“Is it a Montand car?”
He nodded.
“Did you have anything to do with designing it?” she asked, glancing around with admiration at the swift, badass little car.
“Yes.” He leaned forward slightly, hands gripping the wheel, looking at her as if he’d never seen a female in his life. The overhead lights had come on when he opened his door, allowing her to see his lips curve slowly into a smile. It wasn’t the grim one she’d seen on him in the past. This grin unsettled her even more than his former mirthless one had.
“Do you know much about cars?” he asked.
“Nothing, really,” she managed to get out despite that deadly smile of his. “But you really don’t have to know much to appreciate it, do you? You can feel it.”
His smile faded. “What do you feel?”
She swallowed thickly, suddenly very aware of his stare on her face.
“It’s like it’s alive. It’s like . . . riding a creature or something.”
“It’s true,” he said soberly after a taut moment. “A car like this can be dangerous. The power of it can go straight to your head. If you don’t watch it, you can find yourself doing something stupid.”
Something flickered in her belly like a dozen moths trying to escape a rising flame.
“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
His sensual lips twisted slightly. “I’ve had some experience with fast cars.”
Disappointment went through her when he pushed back his door. She blinked guiltily, hastening to follow him out of the car. What was wrong with her? She was here because her battery was dead, not to flirt in a sexy car with an even sexier, unattainable man.
Although her original intention had been to help him somehow, Emma knew better by that time than to get in the way of his easy mastery. The only thing she was required to do was turn the key in the ignition. It took him about three seconds flat to get her car purring with life again. She got out of the driver’s side door.
“You could be one of those guys in the . . . what are they called? The pits? At car races?” she said with a grin as he disconnected the cables and slammed shut her hood.
She saw his mouth quirk in the headlights of her now-running car. “I have my share of experience in the pits, too.”
“Really?”
His shrug looked a little weary. “I told you I was a gearhead.”
She smiled. “Well I’m thankful for it. This is all my fault, really. The car’s been due to be serviced forever, I just never have the—”
“Do you work tomorrow?” he interrupted.
“Yes,” she said, watching as he recoiled the cables by clutching one end and looping them around his bent elbow. Every movement he made struck her as knowing. Masterful.
“What time?” he asked, dropping his arm, his hand gripping the r
ecoiled cable.
“Three to eleven. That’s my shift.”
“If you leave your car unlocked and the keys in the ignition, I’ll service it for you while you work.”
She stared at him for a few seconds. Aloof billionaire Michael Montand was going to service her car instead of one of a dozen interchangeable mechanics down at the FastOil where she usually went? It seemed highly improbable, like the idea of the president volunteering to clean her bathroom.
“That’s not necessary. Thank you for the offer, but you’ve already done enough. I’m sure you’re busy with other things.”
“I wouldn’t want you not to show up for work because your car didn’t start. Leave the keys.”
Lightning lit up the night sky and thunder answered. A storm was about to break. She could feel it churning in the sky just behind her, just like her mind spun desperately to think of a way out of accepting his hospitality. She wasn’t sure why, but the prospect intimidated her out of proportion to his offer. It thrilled her, too, which made her all that much more wary.