She Who Dares by Jane O'Reilly Read Free Book Online Page A

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    He swore as the cold stream hit him square on the chest, his arms flying up to cover his face, the roar of laughter from their audience booming in her ears. ‘Nic,’ he said, his voice low, as water continued to bounce off his chest and stomach. ‘Put that down.’
    ‘Or what?’ Nic challenged him, but she didn’t feel at all confident. All her bravado disappeared into a haze of dread as he lowered his arm and fixed his gaze on her. Her fingers trembled. The hose fell to the floor, flapping around her feet like a skinny yellow snake before finally settling down and sending a stream of water in the direction of the photographers.
    It occurred to Nic then that she’d aimed in the wrong direction, but it was too late to fix it now. Cameras pointed at her, then back at Sebastian, then back again. Her stomach turned over. They were taking pictures of her. Nic hated having her photograph taken, hated knowing that her every flaw was being captured. The camera didn’t lie.
    She knew she wasn’t that attractive. But at least most of the time she could get enough confidence together to survive the day. She was good at her job. It was something that didn’t require looks, only knowledge and skill, and she had both of those. Ella was the pretty one.
    Ella wouldn’t have panicked at the sight of a camera. She wouldn’t have done what Nic did next, either, which was to turn on her heel and run at full pelt back into the garage. But then Ella was perfect.
    And Nic was not.
    She let out a silent scream as she headed back to the rear of the garage and the car she’d been working on. Her mind was a jumble of mixed emotions, but one shouted louder than all the rest.
    Anxiety. Shocking, sickening anxiety. A thundering in her chest that made it hard to breathe, and the little voice whispering look what you did, you stupid, ugly cow. Footsteps sounded on the garage floor, loud and squelchy. Her heart thundering, Nic grabbed a random spanner from her workbench and hopped down into the pit. ‘I’m busy,’ she yelled. ‘Go away.’
    The footsteps came to a halt at the edge of the pit. Soggy red Converse. Wet denim turned dark, clinging to long, well-muscled legs. Nic fixed her gaze on the underside of Mrs Bawden’s Fiesta and located a likely looking bolt at the side of the exhaust pipe. She set the spanner to it.
    ‘Not bloody likely,’ came the response. His voice was husky, and riddled with warning. It made her shake. ‘Get up here.’
    ‘I’m working.’
    Sebastian sighed. ‘Have it your way,’ he said. And then he went quiet. Alarmingly, suspiciously quiet.
    From her position under the car, Nic couldn’t see anything higher than mid-thigh, and seeing how the wet denim clung to heavy, well-developed quadriceps made her mouth go dry. Then something slapped down against the concrete by his feet. Something white and dripping wet, rolled up in to a lopsided ball.
    Nic stared at it for a moment, utterly confused. And then her mess of a brain figured out what it was. Just as Sebastian dropped into the pit.
    Naked from the waist up.
    His skin was lusciously tanned. Tiny droplets of water clung to it, dotting the curve of his pectorals, the bumps of muscle in his stomach. A few cheeky drops were sneaking down to the waistband of jeans which hung low and heavy on his hips. The tan stopped an inch or so above the denim, but the narrow line of damp, dark hair that started at his bellybutton did no such thing.
    It went all the way down. And if she thought the wet denim defined his thighs, it was nothing compared to what it did to his crotch.
    ‘Speechless looks good on you,’ he said. ‘I like it. You should attack me with a hosepipe more often.’
    ‘I did not attack you!’ Nic ripped her gaze away from his naked body and fixed it firmly back on the engine. ‘Anyway,’ she added with a sniff, ‘you deserved it.’
    ‘I deserved to be drenched with ice cold