Jessica Lemmon - Hard to Handle

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.

“Need something?”

Sadie started, realizing she was leaning against the endcap, head tilted, staring directly at Aiden. Straightening, she turned her attention to her notebook and pretended to write on it. “Just, uh, planning.”

“Is that so?” He dropped the box and sauntered in her direction.

“Yes.” Her voice was thin, her heartbeat rapidly increasing as Aiden approached with the agility of a lithe jungle cat.

His attention flickered to her lips. “What are you planning?”

She swallowed, unable to think of what to say while he was standing over her looking at her like…like…she didn’t even know. “Um…”

“Well, if you need anything else…” Aiden pulled a stray strand of her hair away from her lipstick and smoothed it behind her ear, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand as he did. “Be sure to let me know.”

His lips quirked and she studied the short, pale patch of hair beneath his lower lip, unable to remember why she wasn’t allowed to kiss this bronzed Adonis.

But when he pulled his hand away, the words from their final phone call echoed in her ears. When he told her his mother was dying, and he was moving with her to the facility in Oregon. His family hadn’t known he was divorced, so it wasn’t like he could have introduced Sadie to them. And it wasn’t like she could have gone with him.

She wondered if she would have. Maybe.

No matter. Sadie hadn’t fit into his life then. She didn’t fit now. Aiden, no matter how attractive, no matter what her body insisted she do to him, had chosen to end things with her last year. And just because he regretted it now didn’t mean Sadie had waited around for his epiphany.

She learned her lesson. Once from Trey. Once from Aiden. And twice was enough.

Aiden literally counted his steps to the counter, wondering the entire way if Sadie was still watching him. He told himself to keep his distance today, but then he caught her checking him out and couldn’t resist seeing how close he could get before she swatted at him like an irritated cat.

Closer than he thought.

And he could swear she’d stared at his mouth as he stared at hers. Under the pretense of moving a hair stuck to her glossed lips, he’d brushed his hand along her cheek, but he’d wanted to do more. So much more. Lean in and kiss her like he had last year, if for no other reason than to remind himself what it felt like to be wanted.

Aiden dug a box cutter out of the drawer next to the cash register, risking a look at the rear of the store. Sadie knelt on the floor, studying several sheets of paper lined up in a row. Those pants. Was she trying to give him a heart attack? The shiny black material barely qualified as material at all, hugging her curves like they’d been spray-painted on.

Blowing out a breath, Aiden sliced through the tape. A large bag filled with colorful key chains was on top, directions and several numbered pieces for the five-foot-tall display beneath. Tossing aside directions—they’d do more harm than good anyway—Aiden began assembling the display.

At first his mind was consumed by the task of getting all four sides to sit on the swiveling bottom portion. But once the skeleton was built, it was only a matter of snapping a hundred tiny pegs into the holes, and soon his thoughts wandered to the blonde at the back of the store.

Sadie was gorgeous in red. When he caught sight of her outside this morning, she stole his breath. Her smooth blonde ponytail and tall heels were the stuff of men’s fantasies. And yet, the sexiest thing she wore was the delicate red scarf tied around her neck. There was something about the skin hidden beneath the shock of sheer fabric that tempted him to undo the knot and slide it aside, rasping her neck with his mouth.

Hiding behind the display, he adjusted his too-tight jeans, pushing the thought out of his head. Turned on by a neckerchief. Quite a feat considering she should have a permit to wear those pants.

One thing was for sure, Aiden was going to have to rein in his roving hormones if they’d be working together for the next month. And, according to the proposal and contract he’d signed, it’d be at least that long. Sadie would be organizing shelving, reducing prices of other parts stocked in the warehouse, and buying any she didn’t sell out of her pocket. He wasn’t the least bit surprised she’d taken on the initiative, personally. Sadie was no stranger to taking charge.

Like that night at his house when she’d tugged the tie out of his hair and breathed into his ear. That was all it’d taken for him to dive into her mouth and lay her flat beneath him.

Ah, hell. He readjusted himself again, this time hiding behind the cash register before Sadie caught him fantasizing like an eighth-grade boy who couldn’t control his hormones.

Sadie stood on her tiptoes to measure a shelf overhead, the movement inching her shirt up and revealing a slice of pale, flat stomach. Maybe he could talk Axle into making her wear a uniform. Picturing her in a black Axle’s polo and jeans didn’t quell the lust bubbling in his stomach.