Long, tanned fingers cover mine and force my hands to drop a little lower. He bends until his face is in my line of sight. “Do you need some help? Because I stopped to help you. Nothing more.”

His eyes are earnest, but there’s a twinkle to them, like he knows what I’m thinking, like he knows I got suspicious. For some reason, I feel ridiculous all of a sudden. Something tells me that he’s being honest, that he’s only here to help, not to hurt me. And, as I look up into his striking face, I do the unthinkable.

I agree.

“I do need some help, actually.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured. What can I do? Give you a ride? Wait with you while the tow truck gets here?” A short pause. A long, wicked grin. “Give you a strong, incredibly attractive shoulder to cry on?”

I can’t help smiling. “And here I thought chivalrous egomaniacs were all dead.”

“This one’s alive and kickin’, sweetheart,” he declares with a wink. Between that and the southern, manly way he calls me sweetheart, I fight the urge to shiver. “Now, where do you need to go?”

I glance back at the shiny, black truck parked behind my car. I must’ve been in more distress than I thought not to hear that thing pull up. “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind? I have somewhere to be, but I need to make a super quick stop first. Would that be okay?”

“As long as it’s ‘super quick’,” he teases.

“So quick it’ll make your head spin.”

“My head’s already spinning,” he says with a grin that makes my stomach flip over. “But I’m in no rush. Take all the time you need.” He’s appreciative gaze and casual demeanor say that he’s more than happy to spend time with me. It makes me feel like blushing again. What the heck is this guy doing to me?

I open the car door and slide behind the wheel, making sure all the windows are rolled up before I grab my purse and lock up. When I get back out, Perfectly Hot Stranger (otherwise known as Sig) has already put my spare back into the trunk and is reattaching my flat tire, I guess for towing purposes.

I watch his arms and shoulders through the thin material of his shirt as he deftly maneuvers the jack. He really is just a big guy! His back is extremely wide, but it tapers in a dramatic V to a trim waist and narrow hips. As I examine the way his long, bent legs curve into his butt, I notice that his shirt has ridden up just enough that I can see smooth skin at the base of his spine. I can’t see buttcrack. But I can’t see underwear either, which makes me wonder if he wears any.

God, that’s hot!

I jerk my eyes away, as though he might be able to feel me looking at him and thinking such things. It wouldn’t do for me to flirt with another man. If wind of it ever got back to Lance…

This time, I do shiver, but not in a pleasant way.

Sig rises to his feet and turns his panty-melting grin toward me. “That oughta do it.” He brushes off his hands. “All locked up?”

I nod, trying not to be affected by his charisma, but geez! It’s so hard!

“In that case, your chariot awaits,” he says, sweeping his arm out in front of me. “Or in this case, a truck because it’s the only thing big enough for a guy like me.”

“How tall are you?” I ask as he opens the passenger door for me.

“Six-six.”

“Wow! Six-six?” I repeat, impressed.

“Yep. Six feet, six inches of awesome.”

“And modesty.”

“Yeah, that, too,” he half-grins, closing my door.

I watch my rescuer make his way around the front of the truck to the driver’s side, a dreamy sigh fluttering in my chest. As much as I don’t want to be, I’m charmed. Right down to the butterflies in my stomach and the weak feeling in my knees. I’m just thankful that, after today, I won’t ever have to see Perfectly Hot Stranger again. Because I’m pretty sure that would be a disaster.

CHAPTER TWO- SIG

“So, did I hear you call yourself Tommi?” I say as I pull back onto the highway.

“Yes.”

Damn that’s sexy! A dude’s name on such an incredibly gorgeous, very feminine woman? Good God Almighty!

“Is it short for something?”

“No. Just Tommi.”

Tommi, with blonde waves. Tommi with emerald green eyes. Tommi with an ass so perfect my fingers itch to grab it, squeeze it, hold her against me.

“Where to, Just Tommi?”

She gives me the address of a women’s clothing shop in a swanky area of town. I’m not too surprised by the neighborhood, considering that she drives a candy apple-red Maserati.

Despite how much I want to, I don’t ask questions about her destination. I don’t want to make her more uncomfortable.

I can tell that I make this woman nervous. Not like she thinks I might try to hurt her or try to take off with her or anything, but like she’s uneasy with our attraction. Because I know damn well she feels it. Holy shit! I can almost taste it, it’s so strong.

I kinda like that I make her uneasy. I like watching her squirm. It’s very interesting–the way she avoids eye contact as much as she can, the way she nibbles her lip before she answers me. She wants to get away as fast as she can, but maybe because she thinks it’s best, not necessarily because she wants to. I get the feeling what she wants to do is flirt back. Only she won’t.

Or I could be the egomaniac she thinks that I am and this could all be in my head.

But I don’t think so.

I’m not sure why she’d feel like she needs to act a certain way around me. Unless she puts on a show for everybody, which makes me even more curious about her. I’ve been around her for all of ten minutes and already I find her fascinating. Yeah, this should be interesting.

“Tell me, Tommi, what makes you tick?”

That draws her eyes over to me. If I weren’t driving, I’d hold that gaze until she turned to putty in my hands.

“What do you mean?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. What do you love? What do you hate? What makes you get up in the morning? What do you dread more than anything?”

In her head, she had an immediate answer to one of my questions. I just don’t know which one. It showed on her face before she could look away. Of course, she won’t be sharing it with me. I’m not even sure I expected her to. I just wanted to ask. I’m not sure why. Maybe just to see how she’d react.