Fighting for Flight by Jb Salsbury Read Free Book Online

arms out to
his sides. “Nik broke that chick’s nose.”
    Owen’s laughter answers Blake’s question.
    I cross my arms at my chest. “I don’t want a house
full of your knob polishers.”
    “Hey, a player needs lovin’ too.”
    “No more than two, Blake. I’m serious,” I warn.
    “Yeah, I got it.” He dismisses me with a wave of his
hand.
    He doesn’t get it.
    I tilt my head, feeling the side of my lip curl into
a smile. “Say it, Blake. Say, ‘I promise, Jonah, I won’t bring more
than two chicks to your barbeque’.”
    Blake’s eyes narrow. “Are you fucking serious? I
said I got it.”
    “Say it.”
    “Shit. Fine. I won’t bring more than two chicks to
your barbeque.” Blake’s jaw is so tight I’m surprised he doesn’t
bust a tooth. This guy is so easy to mess with.
    “You forgot, ‘I promise, Jonah’.”
    Umpf!
    My breath is knocked from my lungs as Blake tries to
take me down to the mat . . . unsuccessfully.
     

Four
    Raven
    It’s day three working on the Impala: seventeen hours
and thirty-eight minutes to be exact. I keep track of the hours
spent at Jonah’s for my time card, not because I mark every minute
with him, committing it to memory so that when my work here is done
I have something to remind me of our time together.
    I’ve got the engine out and apart. Going through it
piece by piece, I set aside the things that can be salvaged while
Jonah disassembles the inside. Perched at a workbench, I sort
through the motor brackets.
    Out of the few restorations I’ve done over the
years, this one is by far the best: high-end tools at my disposal,
clean working environment, great company . . . and the view. Like
the one I have right now.
    Jonah is lying on his back across the front seat of
the car, his head underneath the dashboard. His t-shirt slid up,
exposing a few inches of his firm stomach. A strip of dark hair
trails from his belly button and disappears beneath his saggy
jeans. His strong legs are open in a V to brace his weight against
the floor.
    “Ouch, gosh dang it!” I grab my bloody finger, more
worried about bleeding on Jonah’s stuff than the extent of my
injury.
    “You okay?” Jonah rises from his sexy pose and
stands across the workbench from me, worry etched on his perfect
face.
    “Yeah, it’s fine. Stupid rusty bracket.” I move to
stick my finger in my mouth when he grabs my hand.
    “No, don’t do that. Germs.”
    Heat rises up my neck and into my face. “Oh, you’re
right.” I rub my forehead, hoping that I can cover my embarrassment
with my free hand. “Mouths are dirty.”
    He lifts his gaze from my wound, but I avoid his
eyes. “Not germs from your mouth. Germs from your hand. Who knows
what kind of shit is living on that thing.” He motions to the
offending bracket. I peek up at him and watch a smile tug at his
lips. “From what I can tell, you have a very clean mouth.” He
flashes one dimple, before his gaze drops to my lips.
    I roll them together, wetting them with my tongue.
My chest rises and falls in erratic bursts and heat floods my
body.
    “I’ve got something for that.” The deep timbre of
his voice draws me closer until I’m leaning toward him over the
workbench.
    I swear the man could bed any woman with one look.
He releases my hand to walk to the nearby cabinets. I slump
forward, bolstering myself against the tabletop to keep
upright.
    I’m no idiot when it comes to lust. I’ve seen it in
men before. But I’ve never felt it: The burning need pushing
against my chest; the building tension that coils in my belly; my
blood racing in my veins, flooding my head with visions of his
hands on my body. Desire fires my skin, flushing my cheeks. I look
around for something to use to fan myself.
    “Here ya go.” His voice is right at my side, and I
push back the urge to rub up against him as Dog does when I’m
holding his food.
    He lifts my hand sending delicious tingles down my
arm. With a quick squeeze of ointment, he wraps my finger