Spitfire in Love (Chasing Red 3)

He was like a black hole. His presence had sucked out all the energy, all the light in the room, so that when he left, the room felt too bright.

Too empty.

I wanted to lock myself in the bathroom. I wanted to think. Stress out and freak out about

what had just happened. Replay everything in my mind, obsess about every detail, every word he’d said, every look he gave me…

Every response I could have said better.

It felt like I just signed a contract with the devil.

I could always say no. I had a choice. I hadn’t signed anything. I hadn’t even agreed to anything.

Who am I kidding?

We both knew that I would. And that was what galled me. He knew that I wouldn’t say no. He had cornered me. Herded me like he was a damn border collie and I was a sheep.

Even though he was being logical like a damn lawyer, pointing out the facts and consequences of Dylan’s actions, every word out of his mouth felt like a threat. And it pissed me right the hell off.

What was disturbing was that I had no idea what his intention was. Why was he doing all this? Was he bored and thought it would be fun to play with me? Or did he just really want payback for his damaged motorcycle? But why did he want me to drive him and not Dylan?

What if I said no deal? Would he actually make good on his threat and file the claim?

Yes, I realized, gripping his key in my hand. Yes, he would.

He looked like someone who would go to great lengths to get what he wanted.

So what if he was get-naked-for-me-baby kind of gorgeous? So what?

He was clever and calculating. Manipulative and threatening. You never knew where he was leading you until he was good and ready to reveal it to you. Although, if I were being honest with myself, I would admit that he was…exciting. Different from anyone I have ever met before.

His sheer size was threat enough. Combined with his electric-blue eyes and sharp tongue, he was lethal.

But I could handle him.

If he was dangerous—and he was—I was danger.

The sound of feet stomping at the front door woke me up from my mental torture. My head jerked up.

“You!” I pointed to Dylan. “We need to talk.”

* * *

Saturdays at the garage were busy. There were already five cars lined up outside the door by the time Dylan and I headed to the shop.

I’d usually have already set up the coffee maker and bought donuts from across the street for our weekend customers, but thanks to a fuckboy showing up too early and scaring the living daylights out of me, I hadn’t had time to do anything.

Hours later, I still hadn’t caught up, but at least I had managed to get the coffee going.

“Here you go,” I told a customer, handing her a set of keys and the receipt for an oil change. “Have a great day, Mrs. Chung.”

“Oh, I would have brought my car in on Tuesday, so your dad could take a look at it. I do think Mike’s the best mechanic in the city,” she said conversationally, folding her receipt. She opened her purse and stashed it there. “The brakes were making weird noises while I was picking up my grandkids, and I was scared something would go wrong with the car. So I went to another garage. The one outside the city, near that soil company. It’s close to where my grandkids live.”

Mrs. Chung had been our loyal customer for years. Her white puff of hair reminded me of cotton candy. She always smelled like cigarettes and the mint candy she chewed on. She pulled out one and offered it to me.

“Thanks, Mrs. Chung.”

“They’re really good. I just don’t like it when they crack my dentures.”