Jesse is trying to get back home. The car he took from his dangerous ex-boyfriend, however, is not going to make it. When he becomes stranded with very little money, he has no choice but to look for the nearest garage and hope for the best. What he finds is a hunky mechanic with a past, one that just might be useful in freeing Jesse once and for all from his exploitive ex-lover.
Patrick has his own garage and lives the quiet life. He offers to help a young man in peril when his fancy car stalls outside of town. He suspects that he probably won’t ever get paid for his work, but something compels him to help Jesse anyway. What Patrick soon discovers is that he may have more in common with Jesse than he originally believed. And both men have no idea where some grease and a wrench will take them...
Heat Level: 3
Length: Novella (21k words)
Read a short excerpt...
...When he opened his eyes again, Jesse wasn’t quite sure where he was at first. Across the room, standing at the kitchen counter, was a vision—a shirtless hunk with long hair, and a red bandana tied around his head. Jesse wondered if he might be dreaming as he allowed his gaze to travel over the incredible masterpiece of flesh and muscle. Swollen biceps, the delicious curve of pecs and a fascinating wave of abdominals all moved together in a smooth fluidity of mouth-watering Patrick.
Patrick took a break from fiddling with the coffee maker and looked up. He grinned. “Good morning, sleepy head.”
Jesse struggled up on his elbows. “What time is it?”
“Oh, ah yes,” Jesse groaned.
Patrick came around the counter, a mug of coffee in his hand. Jesse was momentarily disappointed that the rest of the man was covered up. Patrick wore a pair of green work pants, the kind mechanics usually wear, but Jesse couldn’t recall any mechanic looking that good. They were worn low on his slim hips and fit him perfectly. They profiled what appeared to be a very generous endowment between his thighs, a place that held Jesse’s attention for a little too long.
Jesse’s gaze moved up from that magical place between Patrick’s well-muscled thighs and settled on the coffee mug. “What’s your last name?”
Patrick handed him the steaming mug. “McMahan.”
Jesse took it between his hands and inhaled the wonderful aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. “It’s a nice name.” Jesse took a sip of the coffee.
“Thanks. Now, you tell me yours.” He folded his arms across his chest.
Jesse took another sip of the coffee. “Really good.”
“Jesse Reallygood? That’s an odd name. Are you sure about that?”
Jesse laughed. “It’s Osmond, Jessie Osmond.”
“That’s better. So, I’ve got a few minutes, care to tell me whose car I’m about to look at?”
Jesse sighed. “It belongs to my…well…my ex.”
“And does he happen to know you have this car?”
“I’m sure he does.”
“Why do I get the feeling he wouldn’t be okay with that?”
Jesse drank some more of his coffee. “You have good instincts.”
Patrick took the empty mug. “So, they say. If you want something to eat, help yourself. I’ve got a lot of work today so I’m opening early.”
Jesse was going to reply but Patrick turned around to go back to the kitchen, and Jesse’s words stuck in his throat. Patrick’s back was covered with a colorful tattoo. It was one easily recognized, a red-faced demon breathing fire, surrounded by switchblades and handguns.
“Irish Rule,” Jesse gasped.
Patrick turned to look at him.
Jesse now realized he’d spoken aloud. He jumped off the sofa. Was this a trap? Had Jonathan hired this guy to kill him? Jonathan had used bikers before to strong-arm people.
“What’s wrong with you?” Patrick asked. He reached over to the chair and picked up a T-shirt. “Scared of a tattoo?”
“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?...”