I had spent enough time around men in love with their cars to recognize one when I saw one—he was telling the truth. And thinking about it, if he were a thief, why would he be bent over the engine, rummaging around like that? Why take that kind of risk?
I kept pointing my wrench at him for a moment longer, just to make it clear I wasn't someone to be taken lightly, before finally lowering my "weapon." That didn't mean I trusted him. Far from it. This guy was dangerous, and that was the last thing I wanted to deal with.
"It's the first time I've seen you here," Goliath said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his tailored trousers. Of course he wore tailored trousers, nothing surprising considering the car. "You new?"
I crossed my arms over my chest, still holding the wrench, and judging by the way his gaze darkened, he noticed. Sorry, Goliath, but I wasn't about to trust you just like that.
"No. Just helping out for the night," I replied with a shrug as I walked toward his car. My eyes landed on the engine behind the glass, and I nearly had an internal orgasm. It was magnificent.
"A naturally aspirated 5.2-liter V10 with 640 horsepower," Goliath began, crossing his arms as he leaned against the car. The sight was almost ridiculous, he looked like he was standing next to a toy. How did he even fit in that thing? "It can go up to three hundred twenty-five kilometers per hour and from zero to a hundred in—"
"Two point nine seconds," I sighed, lifting my face toward his. "I know what a Huracán can do." I muttered it under my breath. Men and their misogynistic assumptions, especially in the automotive world. I expected him to be surprised, which would have annoyed me even more, to be honest. I'd smashed a beer bottle over Chris's head when I first started working with Miguel years ago. The idiot thought I wouldn't know where to place the probes of a multimeter. He learned his lesson the hard way.
To my surprise, Goliath didn't look shocked or he hid it very well. He smiled, tilting his head slightly, and my eyes betrayed me by drifting to his dimples. Oh, for heaven's sake.
"Interesting," he said at last, his gaze never leaving mine. Angelo flashed through my mind, he'd said the same thing.
"Do you know Angelo?" I asked, frowning. There was something similar about them.
"You've got a sharp eye," Goliath chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "He's my cousin." I nodded. That was it. Too different to be brothers, too similar not to be family. My gaze dropped to the creeper behind the car, then to the small toolbox.
"Is there a problem?" I asked, looking back at the engine, searching for anything obvious.
"The crankshaft position sensor was dead. I replaced it, but I still can't get her to start," he muttered with a frustrated sigh.
"You changed it yourself?" I asked, surprised. It wasn't particularly difficult, but on an engine like this, space was tight. You needed small, precise movements and that wasn't exactly what he… embodied. Still, you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. He nodded as I walked around him, dropping my wrench onto one of the tool carts. Goliath didn't seem hostile, for now and honestly, I didn't need the wrench to protect myself. My hands would be more than enough.
"Mind if I?" I asked, pointing at the creeper. I expected hesitation, maybe even refusal. After all, nothing mattered more than their cars for men. But to my surprise, he agreed without blinking and, to my even greater surprise, I appreciated that.
I grabbed the elastic from my wrist and tied my hair into a bun. I felt his gaze on me but ignored it as I picked up a flashlight from the cart and lay down on the creeper. I slid under the car, lifted on jacks, and switched on the light. My hand moved between the components, quickly locating the sensor, it was properly secured. Then I found the connector. I pushed it slightly, and a click echoed.
I slid back out with a small triumphant smile, turning off the flashlight. My eyes lifted to Goliath, who had stepped closer, and I followed his gaze, it had dropped to my stomach, exposed where my tank top had ridden up. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and stood, tossing the flashlight back where I'd found it.
"Try now," I said.
He blinked, clearing his throat, then turned and opened the driver's door, leaning in to start the car, trusting the jack stands holding it steady. The engine roared to life, filling the warehouse with a monstrous sound and I had my second internal orgasm. Beautiful.
Goliath glanced at me over his shoulder, clearly impressed, and it pulled a small smile from me. He shut off the engine and came back as I wiped my hands with a rag.
"How did you do that?" he asked, curious.
"Nothing special. The engine's cramped, so it made sense you'd knock something loose, like the connector, while replacing the sensor with those rackets you call hands," I replied, tossing the rag into a bin. I saw him glance down at his hands, frowning, then laugh.
"Sharp," he said, a compliment I accepted gladly. Silence settled between us, an awkward one. He studied me, hands back in his pockets. His forearm tattoos were interesting, and his watch looked like it cost a fortune, again, not surprising.
"I'm guessing you don't work for Mario," I said. Obvious, really. Though, thinking about it, maybe not, Angelo's hesitation earlier came back to me. "Like Angelo," I muttered, realizing I'd been fooled. Goliath smirked and shook his head.
"No. We don't work for Mario, but he's a close family friend," he said, stepping closer. I didn't move. "We grew up playing in his garage."
He stopped right in front of me, forcing me to tilt my head back. Suddenly, he lifted his hand, and I froze as he gently pulled the elastic from my hair. My curls fell over my shoulders and down my back. I blinked, processing what he'd just done. He stepped back, his eyes drifting from my hair to my face before he smiled, a real smile.
"Perché nascondere tutta questa bellezza?" he murmured making me I frowned.
"I don't understand Italian," I said, feeling oddly foolish. His smile widened, damn those dimples. He was about to answer when another voice echoed through the warehouse.
"Mamo?" I turned as a man walked in, closing the door behind him. He was older, around Miguel's age, but unlike my boss, he carried a certain charm. He must have been very handsome in his youth.
"Mario," Goliath greeted behind me, no, not Goliath. Mamo? I turned back, frowning, my gaze traveling over his height, his broad shoulders, his back, the light beard along his jaw, his hair. No, this was definitely not the face or body of a "Mamo."
"Mamo?" I repeated with a grimace. He laughed, and I heard Mario approaching behind me.
"I didn't expect you before tomorrow morning," Mario said to… Mamo, casting me a suspicious glance that made me want to punch him. The idiot had kept me waiting for nearly four hours.
"I finished my meeting early, and I need my girl tomorrow," Mamo replied, patting the roof of the Lambo. I grimaced at the nickname he gave the car, and he laughed again seeing my face before mentioning he'd replaced the sensor. "And luckily David was here to help, or I'd still be looking for the problem," he added with a wink. I shook my head, exasperated.
"David?" Mario repeated, frowning, his blue eyes locking onto mine. I ignored his questioning tone, too annoyed by his lack of professionalism.
"Do you have a package for Miguel?" I asked with a sigh. Understanding lit up his face, finally.
"You're the kid Miguel sent," he said, and I held back a sarcastic "bravo." "Angelo told me you were a big help. He was impressed."
"Not as impressed as I am by the way you thanked me, leaving me to rot on your moldy couch for almost four hours" I snapped, too tired to drag it out. Just give me the damn package so I could leave.
Mario stared, wide-eyed, clearly stunned. Good. He probably wasn't used to being spoken to like that, but to me, age meant nothing. Respect was earned. Beside me, Mamo snorted, then burst out laughing, one hand pressed to his chest.
"Oh mio Dio, ma che faccia!" he laughed, throwing his head back. My throat went dry as I watched the movement of his neck, my eyes catching on his Adam's apple. This man radiated masculinity.
I swallowed as he lowered his gaze to me, and for a moment, everything stilled. His eyes locked onto mine, and I knew he'd seen the interest there. I inhaled slowly as his gaze dropped to my lips, which I instinctively wet. Damn it, I did not like where this was going. I turned away, running a hand along my throat, suddenly dry, and faced Mario again, who was watching me with narrowed eyes.
"Alright, you know what? Just send the package to Miguel by mail," I said, turning toward the office to grab my bag. "I did my part. No one told me anything about a delivery. I don't even know what is it," I muttered, slinging my backbag over my shoulder. I turned to leave and walked straight into a wall.
No. A chest.
Goliath.