War of Hearts (Storm MC Reloaded 2)

My gaze drops to his lips.

Just one taste is all I need.

And then I’ll leave him alone and do as King told me to do.

“Zara?”

His voice is so sexy. Rough. All man. Not like the boys I’ve dated.

I just want one taste and one touch.

Oh God, those muscles.

This is the worst idea you’ve ever had.

You won’t be able to stop at just one of anything.

Especially not when he’s here every day.

“I’ve moved on from Tommy,” I blurt.

Fury’s eyes narrow at me. “With someone else?”

No.

With you.

I can’t tell him that, though. I’ll sound like a dumb teenager with a crush.

I’m saved when he receives a text and directs his full attention to it. He frowns and types out a reply before glancing back up at me.

In an effort to end this conversation and encourage him back out of the house so there’s some space between him and my desperate desire to lock lips with him, I shove the glass of water his way. “How are you going with my car?”

He takes the glass. “Still looking.” He then proceeds to talk to me in mechanic speak, most of which goes straight over my head. Words like exhaust manifold and exhaust gases and oxygen sensors and fuel injectors are thrown out along with lots more that mean nothing to me. I listen intently, figuring that when he gets to the end, he’ll tell me something important that I may understand. However, he finishes with, “This may take some time.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Is the garage empty? I’m going to need some light to work with soon.”

“Yes. Holly’s out for the night.”

“Good.”

Without another word, he goes back outside and I ease out the breath I’ve been holding. I really need to get a handle on this.

Five hours pass in which Fury goes out to get some parts for the car and then comes back and fixes it. I spend those hours taking a long bath, contemplating life, and baking six cakes to try to take my mind off all the things I’m overwhelmed by.

When Fury comes inside just after 10:00 p.m., he’s covered in oil and grime. It’s on his clothes, in his hair, and smeared all over his skin, including his face. The fact I still find him hot as hell when he’s a sweaty, dirty mess is more proof I’m fucked up in my thinking where he’s concerned.

He places my car keys on the kitchen counter and says, “She’s fixed.”

My eyes widen. “Oh my God! Really?” I thought for sure my car had no hope.

“Yeah.” He then rattles off all the things he fixed before finishing with, “From now on, I want that car serviced every six months or every ten thousand k’s, whichever comes first. And if you can’t afford it and don’t wanna ask King, get your ass to me and I’ll do it.”

My eyes stay wide. For more reasons than one. “And now you sound like King, all bossy and shit.”

“Yeah, because you need to hear what we say. I’m being deadly serious; you’re a female, you can’t afford to break down in the middle of fucking nowhere at night. Don’t let your car get that bad again.”