But I liked him. I didn’t want what we had to end.

All day Monday, I kept looking at the clock, dismayed to find that time seemed to be passing more quickly than usual. We were busy at the garage, which was great, but also made the day fly by. Plans for the anniversary event were also keeping me preoccupied. After we closed, I ran over to the print shop Darlene had recommended and ordered the photo enlargements, which the woman at the counter promised to have ready by Friday.

“Perfect,” I said. “I also wanted to ask you about printing some flyers for an event we’re having on Labor Day weekend.”

She helped me with the layout and design, and I hurried back to the garage as the skies darkened, lightning flashed, and thunder rumbled above me. Griffin was standing on the sidewalk in front of the garage as if he’d been waiting for me.

“I was about to get in the truck and come find you,” he said sternly, pulling open the lobby door and following me inside. “You weren’t answering your phone, and this is going to be a bad storm.”

“Sorry. I must have left it on the desk. I was in a hurry to get there because I was concerned about keeping the photos dry.”

He frowned. “I was worried about you. Take your phone with you when you go somewhere, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, unable to keep from smiling.

“What’s funny?” he demanded, his chest puffing up.

“You. Worried about me in the rain. It’s cute.”

“For the last time, mechanics are not cute.”

“Then what do I call a mechanic that makes my clothes fall off and my heart go pitter-pat?” I asked, patting my chest with one hand.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “There better only be one of those.”

I kissed his cheek. “There’s only you.”

Tuesday night, after I showed him how to make penne with summer vegetables and a kale salad—which he grumbled about eating but admitted it tasted better than he thought—he insisted on doing all the dishes. Then we stretched out on the couch and watched a movie together while the summer rain continued to thrum against the windows.

We made it about halfway through the latest Marvel movie before our minds and then our hands started to wander, and we ended up naked and sweaty on the rug between the couch and the coffee table. I don’t know what was louder, me or the thunder, but poor Bisou wouldn’t come out of her crate for the rest of the night.

“Aww, I feel bad,” I said to Griffin when she didn’t come out to eat.

“She’s okay. I fostered another cat once who was afraid of storms. She’ll eat when she gets hungry.” But I noticed he set her plate and bowl right outside her crate rather than where he usually kept them.

Eventually we made it into bed, where we snuggled up and listened to the thunder. My head was resting on his chest, my body tucked alongside his. A particularly loud crack of thunder made me jump.

“Do storms bother you?” he asked.

“I was really scared of storms like this when I was little,” I explained. “We lived on a golf course, and once when I was small, I heard my parents talking about someone who’d been struck by lightning while playing. I was always convinced it was going to happen to me while I was playing outside.”

He held me a little tighter. “What were you like as a kid?”

“Hmmm. Talkative. Definitely talkative.”

A laugh rumbled in his chest. “I bet. Did you drive your parents crazy?”

“Yes, but not just them. I’d talk to anybody. I’m totally the girl who should have been abducted by the creep in the white van.”

“Part of me worries you’re still that girl.”

I snuggled closer. “I was also lonely.”

“Lonely?”

“Yeah, I didn’t have any siblings or close neighbor kids to play with. I was always by myself.”

“Or with your horse,” he teased.

I poked him in the side. “Fine. Or with my horse. But Alistair never wanted to play Barbies with me.”

He snorted. “That was your horse’s name? Alistair?”

“Yes. Alistair Peacock Beaufort.”

“You gave him your middle name, how cute.”

I picked up my head. “Did I tell you that was my middle name?”

“No. I saw it on your license the night we met.”

“Oh.” I grinned. “It’s a family name on my mother’s side. Did you think it was weird?”

“Kind of. But I thought it suited you.”

I stuck my tongue out at him, and he laughed.

“Mostly I thought there was no way Blair Peacock Beaufort would be interested in a guy like me.”

“Well,” I said, climbing on top of him. “You were wrong.”

I woke up Wednesday morning with an ache in my heart. Next to me, Griffin was still asleep, and rather than jump out of bed and get baking like I did most mornings, I lay on my side and watched him for a moment.

He was breathtakingly handsome even as he slept, and the sight of his muscular, tattooed shoulders and chest never failed to rile me up. Before I could stop myself, I reached over and traced the sharp edge of his jaw, then the rounded bulge of his bicep. His eyes opened.

“Hi,” I whispered.

“Hey.” He stretched, which made his muscles flex and my mouth water. “Is it time to get up already?”

“Pretty much.”

“But it’s still kinda dark.” He reached out and pulled me closer to him.

Smiling, I tucked my head beneath his chin, throwing an arm and a leg over his body. “Can we play hooky today?”

“We could, but I don’t think my employees or customers would like it very much.”

“Probably not.”

“But maybe we could be late,” he said, his hands stroking my shoulders, arms, back. “I mean, I do own the place.”

“That’s true,” I agreed, my hand sliding down his chiseled stomach to play with his cock, which was rock hard. “Do you always wake up like this?”

“Always? No. Often? Yes.”

“And what do you do about it?”

“I ignore it or I take care of it.”

“Like this?” I curled my fingers around his shaft and moved my hand up and down his length.

A laugh rumbled in his chest. “Sort of. Only not as gentle. I’m a little more aggressive about it.”

Intrigued, I sat up and tossed the covers back. Gave him a devious smile. “Show me.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Show you?”

“Yes.” I got on my knees and clasped my hands beneath my chin. “Please.”

A slow, sexy smile came over his mouth. “You’re such a bad girl.”

“I know.”

Propping himself up on one elbow, he took his cock in his hand, his grip tight as he moved his fist along its length. “Guess you meant it when you said you liked watching me.”

I nodded, wide-eyed as he began to move his body, thrusting slowly and rhythmically into his hand. His six-pack abs rippled. I might have whimpered.

“I’m thinking about you,” he said, his voice gravelly and deep, his eyes moving over my naked body. “I’m thinking about the way you taste, the way you move, the way it feels to get inside you.”