Texas Curves by Christa Wick Page A

be able to get back to the station in town without a tow.
    The driver started to move in close but I elbowed him out of the way. A little noise erupted from him, something halfway between a grunt and a purr. Judging by the way the hairs stood up along the back of my neck and the start of a slow pout at my nipples, I'd say it was a little closer to a purr.
    Swiping at the back of my neck with the bandana, I tried to focus on the radiator.
    "There's no signal out here."
    "Welcome to West Texas." I snorted. I might have been in a hurry and moving fast, but I noticed the Mustang carried New York plates and his accent sure wasn't local. Good thing, too. If God had thought to blend a slow southern twang into the driver's voice, the radiator hose wouldn't be the only thing popping a clamp.
    I wiped more sweat away and returned to trimming the hose.
    "You're a terse little thing."
    His voice dropped lower and I could hear the smile behind the words. I didn't know whether to be pissed off or turned on. Lucky for him, I didn't have time to decide. I probably would have rolled round to being pissed and unleashed on him for calling me a little thing. If I was little, I wouldn't have been sweating buckets trying to fix his car just so his manicured hands wouldn't get greased up.
    "Don't have any use for chit chat." Tightening the clamp on the hose, I glanced left to where his hands curled around the Mustang's metal body. Surprisingly, they weren't manicured. He had the kind of hands a girl would recognize when he touched her -- big, strong and carrying more than a few nicks on them, old scars and new.
    My appreciation stopped cold at his wrists. The watch wrapped around one of them easily cost ten times as much as my old truck. My top lip started to climb in a sneer and I pressed it back down. I didn't have time to get all hot under the collar and lose track of what I was doing. Stopping to help Mr. Moneybags had already put me a good five minutes in the hole.
    Gathering up my tools and knife, I pushed the jug toward him with my foot. "Fill it and wait about five minutes. It should turn over then but you need to head straight to the station."
    "You're going?" Again, the sound was all purr with the hint of a smile behind his words.
    "If your dumb ass is still stuck when I come through again in ten minutes, I'll give you a ride back to town." I stuffed the bandana in my pocket and stepped away from the vehicle, a little embarrassed I'd lost my temper, but I wasn't about to apologize.
    He moved closer, the raised hood no longer blocking his face. Big sunglasses hid his eyes from me, but I could tell from the straight line of his nose, sculpted jaw and the firm, generous bottom lip, that his face could work a woman to a state every bit as wet as his voice did.
    Feeling my cheeks heat up, I turned away and headed back to my truck.
    The driver followed after me. "Mind telling my dumb ass your name?"
    I blew out a little puff of air, trying to shake the feelings rolling through me. Beyond sexy, he had a rumbling baritone, rough like his calloused hands. Too long without a boyfriend, my skin sizzled at the thought of him running those hands over me while he told me all the dirty things he wanted to do to me with that voice of his. Hell, he could read the back of a cereal box with that voice and I'd start panting.
    I was almost back to the safety of my truck when his hand closed softly around my elbow. Heat blazed across my skin. I sucked a breath in, more heat flaring inside me at how foolish I felt. He was a stranger, would remain a stranger. My body had absolutely no business getting all hot and bothered.
    I twisted my arm, freed my elbow from his grip and climbed into the cab growling "Ginny."
    He smiled and it was like sun breaking through the clouds after a long storm. "Does Ginny have a last name?"
    I turned the key in the ignition, relieved when the truck sputtered to life, and glared at the driver until he took one step back from the