Chapter Eleven #2
"You shouldn't have come," I call out my window. "The tow truck is coming, and Isla has Adeline covered."
"You're a sitting duck on I-5 in this weather." He doesn't even look up as he pulls off the old tire and then replaces it with my spare. "Now stay inside where it's dry. I'll have this done soon. I'll pick you up a new tire tonight. I don't want you driving more than you have to on this spare."
Something about watching him work—those capable hands, the focused set of his jaw—does things to my insides.
He moves with military precision, each action deliberate and controlled.
Within minutes, he's lowering the car back down and putting everything back in the truck, closing the back gate of my car for me.
When he appears at my window, rain dripping from his nose, I can't help myself. I've never been more turned on in my life.
"What's the name of that interim CEO?" He asks, his voice rough.
"Why?"
"Because I'd like to have a word with him about leaving you stranded on the highway."
The protective growl in his voice sends heat straight to my core. "As much as I'd love to see that, he's not worth your time."
"You're worth every second," he says, voice low and lethal, like the ex-soldier that he is. "You might not be mine, but that doesn’t change a damn thing. As long as you're in my care, you're under my protection—fully. That means your safety is on me."
He steps closer, gaze sharp. "And I don’t hesitate. I don’t blink. If anyone so much as thinks about hurting you…" A muscle ticks in his jaw. "I’ll handle it. No limits. No mercy."
"Don't hurt him," I say, almost afraid for what Martin just unknowingly stepped into. The idiot is lucky that Adeline wasn't with me. I can't imagine how Trey would have reacted if this is how he is when I blow a tire with just myself in the car.
"He's fucking lucky you're okay."
The words land low, more lethal than the thunderstorm raging around us—rough enough to steal the air from my lungs. He’s dripping rain, chest heaving like he’s holding back something bigger than the weather, and the way his eyes lock on mine makes it impossible to think of anything but him.
Lightning flashes and I catch the hard lines of him—soaked T-shirt plastered to muscle, jaw clenched, every inch of him coiled and dangerous. The storm might be raging outside, but the one in me is worse.
I should tell him to finish the tire. I should thank him and shut the door. But my pulse is in my throat, pounding like it’s daring me to do the reckless thing.
And then I do. The dam inside me bursts, spilling out in one reckless move.
My fingers curl into his soaked shirt, fisting the wet cotton as I yank him down until his mouth crashes against mine.
He tastes like rain and raw need, lips cold but burning fast, and when he groans into the kiss, the sensation shoots down my body, heat pooling low in my belly—reminding me exactly where I need him.
Denying this was never an option. He’s everything I keep trying to convince myself I can’t want.
"Careful," he murmurs against my mouth. "My hands are covered in grease."
"I don't care." I tangle my fingers in his wet hair, drawing him closer. The rain soaks through my blouse, but I barely notice. "You came for me. No one's ever done that."
His greasy hands find my hips, leaving black smudges on my jeans as he deepens the kiss. He slides them down to my ass, gripping hard enough to make me gasp, pulling me against the door panel. A passing truck honks, the blast of air rocking my car.
"You're lucky we're in public," he growls against my lips. "Or this wouldn't stop here."
"I'm not so sure I would count that as luck," I say, pulling back to search his eyes.
We stay frozen like that for a moment, his hands possessive on my body, my fingers tangled in his wet hair. The air between us is buzzing with electricity that has nothing to do with the lightning.
He lets out a guttural groan that makes my thighs clench.
"I'm leaving before we end up in the back seat of this Range Rover.
" He pulls back slightly, though his hands don't leave my body.
"Don't pull out until I do. Traffic's moving fast—at least I'll take the hit if someone comes up on us too fast and rear-ends me. "
"Trey—"
"Not until I move into the lane first, Vivi." He demands, no argument.
I nod, watching as he picks up the ruined tire. "Send me your office address and the asshole's name."
"You won't be able to get up to the eleventh floor anyway."
"Failure’s not an option," he says, spinning back around to head for his SUV, clearly on a mission.
"Please don't waste your time," I call after him, my head out the window, watching him get further and further away from me.
"Send it, Vivi Ann." The command in his voice is thick, like he's used to barking orders and having people follow them without question.
So I do as he asks, watching in my rearview mirror as he tosses the tire in his backseat.
Within minutes, he finds an opening and pulls out onto I-5.
I follow his lead, accelerating quickly.
Then I see him take the exit to my office, and my stomach flutters with equal parts anticipation and concern.
I have no idea what he's going to say to Martin, but something tells me this isn't going to be a polite conversation.