Screw the Playboy channel. Watching her work was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

The sound of car tires crunching on gravel had him turning from the firecracker on the other side of the room. A silver Mercedes pulled in, and a guy in a suit climbed out, followed by a petite brunette from the passenger side. She wore denim cutoffs and a black tank. She also had ink, red roses as well by the looks of it, similar to the one on the back of the redhead’s neck, but the brunette’s covered the top half of one arm.

“Here’s Alex now.” He looked down at Miss Attitude, who was suddenly right beside him, a smirk front and center.

He straightened, about to go introduce himself to the suit, but the guy stopped in his tracks, pulled the brunette into his arms, and after planting a wet one on her, climbed back in the Mercedes and drove off.

You have got to be kidding me.

The other woman strode in, taking in the pair of them standing there. “What’s going on?”

This was a male-dominated industry. Of course he’d come across female mechanics before. Still, he couldn’t help being a little surprised. He guessed they were both in their early to mid-twenties, young. And male or female, to get where they were, the age they were, would not have been easy. Would have taken a determination to succeed he understood all too well.

He stepped forward, offered her his hand. “I’ll take a wild guess. Alex?”

Instantly on guard, she left him hanging midair and stared him up and down. “Who wants to know?”

This was Alex all right. “Do you have any other partners? Or is it just you two?”

“There’s one more,” Alex said.

“And are they getting here any time soon?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Piper’s running errands. She won’t be back till later.”

“Piper?”

“Yeah.”

Jesus.

Chapter Two

Rusty West watched her best friend take the sexist pig’s outstretched hand and give it a firm shake. “Alex Franco.”

The guy’s light brown eyes slid from Alex back to her, and that’s where they stayed. Like they had since he’d walked in, that hot stare following her around the workshop, unnerving the hell out of her.

Yeah, she was used to guys looking at her, but it didn’t mean she hated it any less. And okay, at times she was guilty of using the sway she had to her advantage when the need arose. Still, that didn’t change the fact that she did not like it, not one goddamned bit. This jackass, unfortunately, was no different. He’d taken one look at her and bam his dumb stick had taken over his pea brain. As far as he was concerned, that was it, the way she looked was all that mattered, there was nothing underneath.

He was still staring down at her, hand now aimed her way. “Reid Parker.”

She kept hers at her side—until Alex nudged her with a pointy elbow to the ribs.

Goddammit.

She didn’t want to touch him. Somehow she knew it would be a huge mistake to let him wrap that big mitt around hers. But what could she do? He’d already called her out on her shitty customer service skills, and what if he wanted to hire them? Alex would skin her alive if she cost them a job just because the guy happened to be a major asshole.

Reaching out, she reluctantly took his hand. Rough, extremely rough skin scraped over hers, making her shiver. It was warm and huge, and sent tingles skating up her arm. She looked up into those unusual, light brown eyes ringed with gorgeous thick black lashes, and he stared right on back.

His nostrils flared, and one side of his mouth lifted a fraction. “This is the part where you tell me your name?”

Arrogant jackass. He hadn’t let her go, so she yanked her hand free. “Rusty West.”

“Rusty.”

He repeated her name carefully, in that low, rough voice, like he was tasting it on his tongue, and she felt it pull low in her belly. What the hell was wrong with her? “That’s me, now what do you want?”

Alex gave her a second jab in the ribs. “Rusty.”

“What?”

Reid chuckled, raspy and deep, and disturbingly she felt that as well, right between her thighs, like he’d pressed his mouth there and dragged his tongue over her rapidly dampening flesh. “Do you have another name, or is Rusty the one your mama gave you?”

She ignored the pulse throbbing deep inside and crossed her arms. “It’s the only name you need to know, Chuckles.”

He grinned. Fucking grinned, and hot turned into freaking gorgeous. Even his slightly crooked nose, which had obviously been broken at least once, didn’t detract from what he had going on. “I guess now I know why that Customline is parked in your workshop instead of mine.”

What?

“What did you just say?” Alex said before Rusty could, planting her hands on her hips, a frown turning down her lips.

He pointed to his forearm, above his expensive-looking watch, where beside a thick-edged star and incorporated into what appeared to be serpent’s scales inked onto his skin, were the letters R.I.P., bold and clear. “Seems you’ve been poaching my customers, ladies.”

Reid Parker!

Holy shit. She’d been too annoyed when he’d said his name for it to sink in. Reid Parker owned R.I.P. Classics, the largest car restoration shop in Miami. But this guy didn’t just own one shop, oh no, he owned several scattered across the country. R. I. P. were his initials, and paired with the huge ex-hearse he reportedly drove—and though she would never admit it out loud—was kind of clever and a lot cool.

But whatever, she refused to be impressed, mainly because the guy was a major douche bag.

She didn’t give a flying turd who he was, and there was no way in hell she’d let this asshole try to intimidate them.

“How do you figure that?” Rusty said, planting her hands on her hips as well.

His dark brows lifted. “That car came into my shop for a quote a few weeks ago, but somehow ended up here. Now I know it can’t be price. And seeing the way you do things here, it can’t be speed, either. So…” He gave her a slow and extremely thorough head to toe and shrugged. As if that said it all.

She took a step closer, so they were only a foot apart, and dammit, she was sure she could feel heat radiating off that big body. Screwing up her face, she returned the gesture, taking him in slowly. The guy was huge everywhere, as a matter of fact. Well over six feet, he towered over her.

She was supposed to be giving him a taste of his own sexist medicine, but she found herself drinking the big bastard in.

His dark brown hair was pulled back in a knot, low on his head. A few strands had broken free, and he’d tucked them behind his ear. Whiskers shadowed his jaw, the short beard clipped so it looked like he hadn’t shaved for a week or two. And his skin was dark. He either spent a lot of time in the sun, or maybe had some Hispanic blood in there somewhere. Her eyes dropped, then trailed back up. Worn jeans hugged his long legs to perfection, as did the plain black tee he wore, which showed off the ink covering most of his arms and neck.

She felt her nipples stiffen and quickly crossed her arms to cover the effect he was having on her body. Scowling up at him, she pushed her anger to the forefront. “That car is here because our skill, our workmanship…our finished product surpasses yours in every way. End of story. I’d say I’m sorry your male ego has taken a beating over the fact that three women can do what you so obviously can’t, but I’m not sorry in the least. We’ve worked hard for this, and we’ve earned it.” She shrugged like he had. “Deal with it.”

He tilted his head to the side, eyes still locked on her, a giant damned cat about to pounce. “This kind of work is time consuming. How do you plan to keep afloat while you’re sourcing new jobs?”