annoying his sister.
When the answer came to him, it was so obvious Sebastian wondered if the doctors had lied about his mental capacities being unaffected by the accident, because only an idiot would have failed to see what was staring them right in the face.
He grinned as he picked up the phone. If this didn’t get the sponsors panicking, nothing would.
By lunchtime, the new brakes were almost fitted. Nic pulled off her protective gloves and wiggled her fingers. Stupid things made her palms sweat, but pretty hands were a must have for Misses and Motors, which made them a must have for her too. She turned to her tool box, selected a sprocket, and tried not to think about Sebastian filling her office with his heat and scent and general masculine arrogance.
He seemed to know precisely which buttons to press to switch her from calm to crazy, and what was worse, she got the distinct impression he’d enjoyed doing it.
She was pretty sure he was up to something right now, given that he’d walked out with a hosepipe a while ago. It wasn’t that she cared what he was doing, particularly, as long as he stayed out of her way. But the noise was distracting. She could turn her iPod back on to cover it, but then she wouldn’t be able to hear if he decided to take one of her cars for a test drive.
A loud cheer made its way into the garage. Nic slammed her wrench down on the tool box and marched outside, curiosity getting the better of her, which was beyond annoying. What on earth was going on out here? There was plenty of paperwork that needed doing if he was bored.
‘Sebastian!’ she yelled, as the shade of the interior gave way to the warm June light of the street. ‘What the…’ The words died in her throat as she was greeted by the sight of Sebastian, dripping wet sponge in hand, leaning over the bonnet of her gorgeous E-type Jag that should be tucked safely away in the showroom. A group of boys in scout’s uniforms surrounded her Porsche with buckets and sponges and foam.
Strangers with cameras stood on the street, shouting and pointing. People had spilled out of the shops in order to get a better look.
What the hell did he think he was doing?
‘Hey, Nic.’ Sebastian tossed the sponge into the bucket by his feet. ‘Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet Nicola Sinclair, my business partner and chief mechanic. I think you’ll agree, there is nothing sexier than a woman who knows what to do with her hands.’
Nic knew exactly what she’d like to do with her hands at that moment —wring Sebastian’s bloody neck. ‘What is going on here?’ she asked, as calmly and politely as she could, fighting the urge to declare war on the scouts. If they scratched the paintwork…
‘I’m drumming up publicity for the garage,’ Sebastian informed her, wiping his hands on the front of his jeans and flashing a big grin. ‘Get over here.’
Nic stayed exactly where she was. ‘What for?’
‘I bet the camera loves you.’
‘No,’ she said rapidly. ‘It most certainly does not. And you are not getting a picture of me looking like this.’
‘Looking like what?’ he said, as he started to walk towards her. The cameras followed him, as if they were attached to his muscular torso by invisible wires.
‘Please, Sebastian, just…’ But it was too late. Nic started to back away. The last thing she wanted was a photo of her in her ugly overalls with her hair in a state appearing anywhere anyone might see it. She took another step back, another, until her foot caught on something.
She glanced down, then back at Sebastian, her heart pounding right up into her throat.
‘Nic,’ he said, green eyes fire bright and full of mischief. ‘Don’t make me come and get you.’
‘Don’t come any closer.’
‘Or what?’
‘Or this!’ With one rapid movement, Nic bent her knee and wrapped her fingers round the hosepipe that snaked past her feet. The water dribbling from the end instantly became a jet when she jammed her
Learning to Kill: Stories