She continued her investigation in the kitchen. The appliances were all top-grade. Stainless-steel refrigerator. Six-burner stove. High-quality pots and pans hanging from a ceiling rack. The dishes and pots in the drying rack suggested recent use. She tried to remember the last time she’d used her own matchbook-sized kitchen to do more than microwave leftover takeout. She couldn’t.
The hall Cole disappeared down held a small bathroom and a laundry room and ended in a large metal door that presumably led outside. Having exhausted the snooping potential of the downstairs, Sarah wandered back to the main room and found herself at the foot of the staircase. She placed a foot on the bottom step, itching with curiosity about what was upstairs.
Who was she trying to kid? What she really wanted to see was his bedroom. What kind of bed did he sleep in? An old-fashioned four-poster? A modern platform? One thing she was sure of given the man’s size and the space he took up with his presence alone, it was definitely a king. Plenty of room for two. Of course, she had no reason to be up there, no excuse except for plain nosiness. And if he caught her in his bedroom of all places… An unexpected thrill ran through her at the idea. What would he do if he found her there?
What would she want him to do?
What was it about this guy? Could he be any further from her usual button-down type? Before Trent, she’d dated a sophisticated financial analyst named Manny. She recalled his neatly manicured nails and tried to imagine him under a car. Unfortunately, she was also unable to imagine him revving her engine, which was why she’d ended their relationship after three unsuccessful “attempts” that had left him satisfied and her desperate for something more.
The same scene had played out again and again. Each of her recent lovers had been handsome, sophisticated and successful, but not one had lit her fire. Even her trusty electronic companion had let her down. It was sad. No, for a woman who loved sex and who craved orgasms as much as she did, it was fucking pathetic. If she didn’t find satisfaction soon…
But Cole was a stranger. If she couldn’t come with someone she knew or even by herself, why would things be any different with him? The last thing she needed was another failure. Memories of coming so close only to fizzle at the last moment made frustration well up in her chest. Tears sprang to her eyes.
The doctor had assured her that this kind of thing happened to women all the time. She just had to relax. She blinked until her sight cleared. Sex with a stranger wasn’t the best way to do that. She gave an irritated huff. If only she could know for sure.
The sound of male laughter brought her back to her current predicament. As convenient as it would be for Cole to fix everything that ailed her, the chances of that were slim to none. What she really needed was to get her car fixed and be on her way, not to snoop around a stranger’s home, no matter how hot he might be.
Cole laughed again and delightful shivers danced across her skin. She looked up the stairs with regret and turned away, heading toward the source of the sound. She picked up her pace. Her best course of action was to get out of there as soon as Cole fixed her car, so a desire to see the man himself had nothing to do with where her feet were leading her.
Absolutely nothing.
Chapter Five
When Sarah pushed through the steel door at the end of the hallway, the scene that met her eyes looked more like a high-tech laboratory than a place to fix cars. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Just as Cole was more than an ordinary mechanic, this was more than “just” a garage.
Fluorescent light reflected off the spotless concrete floor and the white metal cabinets and drawers that lined the back wall from floor to ceiling. An open cabinet in the corner revealed shelves filled with shiny metal parts of different shapes, ranging from the size of her fist to the length of her arm. Multiple computers and monitors perched on the long tables that separated the three cars that filled the main space.
Closest was a logo-covered blue-and-yellow racecar. Its shape was roughly the same as the cars she’d seen on the highway, but the similarities ended there. This speedster sported a kind of wing on the back and thick tires. It had no fender and the front end of the car nearly touched the ground. A coarsely woven mesh covered the driver’s window instead of glass.
Sarah sensed something else odd about the car, but she couldn’t place it—
It didn’t have any doors. How the hell did the driver get in? Through the window Dukes of Hazard style?
A silver racecar sat in the middle of the room. It was similar to the first but without the logos. This one had doors and through the open window she spotted two seats. That seemed odd for a racecar, but what did she know? The only racing she’d ever done was in a cab speeding down the West Side Highway. Farthest away, her Porsche was up on a lift. It seemed tame in comparison to the racers beside it. From the TV ads Sarah knew her convertible could reach speeds of a hundred and sixty miles an hour. How fast could these racecars go?