his personal love of racing into a fledgling company that sought to reinvent the wheel—or the motorcycle—and bring it into the future. According to Kosta, the future was beautiful and fast. Very fast.

But she hadn’t gotten all the information she needed. The file hadn’t said he had the body of a Spartan, skin the color of golden toffee or lush lips that were created to seduce. It hadn’t said his black-rimmed glasses, which he might have imagined made him look professional, only emphasized the deep chocolate of his bedroom eyes and his long, sooty lashes.

It certainly hadn’t mentioned anything about the sight of him causing lust-induced hyperventilation.

First Asa, now him. Both of them under the same roof. Together. The possibilities…

And she told everyone she was the good sister.

Sebastian Kosta was still talking to the now blustering Major. “I have no intention of barring you from your morning coffee, sir. And yes, of course I honor your service. I merely remind you that I had my assistant leave a box of moist wipes beside the machine so we could avoid the grease-print issues that continue to occur.”

“Wipes?” The Major bristled.

“Mr. Kosta?” She held out her hand and lifted her chin, interrupting him and hopefully distracting the Major from one of his infamous hissy fits. “Delilah Dean. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

When those dark chocolate eyes focused on her she licked her lips, unable to help herself.

He noticed.

“Delilah Dean?” He said her name as if he were tasting it, those lips tilting upward to reveal brilliantly white teeth framed by a perfectly sensual smile. “The pleasure is entirely mine, I assure you. I was fortunate enough to have met your sister, Drew, at an art show in Venice last year. I see beauty runs in the family.”

Delilah tilted her head. She was used to flirting from the men who made their living—or lived out middle-aged fantasies—restoring old bikes, but unlike them, Sebastian Kostas did it well. Subtly. Less “Whoa, hot Mama!” and more “Let me get your coat”. She liked that. But though she and her sisters were all blondes, that was where their similarities ended. The eldest, Drew, was tall and reed-thin with a soft, feminine demeanor that belied her sharp eye for fashion and her control issues. Darcy, the baby of the family, was a short, curly-haired force of nature with hourglass curves and a tendency for trouble. Stuck in the middle, Delilah was a mixture of the two physically—tall and curved—and she supposed the same could be said of her personality-wise. A control freak with a dash of trouble.

“Thank you for the compliment,” she responded with a wry grin. “Though Drew’s fond of saying the only thing we have in common are our initials.”

Sebastian’s smile grew. “I noticed that. Your father has a sense of humor, I think. Still, Delilah is an enchanting name. The name that makes strong men weak. I have a feeling it suits you.”

Angel snorted and Delilah sent him a speaking look. “I’ll catch up with my old friends later, but since we’re both here, Mr. Kosta, I’d love to get a look inside your shop. I’ve been hearing a lot of buzz about some of your more unique designs, as well as the Kosta II of course.”

Dark eyes sparkled and he took her hand and placed it on his arm gallantly. “I was about to suggest that myself. I’ve been impatient to get you in the shop and tell you about my plans since I learned you were coming.”

She nodded and allowed him to guide her toward the steel door that led to his warehouse, ignoring the furious whispers of the gossiping old men behind them. “I’ve heard that about you.”