Braving The Heat. Regan Black

he’d been engaged a few years back, the woman murdered before the wedding. It put Kenzie’s own issues into sharp perspective. Her career was at risk thanks to Murtagh, not her life.

      “You think your car is overwhelming for me?”

      “I think my car is a piece of crap and well beneath your level of expertise.” She found herself on the business end of that inscrutable expression. What was going on behind the hazel eyes shadowed by those burnished gold eyebrows?

      “I can spare the space and tools,” he said. “Thanks for helping out with the phone. I usually just check messages at the end of the day.”

      “I didn’t realize you had an answering machine,” she said, trying to contain the happy urge to bounce in her chair. Working on a car, even the pitiful rust-bucket, would be a fabulous distraction until she was back on shift. “That makes me feel better about leaving you this afternoon.”

      His brow wrinkled. “You’re leaving?”

      “Yes,” she replied. “I’m scheduled on the late shift again tonight at the club. Between now and then I need to find a place to stay.” She pointed to the boxes he’d stacked for her near the storeroom. “I can’t just leave all my stuff here in your way.”

      Stephen’s hands stilled, the sandwich wrapper balled up between his palms. “You have a place to stay.”

      Finding herself the focus of his full attention made her mouth go dry. She felt like the proverbial deer in headlights. It took two attempts to get the right words past her lips. “Last night was too kind. I’m not kicking you out of your house.”

      “It’s yours,” he stated. “For as long as you need it.” He stood up, as if that was the end of the conversation.

      “But last night you said—”

      He cut her off. “I said we’d sort it out today.” He tossed his trash and leaned back against the counter, apparently waiting for her to say something else he could shoot down.

      “That feels like way too much of an imposition.”

      “You’re wrong.” A muscle jumped in his tense jaw. “I know what firefighters make,” he stated. “And I know what lawyers can charge. If it makes you feel better, keep answering the phone and taking messages when you can.”

      “That’s hardly a fair trade for kicking you out of your home,” she protested.

      His fingers flexed around the edge of the countertop. The muscles in his forearm bunched and relaxed slowly. “If it’s all I’m asking for, why argue the point?”

      “Do logic and reason ring a bell?” Why was he insisting she stay here?

      “Does sabotage ring a bell for you?” he countered, his gaze heating up.

      This wasn’t the conversation she’d planned on having with him, but it was too late now and she was too aggravated to successfully turn the topic to the Camaro. “I don’t need protection.”

      He folded his arms over his chest. “Duly noted. Do you want to file a police report about the damage?”

      That gave her pause and she took her time to think it through. As both Grant and Stephen had previously pointed out, someone had most likely targeted her with the sugar in her gas tank. At the moment she could think of only one person angry enough with her to try such a stunt. “No.”

      “Because you know who did it?” Stephen pressed.

      “What good would it do to file a report? I have no idea when it happened.”

      “Based on the settling and filter damage, I would guess it happened within the last week,” Stephen said, his voice as hard as his gaze now. “A police report is an official record. It could establish a time line or a pattern of behavior.”

      “Stop. Please.” She held up a hand as she studied him. There was obviously a bigger issue on his mind than a disabled car. Filing a report would also mean suggesting Murtagh as a suspect, which could make her look like an idiot grasping at straws to undermine his credibility in the lawsuit. She had to trust her lawyer’s advice that the truth would come out and clear her of any wrongdoing or errors.

      “I hear what you’re saying,” she continued. “This was probably a prank gone wrong. Yes, the timing makes it unlikely, but it is possible this was a case of mistaken identity.” Logic and odds aside, she couldn’t risk giving voice to the outrageous theory that Murtagh had done it. “I’ve only had the car three weeks.”

      “It’s paid for?” Stephen asked.

      “Yes.”

      “Then I’ll put it back together for you.” He sighed and pulled such a grimace, she laughed, startling them both.

      “That isn’t necessary,” she said. “I can handle the repairs, and help with the phone when I’m here.”

      He shot her a skeptical glance. “And you’ll work at the club and jump through hoops for your lawyer, too?”

      That image made her grin. “He keeps telling me he’s the one jumping through hoops on my behalf.”

      Stephen rolled his eyes. “You’ve got a deal, if you agree to stay in the trailer.”

      She counted to ten. Slowly. “I don’t like the idea of pushing you out of your place.”

      He shrugged that off. “You’ll get over it.”

      It was such an unexpected reply she laughed again.

      He pushed away from the counter and reached into the fridge for another bottle of water. Pausing at the desk, he skimmed the messages she’d taken, various expressions flitting across his stern features. He turned over one message slip and wrote out a short list.

      “Can you get these parts ordered for me?”

      She glanced at his neat, block-style printing. “Sure.”

      “Thanks.” He looked her over head to toe and back up. “If you hit a snag, be sure to ask for help.”

      “I promise.”

      “I have coveralls you can borrow. What about better shoes?”

      “There are steel-toed boots in one of the boxes over there.” They were battered, but though she’d had few chances to use them in recent years, they still fit.

      “All right.” With one last look, he walked out. A moment later the music started pulsing again.

      Sensations continued to fizz through her system long after he left the office. Part of it was the anticipation of getting her hands dirty and seeing the result of fixing something. Another part was pure lust over the opportunity to work near a man who was bringing that classic Camaro back to life. Both man and machine had her system revving, she thought with a wistful sigh.

      She couldn’t recall the last time any man as sexy as Stephen had studied her so thoroughly. Her face felt hot and her fingers trembled as she ordered the parts he’d requested.

      With that task done, she rooted through her belongings and found her boots, then eyed the clock. Now that she didn’t need to find a place and move her stuff, she could potentially get started flushing the fuel lines before heading to the club.

      She was almost—no she was definitely relieved when a call came in for a tow truck and he agreed to go pick a vehicle up. Relieved. Yes. If she went out to the garage and tried to work beside him now, with all this fizz, there was no telling what kind of stupidity her hormones would talk her into.

      Neither of them needed that kind of complication.

      * * *

      What the hell was wrong with him? Stephen wondered a few hours later, as he worked alone in the shop. Every time he thought he had his head on straight, the memory of Kenzie’s laughter sent him spinning, the echo of the sound rattling