So she’d edged closer, anticipation replacing hesitation.
Then a customer had waltzed in to pick up his piece of shit Buick.
Declan had moved away immediately, granting her freedom before the human with a busted radiator asked any questions. She’d been too relieved to thank Declan properly, taking advantage of his foresight. Her intrusive client had been so interested in his phone he hadn’t bothered looking up as he walked in. Very fortunate since the people in her area weren’t fond of species and races they didn’t understand. Mr. Buick would have passed out or called the police if he’d noticed a werewolf inside the room.
Declan had warned her he’d be back, making sure he had her attention before he exited the building. She’d stood there like a moron, watching him go, frozen in place. Just like that he’d put a chink in her armor. No fuss, zero muss. Soon she’d be eating out of his hand.
Why did he have to keep picking apart her defenses?
Because he knows he can, idiot.
Rachel didn’t like werewolves, with one notable exception, and that was only due to the fact she’d been friends with Chloe Bryant for years. They’d been locked together at the hip since they were children, long before Chloe had found out about her werewolf heritage. After Chloe told Rachel the truth, sharing that soon she’d change into a werewolf, Rachel hadn’t been able to turn her back on the only person she considered family.
Especially with everything Chloe had been through.
The girl had lost her mother at a young age and had never known her father—a man who had passed down his werewolf genetics to his progeny. If it hadn’t been for Jackson Donovan—a local pack Alpha and Chloe’s mate—Chloe would have faced her first shift alone. From what Rachel had gathered the first transformation for a half-breed wasn’t pleasant. Jackson’s Alpha nature had paved the way and made things much easier for Chloe. Rachel had been curious about everything that had happened—wondering how a person went from one form to another—but hadn’t asked Chloe what it had been like. She’d merely inquired about her friend’s well-being, got an answer and dropped the subject. It wasn’t her place to judge. Jackson doted on Chloe and Rachel believed her friend truly was happy. That was the most important thing.
Soft footsteps drew her attention. Rotating her head, she spied a pair of worn boots heading in her direction. Her stomach knotted, dread lining her gut. Declan was quiet as a cat. If she didn’t pay attention he’d sneak right up on her.
Ignore him. Maybe he’ll go away.
Large booted feet stopped beside the car. “Found you.”
“I wasn’t hiding,” she snapped and focused on her work.
The filter had been turned too tight the last time the oil had been changed. She couldn’t get it free. Tilting to the side, she put all her strength into her arms. That would be the ultimate shame—her lack of ability in the garage with Declan around to observe the failing. To her embarrassment, the damn thing refused to budge.
Please, not now. Come loose, you piece of crap!
He kneeled and leaned over, his head appearing beside the elevated tire. “Need any help?”
“No.” She exhaled, gripping the filter.
She gave it another go, straining with all her might. Her shoulders protested, her wrists aching. This was why she hated her garage. Limited funds meant limited supplies. She didn’t have racks to lift automobiles, meaning she had to get on the ground and do things the old-fashioned way. That meant anyone could venture into the shop and bother her at will.
He managed to flip around and wedge his body beside hers. “Let me do it.”
“Go away!” She planted her elbow in his ribs, keeping her hands on the filter. His subsequent grunt was music to her ears. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“Stubborn female,” he retorted, reaching over her head.
They fought for control of the cylinder, fingers rubbing together. Depending on what she’d been doing in the garage her hands could look like they’d been soaked in battery acid or stained with tar. Today her cuticles were crusted with oil and dirt, the tips black with grime. It would take a solid ten minutes of scrubbing to get them clean. His nails, by comparison, were immaculate except for the areas she’d touched. Perfectly neat and tidy.
Wasn’t the woman was supposed to be the pretty one?
“Just Rachel.” He slid his other hand up, cuffing her wrist tightly with his fingers. “I’m trying to be polite, but you’re starting to piss me off. Let go and move your hands. I’m not asking again.”
“Don’t call me that.”
He turned his head, looking at her. “Why?”
Keeping her eyes forward, staring at their interwoven hands, she tried to decide how to respond. Anyone with a reliable set of ears could hear the way he rolled the words off his tongue. He might as well have been calling her Honey pie, Sugar Cakes or Baby Doll.
“You say it like an endearment.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“You get me about as hot as the Artic. That’s what’s wrong with it.” The enormous lie breezed from her mouth. The man was like a rash that constantly aggravated her. “I’m not your Boo-Boo and you sure as shit aren’t my Teddy Bear.”
“Hmm,” he hummed, drawing out the sound. “We’ll see.”
He tugged on her wrist and her fingers slid from the filter. In a blink he worked his fingers under hers and grasped the blasted thing. It loosened with the first turn of his wrist, coming free without a problem. She had to look at him as he handed it over, a smile tugging at the corners of his full lips. His irises were gold, the pupils dilated. She could smell the faint and appealing aroma of the aftershave he’d splashed over his bristle-free face.
“You’re welcome,” he whispered, studying her.
She couldn’t think when he stared at her like that—her mind stripped of rational thought. He’d just said something but the words didn’t compute. Why was it suddenly so hard to breathe? When did the room get so warm? What did he want? Did it really matter? There was only Declan with his squared jaw, smooth nose and piercing eyes. With a swift perusal she decided she liked him with a little stubble on his face.
“I like it when you look at me that way,” he said, breaking her out of her stupor. Still she maintained eye contact, lost in the intensity of his gaze. “I like it when you’re not afraid.”
There it was. A reminder of why she had to keep him at a distance.
They were nothing alike. They weren’t even the same species. He slept all day and stayed up all night. She went to bed early and got up at the break of dawn. His idea of a good time was running around on four legs in the woods with his pack. Her perfect evening consisted of a bubble bath and cup of hot chocolate.
“Afraid?” The utterance came out as a squeak and she wanted to slap herself. She cleared her throat, determined to sound confident. “I’m not afraid of you. I just don’t like you.”
“You’re a horrible liar,” he murmured, his winsome smile intact.
No argument there. She couldn’t lie to save her life. But she’d never admit it. Not to him.
“Whatever.” Severing eye contact, she glared at the filter and informed him, “I worked it loose. That’s the only reason you got it off. Feel free to leave now.”
Worming closer, his shoulder bumped hers. “Where’s my thank-you?”
Her eyes shot up, growing wide to see his face was only a couple of inches away. The speed at which he moved did frighten her. She’d been told werewolves were fast but did they move at the speed of light? Declan could be there one minute and gone the next. In all her life Rachel had never seen anything like it. Now he was right there, resting directly beside her. His body temperature ran hotter, a wave of warmth sailing toward her. Autumn was almost gone, winter taking its place.