12. Chapter 12 #2
One thing was certain: nothing about her life was simple anymore. Not with Tony Mancini in it.
She’d drive the car over to his place and give it back.
That was the plan. Then he could sell it, recoup whatever outrageous sum he’d spent, and that would be that.
He’d tried to gift it to her, but she wasn’t going to be one of those women who melted just because a man threw money around.
No, she’d do an “Uno reverse” right back at him.
As far as she was concerned, she’d already let the car go.
The corrupt mechanic had made sure of that when he’d announced that ridiculous three-thousand-dollar bill and laughed when she’d told him she couldn’t afford it.
Mentally, she’d buried the car and moved on.
And this? This shiny paint job, these polished headlights, even the fresh gleam in the chrome—this wasn’t hers.
It was something else now, something far too extravagant for her conscience to keep.
She inhaled deeply. It even had a new car scent. How in the world did he even manage that? She hadn’t realized how much she loved this smell, how comforting it was.
Still, determination hardened within her.
But she couldn’t help wondering, “How in the world had he made this happen so fast?” Naomi stared at the dashboard as though it might whisper back the secrets.
Even the steering wheel was wrapped in leather, the grip slightly softened, her hands sinking into it in a way that made driving suddenly luxurious.
She pulled away from the curb, the car sliding into motion like silk over glass. Morning traffic was mercifully light, and for the first time in months, she felt free behind the wheel.
But the whole drive, she reminded herself: Don’t fall for it. Don’t let yourself be bought.
As much as she loved the way the car drove, the quiet hum of the engine, the fact that every alarming rattle and ping was gone, she knew she couldn’t keep it. Her conscience screamed at her—this wasn’t hers anymore.
So, instead of heading toward the Peterson house, she drove straight to Tony’s. Parking in front of his immaculate home felt almost defiant.
She climbed out, squared her shoulders, and marched to the door. She hadn’t even lifted her hand to ring the bell before it opened.
Tony stood there, broad shoulders filling the frame, his dark eyes fixed on her like she was the only thing in the world.
“How is it?” he asked. His voice was casual, but his gaze tracked every flicker of her expression.
Her mouth went dry. She had to lick her lips before she could speak. Her stupid brain wasn’t helping—it kept sending her images of his arms around her, pulling her close, holding her tight. A fantasy in which she’d indulged in too often lately.
Instead of blurting out something idiotic, she extended the key, holding it out like a shield.
“Here,” she said firmly. “I can’t accept the car.
I already gave it up because I couldn’t afford the repairs.
But what your men did to it is worth way more than what that mechanic was asking.
You can sell it, get your money back. It’s only fair. ”
Tony didn’t move to take the key. He just looked at her, his jaw tightening, his arms folding across his chest. His biceps flexed under his shirt sleeves, and Naomi forgot how to breath for a moment.
“Take the key, Tony,” she tried again, forcing steel into her words. Okay—more like tin. Her focus kept slipping to the way those muscles shifted when he breathed.
“The car is yours, Naomi,” he said finally, leaning one broad shoulder against the doorframe. His eyes never left hers. “What’s your favorite food?”
She blinked, thrown off by the topic change. “My… what?”
“Your favorite food,” he repeated calmly. “After I show you how to use the security system in your car tonight, I’ll make you dinner.”
Her jaw went slack. Dinner? With him? Her imagination betrayed her—her in his kitchen, the air thick with the scent of garlic and onions, his hands steady on a knife, her standing too close, watching. Heat flushed her cheeks, and she shook her head hard.
“I can’t stay for dinner,” she blurted. “And I don’t need to know how to work the security system because I’m returning the car to you.”
Tony’s lips curved—just the faintest suggestion of a smile, enough to make her stomach somersault.
He still didn’t take the key. He didn’t argue, either.
He just studied her in silence, and the weight of that silence pressed against her like a hand at her back, nudging her toward an answer she wasn’t ready to give.
“You’re not returning the car to me,” he argued, straightening to his full height, that immovable wall of a man. He glanced at the military-style watch on his wrist. “If you don’t hurry, you’re going to be late for work.”
She followed his gaze, and her breath caught. The time. She gasped, then groaned aloud. She really was about to be late. She must have lingered in the car too long, admiring all of the newness and details. She whirled around to leave—then just as quickly spun back, frustration spiking.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Naomi shoved the key into his pants pocket.
Her fingers brushed the fine wool of his tailored, charcoal-grey slacks, the fabric warm from his body heat.
Beneath it, she felt the unyielding strength of his hip, the solid line of his thigh.
She froze for half a second too long, her breath stuttering, her pulse pounding in her ears.
His body was rock-hard under her touch, and for one wild, shocking moment, she couldn’t pull her hand away.
What am I doing?!
Finally, she yanked her hand back as though she’d been burned. Her cheeks flamed, and her stomach dropped to her knees. Without meeting his eyes, she spun on her heel and rushed down the stone path toward the sidewalk.
Her mind screamed at her. Had she really just tucked a key into a man’s pocket? Into that man’s pocket? The intimate, audacious gesture felt outrageous, bold in a way that wasn’t her at all. The memory of that fleeting contact—his warmth, his strength—lingered in her fingertips.
She couldn’t stop herself from stealing a glance over her shoulder.
Tony was still standing there, one hand at his side, staring after her. His face was shadowed, unreadable, but there was something in his expression—something strange and unsettling—that made her heart trip over itself.
Blushing furiously, Naomi turned away and quickened her pace, nearly jogging down the block.
By the time she arrived at the Peterson house, she was right on time. The boys barreled into her, talking over one another as they chattered about the toys their father had given them the night before. Their boundless energy filled the room, leaving Naomi breathless before the day had even begun.
It was going to be a long day.
And all she could think about—despite her best efforts—was the feel of Tony Mancini’s strength underneath her fingertips, and the way he had looked at her before she’d turned and walked away.