She took in her surroundings while she waited to be let in. Axle’s sat on a highly manicured portion of downtown Osborn, cheery rows of potted flowers sitting on the brick-lined sidewalks, black light poles with waving city flags interspersed in between.
She liked this town. She liked her job, oddly enough. It had surprised everyone when she’d snuggled in at a motorcycle parts supplier after attaining her marketing degree. Probably because her father had lost his life on a bike, and Sadie refused to ride. But Sadie was good at sales and, aside from Perry being a thorn in her side, really did enjoy her coworkers. Being around people who loved motorcycles made her feel closer to her dad. She didn’t remember much about him, but his love for the open road was no secret. If only he’d have loved helmets as much.
She heard the lock disengage on the door and turned to find Aiden peering at her. He gave her a crooked smile, encouraging his dimple to appear. His shorn hair caught her by surprise again, so much shorter than she was used to seeing, though the front still fell in disarray over his forehead.
So he’s cute. So what?
Aiden pushed the door open and leaned with one arm drawn across the handle, forcing Sadie to brush by him when she entered. “Miss Howard.”
“Mr. Downey,” she clipped. She strode into the store in a pair of patent leather pumps perfectly suited to the red scarf around her neck and matching short-sleeved blouse. The four-inch heels, she hoped, were doing wonders for her backside, which she’d squeezed into a pair of tight vinyl pants.
Out of her peripheral vision, she watched Aiden’s eyes graze her outfit. It was immature, but she couldn’t help but feel smug.
Yes, sir, get a look at what you’ve been missing.
“Get lost on the way to a sock hop?”
Or not.
Sadie spun and pierced Aiden with a glare, her high ponytail nearly slapping her in the face with the movement. “I have work to do.”
Aiden shrugged. “Whatever you say, Sandra Dee.”
Ignoring the temptation to stick her tongue out at him, Sadie gathered her bag and walked to the other side of the store, where she’d be stocking Midwest’s complete line of motorcycle parts.
Sadie pulled out a pen and her notebook and sketched a rudimentary map of the store’s layout. The space was long and narrow, one entire end lined with windows facing the parking lot. In the window sat a remarkable vintage bike she knew belonged to Axle. When Axle had told her the bike was his creation, she’d marveled that he’d built it with his own huge mitts. The man was far more dexterous than she would have guessed.
Unfortunately, the bike wasn’t meeting its potential as top model. A shelf sat next to it, stocked with an uninspiring array of bumper stickers, T-shirts, and coffee mugs in random, busy colors while a mannequin in a “Biking is my Life” shirt stood guard. He’d lost an arm—which didn’t bode well for bike sales—and a creative profanity had been scrawled on his remaining limb.
She added the display to her list, jotting down to bring in some Midwest Motorcycle Supplies signage and retire the mannequin. This particular Axle’s shop was unique from its sister shops dotted around Ohio. Many customers who came here not only loved motorcycles but took pride in doing their own repairs and upgrades.
Rows of MMS parts lined in the window around Axle’s custom-built cherry Harley would have the locals drooling like one of Pavlov’s canines before they ever entered the store.
She trekked over to the parts aisles, wincing as she took in the staggered, mismatched rows. Some parts were unboxed, others marked with Post-its (really?) instead of price tags, while several others weren’t marked at all.
Since she’d promised to sell the old inventory or buy it back out of her pocket—not her brightest move—she’d have to get these parts sellable and gradually replace them with the Midwest brand. If she was stuck with them, she may be able to put them up for sale on eBay, but it wasn’t like she wanted to lug all of this stuff home with her.
Scratching another note onto her pad, she sneaked a peek at Aiden at the front door. He signed for a box, making a joke to the delivery guy she couldn’t hear, his smile wide and bright, his posture relaxed.
That’s what had towed her in all those months ago—forget his rare-colored eyes, sexy body, and easy smile. She’d been taken with the whole package. The whole Aiden. She hadn’t been able to resist.
Allowing the door to swing shut, he knelt and lifted the box. Sadie couldn’t keep from appreciating the way the muscles in his arms shifted and straightened as he adjusted to the weight. And, evil vixen her brain was, a memory presented itself. One of being held in his arms while he caressed her lips with his, while he kneaded her thighs just below her miniskirt with one slightly roughened hand.