Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
“Hurry up, they’re here!” Sophia called over her shoulder, running toward the other side of the property, her long red hair trailing behind her.
Lydia St. James had known her best friend since high school.
They were called the ‘chess set’ because they were inseparable, and Lydia’s dark features contrasted with Sophia’s very pale Irish ones.
The temperate day gave them an excuse to show off a little extra skin in their halter tops, their motivations being on opposite sides of Lydia’s Aunt Gladys’ estate.
Every inch of the St. James’ one hundred acres in the suburbs of Washington, D.C.
, was utilized for the annual fall festival to benefit mental health awareness charities.
A warm breeze carried the aroma of cinnamon, apples, and freshly baked goods across the grounds.
The meadow, trimmed short, was covered with dark green and white striped tents in various sizes, but Sophia dashed around them with the skill of a gazelle on a mission to the stage.
“I’m supposed to be at the booth. You know Auntie is still mad at me because of the reunion, and there will be hell to pay if I’m not at my post when we open,” Lydia whined, dragging her feet over the already trampled grass.
She didn’t dare tell anyone her true destination, knowing she would only incur more criticism.
The festival opened in a couple of hours, and the entire St. James clan was required to participate enthusiastically. Lydia was surprised that she hadn’t been relegated to following the hayride around to pick up horse crap, considering how she had behaved a few months earlier.
“I can’t help it if you were a bitch to Dahlia and your brother.
Besides, this will only take a minute.” Sophia’s voice dropped to a whisper, and her pace slowed to a strut as she caught sight of her prey.
Her current obsession, Crushing Clover, was a new alternative music group that Sophia was so sure was going to be the next big thing, she created a fan group and blog called ‘Dear Future Rockstar’.
“You know that’s not true,” Lydia huffed to herself. Sophia was already lost in a mutual admiration contest, surrounded by the bandmates. “I’ll catch you later, I guess.”
Determined not to let jealousy get the better of her again, Lydia set off to check on her own preoccupation.
Circumventing the bustling center of preparations, she cut through the manicured pumpkin patch where paths had been cleared between rows of the enormous orange gourds in anticipation of the droves of families who would be searching for the perfect jack-o-lantern.
At the edge of the tree line was what Aunt Glady called the carriage house, but Lydia knew it as the garage–although that was an understatement for the space that could hold a dozen cars.
Even so, family members parked on the gravel drive surrounding the stone building that matched the other structures on the expansive estate.
Ignoring the side door, Lydia took advantage of the open bay to observe the object of her desire: Joseph Caruso, better known as Joey to her.
She was sometimes surprised there wasn’t an imprint of her feet in the corner of the garage, considering how often she stood in the exact spot, leaning against the frame to watch Aunt Gladys’ chauffeur unobserved.
Lydia’s short-curvy stature barely made it to his broad shoulders.
Charcoal gray coveralls stretched tight across his back as he leaned across the motor of the late 1950s Cadillac he was restoring for Aunt Gladys.
The taut fabric didn’t show off his assets as well as his favorite jeans, but it didn’t make him any less appealing.
Standing upright, he stretched his arms wide before slowly lowering the zipper down the front of the coveralls.
She covered her mouth to avoid making a sound as she gaped at the toned chest and carved abs covered in tattoos.
Her eyes followed the zipper to the thin trail of hair appearing below his belly button, her neck craning to see more than the dark space shadowed by the cloth
“Did you see enough, or was there something more you wanted?” His soft, velvety accent echoed off the walls, disrupting her gawking, as he slid the jumpsuit off his shoulders and tied the arms around his waist. She wondered if he knew it was her, or if he just knew that someone was there.
He had always been flirtatious with her when they were alone, but she assumed it was just how Spanish men were.
He turned it off quickly when someone else was around, so she had made it a point to find reasons to be alone with him.
“Lydia,” her name danced across his tongue with a sigh.
“You’re the only one who hasn’t come for their festival cash box and that.
..” His voice trailed off as he raked his hands through his tousled curls, away from his aquiline face.
It was a new style for him. She liked to pretend he changed from his slick-back look because she commented on how much she admired his curls, but knew it was probably just easier for him to maintain.
“I was just tying my boot,” she lied, standing in the entry.
“Uh-huh. This car isn’t going to fix itself. Are you going to make yourself useful, or have you forgotten what a carburetor is?” He held out a wrench, knowing her competitive side needed to be vindicated, even if he was just baiting her.
When he had first come to work for Aunt Gladys, Lydia didn’t know anything about the inner workings of an engine, but since it was the only thing he seemed willing to talk about, she took every class or workshop she could until she could work alongside him.
While it may not have impressed him, it proved advantageous by leading her to a new career path.
“Fine, but I’m supposed to be at my booth.”
“Not for another hour, princess. And I know you well enough that everything is in place already.”
“Don’t call me that. And you don’t know anything about me except that I can fix this car, probably better than you can.
” She stalked over to him, grabbed the wrench, and stared under the hood.
She was tired of everyone thinking she was just some airhead that wasn’t going to amount to anything.
It’s one of the reasons she didn’t tell anyone she was pursuing a PhD and was waitressing to help fund it, rather than spinning her wheels at the administrative job they all seemed to think was the best she could do.
“You think I don’t know you?” He crowded behind her, the heat of him burning through her t-shirt, his body curving to hers.
“I know the way your lips quirk when you think you have a secret. I hear how your breath quickens when you’re watching me.
I can tell that you’re not working the desk job you proclaim.
And I know you’ve been snooping around my workshop.
So tell me why, princess. What are you really up to?
” His arms braced on either side of the car frame, caging her in.
The heady scent of musk and spice made her as dizzy as his touch did.