Under the Hood

Excerpt

Prologue

"Come on, Eric. Just try it." Andi grasped Eric's shoulders, tried to flip him beneath her, and ended up knocking her head against the shelf above the bed. "Ow, fuck!"

"I told you this bed isn't meant for riding. You should've bought the other model." Eric braced one hand against the paneling that separated the bathroom from her "bedroom" in the twenty-four foot motor home with barely enough room to sleep, never mind bang.

He continued thrusting into her, while his face contorted in pain and pleasure, and, just when Andi felt the stirrings of a rare orgasm, Eric stilled with a shout of "Ah, yeah!" and ended the race before it even started.

She couldn't believe she allowed her sex life to remain in the hands of a man who cherished his own satisfaction above hers. Of all the useless things to do, pretending she was fine with it topped the list. She gripped his shoulders and focused on the lines in the ceiling of her seasonal home, frustrated, even knowing she could ease her tension with her fingers in a matter of minutes. Eric couldn't bring her to orgasm at all.

With a low growl in the crook of her shoulder, Eric jerked above her. She didn't give him a chance to enjoy it—why should she?—and pushed him away. He frowned with obvious confusion. Beads of sweat slid down his forehead as if he'd just stepped off a treadmill.

"What's your problem?" He crawled off the bed, which spanned wall-to-wall, and stood in the narrow nook separating the bedroom from the bathroom and kitchen. He peeled the condom off his prick and mumbled something about women.

"I'm sorry," he said, but didn't bother to look at her. "It'll happen next time."

"Don't worry about it." She snatched up her robe and shoved past him in the tiny hallway. He cursed behind her. It was high time Andi felt even the smallest amount of satisfaction in their sex life, and now that she thought about it, she wasn't happy at all. If he couldn't at least try to please her, then why did she waste her time? He should be pleased, if not eager, to excite her. Isn't that how relationships should be—pleasurable for both participants?

"It's your job, you know."

Andi raised a brow, watching him slip a white T-shirt over his head. Too bad his gorgeous, muscular body couldn't make up for his lack in performance.

"All you care about is your damned job. A woman plastered in oil and crud from engines and parts is not a turn-on for a man, and your idea of a fantasy is bullshit. Tools for pleasure? As if! The only tool you need is right between my fucking legs!"

Andi glared. Of all the rotten things to say, trashing her fantasy really burned. "My job has nothing to do with our problem. At least I have a fucking job! And you—you could at least try to please your girlfriend with your so-called tool, but I guess that's too much to ask." She gasped, not intending to speak out of line, but it was too late, and it was the truth. His brooding, hazel eyes locked on hers as if she'd slapped him. He ran a shaky hand through his disheveled blond hair, obviously wanting to say something, but instead he pursed his lips. He slipped on his jeans and shoes without a word and stormed out of the trailer.

She jumped when the screen door slammed behind him.

Chapter One

Cars were Andi Thomas' life. When other girls her age played with dolls and chased after boys, she tinkered around in the backyard with her father. She truly loved spending quality time with him, and above all, feeling productive. Dad always said she'd prove them all wrong. She had to hold back a sob just thinking of the old man. He'd encouraged and had the utmost faith in her. Andi did not let him down, either. By the time she hit high school, she knew how to strip an engine and rebuild it.

Before Bob Thomas died, he had called her his angel in coveralls. She couldn't describe the wonder and love she felt emanating from his aging blue eyes on that sad day when she held his hand for the last time. When he'd passed on, she had nobody. Her mother had died giving birth, and Andi didn't have siblings. After the funeral, when she sat down with his estate lawyer, Andi learned he'd left her his garage. When she wasn't living in Shady Park during the summer months, she ran the thriving mechanic shop in Kenton, about seventy-five miles away. In her absence, Wesley, Father’s lead mechanic, ran the shop with an iron fist, and she trusted him to take care of business. Being in Shady Park gave her peace only the country could give, as well as extra business from the campers.

A comforting image of her father grinning when she'd accomplished her first oil change made her smile, but she had work to do. The situation with Eric was far less important.

She fixed a cup of instant black coffee, donned her orange coveralls, and headed outside just as her dad's old lover pulled into the driveway.

Elsie Ashton's 1973 Lincoln Continental looked fresh off the lot, although it was thirty-seven years old. Andi gazed appreciatively at the light green paint, which still sparkled in the afternoon sun. She circled the car, incredulous that the old lady drove such a powerful car when she could barely see above the steering wheel.

"Hi, my girl. How are you today? Isn't this weather lovely?" Elsie exited the car and slammed the door, giving no indication the door weighed more than she did. Dressed in a hot pink blouse, yellow floral Capri pants, and a lime green sun visor over her white curls, Elsie looked ready for a senior's casino tour to Niagara Falls. Andi grinned. Elsie was more than a colorful, cheerful woman. She was color and cheer.

"I'm good, Mom. How about you?"

Elsie came around the front of the car and planted her fists on her hips. She did not look convinced. "Did you finally get rid of that little shit you call a boyfriend? I saw him stomping down the road toward the pub yesterday. I wouldn't be surprised if somebody found him lying hung-over in a ditch somewhere."

Andi laughed and gave Elsie a warm hug. "Well, we had a good argument."

"About what, my dear?"

"The usual."

Elsie pulled back, fixing Andi with wise, light blue eyes. "I told you to get one of those vibrating sticks they sell at those sex shops. Anyway, I'm off to Madeline's for poker and scotch."

Andi pursed her lips as Elsie casually strolled off her camper lot. Barely pushing five feet tall, Elsie was a tough lady and the closest thing Andi had to family. She loved her dearly, especially her frank manner of speech.

She sighed, gazing down at the car as an image of a "vibrating stick" wormed itself into her train of thought.

Unfortunately, the well-kept looks of Elsie's car didn't make up for the condition of the brake lines. Andi guessed Elsie hadn't brought it in to a garage in many years. She couldn't believe the woman still had working brakes, never mind being able to make a sudden stop with the shape they were in. She blocked the tires, exchanged hoses, and bled them. She was just about to slide out from underneath the body when the crunch of shoes on gravel made her pause.

"Was the scotch not strong enough?" she asked, cocking a smile.

"Pardon me?"

Andi slid out from beneath the car and came face to face with a very sexy, very amused stranger. He squatted next to her, his gaze roaming over her body. The hairs on her nape prickled beneath his continued stare.

"Can I help you?"

He looked back at her face and his dark brown eyes honed in on hers. They reminded her of rich, dark chocolate. She could stare into those eyes for hours; and those lips, God, he had a set of kissable lips. She imagined them trailing down to kiss the heated flesh of her . . . .

Female mechanics aren't a turn-on for men. Eric's parting words killed her heated thoughts.

"Why the frown? You should be smiling when you have a car like this in your yard," he said, extending his hand for a shake. Andi lay there, speechless, looking up at him while he squatted beside her. She shook his hand.

"Is there anything in particular you're looking for?" Andi stared at him, trying to figure out if she'd seen him in the park before, but his face didn't ring a bell. She would definitely know if a man this good-looking lived in Shady Park. "I haven't seen you around here before."

He laughed. "You break my heart, and to think I've tried so hard to turn your eyes on me. I guess you don't pay much attention to your neighbors."

A sure blush stung her cheeks. "What?"

"You should do that more often."

His gaze seemed to soften as he looked at her. She had a hard time not staring into his eyes, hungering for them like a starving woman with a sweet tooth. If she was honest, she'd admit she was a starving woman, hungering for an orgasm, but she couldn't tell that to a stranger. She pushed up to a sitting position, accepted his hand for help, and stood. "Do what more often?"

"Blush. It makes you look delicious."