Charmed By The Wolf. Kristal Hollis

check out what’s under your hood.”

      “Excuse me?”

      Already headed to the front of the car, Tristan walked with a loose-limbed swagger that resonated confidence, strength and sex.

      Blatant desire flooded her, head to toe, and she grew damp in places not already glistening in the morning humidity.

      Penelope didn’t usually have this reaction to strangers. Usually not to the men she dated, either—at least, not this overwhelmingly. And certainly not on the first meeting.

      Thankfully, Tristan was bent over the engine and didn’t see her jelly-kneed walk.

      “When is the last time you had the car serviced?”

      “A few months ago, maybe.” Penelope avoided driving in downtown Atlanta traffic as much as possible, riding the MARTA to work and taking the bus for errands.

      “A few as in three? Six?” He glanced sidelong at her. “A year?”

      “Definitely less than a year.” She nodded confidently.

      Tristan hmmphed. “The battery posts are corroded.”

      “Is that bad?”

      “Definitely not good, but it’s something I can take care of for you.” Tristan went to his truck and came back with a toolbox, a can of Coke and a bottle of water.

      After using a wrench to remove the battery cable connectors, he popped the tab on the cola. Instead of drinking it, he poured the contents over the corrosive buildup.

      “How’s that going to help?”

      “Trust me, it works.” While the soda worked its magic, Tristan checked the oil. “Looks clean, but it’s a little low. You should take the car in for service. Soon.” He fished a business card from the toolbox and handed it to her. “Ask for Rafe. He’s the owner. Tell him Tristan sent you and he’ll take care of you.”

      “Thanks.”

      Tristan set to work, scrubbing the connectors and posts with an old toothbrush. “Why the name Penelope? Was your mom into Greek literature or something?”

      “Yeah,” Penelope answered, stunned. “She loved The Odyssey by Homer. How did you know?”

      “My mom did the same to me. Ever heard of Tristan and Isolde? It’s not a Greek legend, but—” He flashed her a quick smile that sent her heart racing.

      “At least your name is easier to pronounce. Kids used to call me Penny-lope.” Antelope and cantaloupe were also among their taunts.

      “Ever go by Penny?” He poured water over the battery, rinsing away the gunk.

      “No. My mother never allowed anyone to call me that. She said I wasn’t a piece of currency shoved in a piggy bank.” Penelope dabbed the back of her hand along her moist brow.

      “I see her point.” Tristan wiped the battery down with a blue shop towel. “Penelope was a queen. Your mother wants no less for her daughter.”

      Penelope’s heart tweaked that a stranger had made a connection she had never seen herself. “Something simpler, less formal, would’ve been nice, though. Especially growing up. Penelope is quite a mouthful.”

      Tristan reconnected the cables. “That should do it.” He cleaned his hands and dropped the towel and wrench into the toolbox. “Crank her up and let’s see if she purrs.”

      Penelope slipped into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The engine roared to life. No expensive car repair in the immediate future. Relief and gratitude nearly brought tears to her eyes.

      Tristan closed the hood and strolled to her, toolbox in hand. “Do you know your way?”

      “I have GPS.”

      He squinted against the bright sun shining in his face. “Reception can be quirky. Why don’t you follow me? I’m headed to the resort anyway.”

      “Great!”

      He gave her a quick nod and turned toward his truck.

      “Tristan.”

      He swung around.

      “Thanks. For everything.”

      “My pleasure, sweet cheeks.”

      Sweet cheeks?

      Penelope wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or appalled.

      But he did just fix her car, so she’d let it slide this time.

      Tristan stowed his toolbox behind the second seat and climbed into the truck. He backed out of the driveway and waited for her to follow.

      They drove about thirty minutes before arriving in the picturesque town of Maico. He turned down Sorghum Avenue. Tooting his horn, he stuck his arm out the window, pointing at Wyatt’s Automotive Services.

      Yeah, yeah. She got the hint.

      Across the street was the town square—a quaint little park with huge canopy trees. Surrounding the square were a dozen or so mom-and-pop stores, including a market. The crowning jewel, though, was the large, Colonial-style courthouse.

      “I have to paint that,” she said. Getting her car serviced didn’t seem like such a chore if she could sit in the park with her sketchbook.

      Another ten minutes and they pulled into the entrance to the Walker’s Run Resort. Unlike the posh, contemporary-style resorts in the city, this one looked like a huge log cabin, with its giant wood pillars and rafters, and natural stone accents. Penelope loved it immediately.

      Tristan waved her toward the valet service, while he parked a little farther away, in a spot designated for resort security.

      When she stopped, her door opened and a handsome twentysomething’s face ducked inside. “Welcome to Walker’s Run.” He offered her hand to help Penelope out of the vehicle. “Are you checking in?”

      “Sort of. I have a meeting with Cassie Walker. I’m supposed to start working here.”

      “Penelope Buchanan?”

      “Yes.”

      “Thanks, Jimmy. I’ll take her in.” Tristan waved toward the doors. “After you,” he said to Penelope.

      “My car?”

      “Jimmy will take care of it.” Tristan’s hand rested against her lower back.

      Oh, boy.

      Hopefully the bones in her legs wouldn’t melt before she reached Cassie Walker’s office. Penelope would hate to meet her new boss while imitating a puddle at Tristan’s feet.

      He held open the heavy wooden doors for Penelope to enter. The lobby was just as charming as the outside, with polished wood floors, richly colored rugs and tapestries, and dark leather couches and chairs in the seating areas. And, her instant favorite, an indoor totem pole with the faces of three wolves carved into it, so lifelike they appeared to be jumping out of the wood, and topped with a fierce-looking bird—its wings spread as if to protect them.

      I love it. I love it. I love it.

      Tristan chuckled softly.

      “Oops. Did I say that out loud?”

      “No. Your face is very expressive. Makes it easy to read your thoughts.” He winked. “Every last one of them.”

      The waggle of his dark gold eyebrows did not bode well for her.

      They stopped in front of a windowed office, the blinds partially closed. Tristan rapped his knuckles against the wooden frame of the open door before stepping inside the office, Penelope in tow. “Hey, Cassie.”

      A petite woman with striking red curls pinned back with a silver clip looked up from her computer. “Tristan, hi. What are you doing