Seb Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  About the Author

  Other Books by Cheryl Douglas

  Coming Soon

  Seb

  Book Three in the Steel Brothers Series

  Cheryl Douglas

  Copyright © by Cheryl Douglas

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, including photocopying, graphic, electronic, mechanical, taping, recording, sharing, or by any information retrieval system without the express written permission of the author and / or publisher. Exceptions include brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Persons, places and other entities represented in this book are deemed to be fictitious. They are not intended to represent actual places or entities currently or previously in existence or any person living or dead. This work is the product of the author’s imagination.

  Any and all inquiries to the author of this book should be directed to: [email protected]

  Seb © 2015 Cheryl Douglas

  Chapter One

  Seb

  I was under a car instead of holed up in my office—where I should have been—when my right-hand man tapped on the hood and said, “Hey, boss man. There’s someone here to see you.”

  “Can’t you see I’m busy?” My guys were used to me being crusty. I’d been in a miserable funk for so long they probably thought I’d forgotten how to smile.

  “I told her that, but she says she’s not leaving until she sees you. Said she’ll camp out here all night if she has to,” Sam said.

  “Son of a bitch,” I muttered, pulling myself out from under the jacked-up classic car. The underside of a car had always been my safety zone, the one place people wouldn’t dare bother me. Even when we were growing up, my brothers would stay the hell away from me when I was working on a car. “I am not in the mood to deal with some crazy-ass chick today.” I’d dealt with enough of those to last a lifetime.

  “I don’t know if this one is crazy,” Sam said, his grin revealing a missing tooth that had been knocked out in some bar brawl. “But she sure as hell is nice to look at. If you don’t want her, I’ll take her.”

  I rolled my eyes before taking in his greasy jeans and sweat-stained T-shirt. “What the hell would she want with you?”

  Not that I look much better. I glared at the grease stains on my own jeans. I went over to the sink to wash up while peering through the window to the front desk/waiting area of my shop. “Shit, she the redhead?”

  Sam came up behind me and slapped my back. “I told ya, didn’t I?”

  She was sitting in one of the black leather guest chairs, reading a magazine as though she didn’t have a care in the world. Meanwhile, she was disrupting my whole damn day and putting me in a worse mood than the one I’d been in when I crawled out of bed if that was even possible.

  But I had to admit she did look good doing it. She was wearing faded low-rise jeans with tears too perfect to be authentic, a black-and-gray baseball-style shirt, a black infinity scarf, and black ankle boots. Her dark red hair shielded her face, but I could tell, even from this distance, she had flawless skin. She looked as though she belonged on a runway, not sitting in some greasy auto body shop waiting on me.

  “Let me get this over with so I can get back to work,” I said, tossing the rag I’d used for my hands in the laundry bin by the sink. “She say what her name was?”

  “Skylar West. How hot is that?”

  I glared at Sam. “Don’t you have work to do?” I gestured at the three cars lining the bays. Their proud owners were chomping at the bit to get them back.

  “Yeah, yeah. Just remember the crew’ll be here later.”

  The crew—or the bane of my existence, as I preferred to call them—followed me everywhere I went, filming me for some damn TV show I’d let myself get talked into. Apparently watching a bunch of guys work on vintage cars was hot now, and since we did it better than anyone else in Tampa, some station wanted in on my action.

  I’d reluctantly agreed after letting my brothers convince me it would be good for business. I still didn’t know why I’d listened to them. The last thing I needed was more business. I couldn’t keep up with the demand for our services as it was.

  “Skylar?”

  The redhead looked up, nailing me with bright green eyes that made me forget how to breathe. But that wasn’t the worst of it. She flashed a quick smile, revealing blinding white teeth and dimples that made her look sweeter than she should with that crazy body. She was a pint-sized package with a rack that could stop traffic. Just my type. Except I’d sworn off women after my last dating fiasco.

  “Oh hi, Seb,” she said, tossing the magazine aside before rushing toward me.

  She acted as though she knew me, but I sure as hell would have remembered if we’d met. Even three sheets to the wind, I couldn’t have forgotten a face like hers. “What can I do for you?”

  She bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder at the men crowding the waiting area. “Um, is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

  I knew she wouldn’t leave until I’d spared her a few minutes, so I held the door leading to the shop open for her. “Let’s head up to my office.”

  I glared at my staff, who’d all stopped what they were doing to stare at her. “These cars aren’t gonna fix themselves,” I said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Get back to work.”

  Skylar practically had to run to keep up with me, but I didn’t have time to waste taking baby steps. At six feet two inches, my stride was a lot longer than hers, making me wonder how we’d fit together. I quickly quashed that thought and reminded myself I wasn’t in the market for another good-time girl.

  I gestured for her to precede me up the stairs and clenched my teeth at the sight of that perfect little ass swaying with each step she took. Close enough to touch. I would have too, months ago, when nothing and no one was off limits.

  Once we were in my large, messy office, she turned to face me. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was wringing her hands. “Thank you so much for agreeing to see me. I know how busy you must be.”

  “Do we know each other?” I asked, reclaiming the cold coffee I’d left on my desk earlier. Inclining my head toward the coffee maker to invite her to help herself, I claimed the rickety chair behind my desk. Glancing at my office as she looked for a place to sit, I realized I really needed to do something about this dive.

  “Um, no,” she said, moving some car magazines from one chair to another so she could perch on the edge. “My uncle watches your show though. It’s the highlight of his day.”

  Poor guy needed to get out more. “Look, I don’t have a lot of time,” I said, glancing at my cell phone. “I’ve got a camera crew on their way over here, and I’ve got to be back downstairs.”

  “I understand,” she said, holding her oversized handbag against her body like a shield. “I’ll get right to the point.”

  Except she didn’t. She stared at me instead, and the energy in the room suddenly became charged, making it difficult for me to tear my eyes away from her.

  “I’m sorry.” She licked her crimson-stained lips before tucking a strand of thick, glossy hair behind her ear. “This is just hard for me. I hate asking for help.”

  “I’m not su
re what you think I could help you with.”

  “You see, my uncle has this vintage car. It hasn’t been running in a long time, and well, I’d really love to get it working for him again. Soon.”

  I scrubbed my hands over my face before reaching for a notepad, prepared to jot down the particulars. I was curious why he wasn’t the one here discussing the details with me, but I figured that would come out soon enough. “Okay, what kind of budget and timeline is he working with?”

  “Um, well that’s just it,” she said, blushing profusely. “I don’t really have a budget.”

  I grinned. “Even better. I like it when my clients tell me that money is no object.”

  Her cheeks were still flaming as she shook her head slowly. “No, you don’t understand. I mean, I don’t have any money to pay you.”

  I stared at her, waiting for her to crack a smile or give me some indication she was joking. Surely she didn’t think this was a nonprofit or that she just had to have a great face and killer body to get free labor. I tossed my pen across the desk as I stood. “Look, I don’t have time for this. Come back and see me when you have the money together.”

  “Wait,” she said, jumping up to block my path. She gripped my wrists, her eyes pleading. “Seb, please, I’m begging you, just hear me out.”

  I inched back, leaning on the desk as I folded my arms. “Fine, you have three minutes to explain to me what the hell is going on here.”

  “My uncle is dying.” She cleared her throat, obviously trying to get the words out.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, my tone softening.

  “He loves that car. It’s the only thing he has of value, except it’s not very valuable anymore. He’s been sick a long time, so it’s been up on blocks, exposed to the elements. It doesn’t even run. The body is rusted out, and critters have found their way inside and chewed up the interior pretty good.”

  “You have a picture?” I asked, wondering what kind of car we were talking about.

  “Yeah, I do.” She reached into her purse, which looked more like a suitcase to me, and extracted her phone. Gliding her finger over the screen, she said, “Here we go.”

  I looked at the screen and tried to still my pounding heart. Dayum. A ’67 Chev Camaro Z-28/SS Coupe. It wasn’t as valuable as most of the cars I worked on, but it had always been one of my favorites. “You weren’t lying. She needs a lot of work, but these are great cars. Very rare. With a full restoration job, these babies can get a 100k.”

  “I’m not interested in what it’s worth,” she said, shaking her head. “I’d never sell it. Neither would he.”

  “Maybe you’d better tell me more, Skylar.” I could tell she was emotional about her uncle’s condition, but I had to know what I was getting into—if I decided to take on this project, which was highly unlikely.

  She nodded before pacing the cluttered room. “He has pulmonary hypertension. The doctors are only giving him a few more months, barring a miracle.”

  I could tell she was trying hard to hold back tears. I was used to fake tears—I’d broken up with enough women over the years—so I had no doubt that her tears were the real deal.

  “He raised me since I was fourteen. My parents were killed in a car accident.”

  “That’s rough.” I knew what it felt like to lose a parent, so I could empathize.

  She nodded. “Yeah, but it would have been a thousand times worse without Uncle Charlie. He was my rock.”

  I smiled before realizing how long it had been since I’d smiled at a woman without some ulterior motive. “Sounds like you were lucky to have him.”

  “Yeah.” She crossed her arms as though she was hugging herself as she continued walking back and forth over the worn carpet. “That’s why I want to do this one last thing for him. It’s the least I can do after everything he’s done for me.”

  “I understand, but—”

  “I went to the bank to try to get the money for the restoration,” she explained, her bottom lip quivering. “But they wouldn’t look at me for a loan. I don’t have any collateral except for my old Honda, which they tell me isn’t worth much.”

  An old Honda? I tried to keep a straight face, wondering how she’d expected to use that as loan collateral. “Don’t you have a job?”

  “I did, but I had to quit to take care of my uncle. Now I’m just freelancing, which according to the bank is almost as bad as not working at all.”

  “Yeah, they’re funny that way,” I said, smirking. “They like to make sure you have a steady paycheck so they can get their money back.”

  Her shoulders stiffened as she turned to face me. “I always repay my debts. I’m not asking you for charity if that’s what you think.”

  “Then what are you asking?” I demanded, rubbing my temple. I reached over the desk and grabbed the bottle of pain relievers. I shook a couple into my hand and dry-swallowed them.

  She looked wary. “I don’t know—a payment plan, or maybe I could work it off?”

  I shocked even myself with a full-on grin as my eyes swept over her body. “As tempting as that offer is, sweetheart, I’m going to have to pass.”

  Her face flamed again as she adjusted her scarf over her full bust. “That’s not what I meant!”

  “Okay,” I said, crossing my arms. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I’m a graphic designer. You know, websites, brochures, logos, stuff like that. No offense, but your website is kind of a hot mess.”

  I laughed. Damn, that sounded almost foreign to my ears. “I’m not surprised. I had some guy set it up about seven years ago, and it hasn’t been touched since.” But since most of my business came through word-of-mouth advertising, my website wasn’t high on my priority list. “But I’m not too worried about it. If you live in Florida and are into vintage cars, you already know my name and reputation.” My lips tipped up when she raised an eyebrow. “Hey, I’m not being cocky, just stating facts.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “But still, there must be something I could do for you. I mean, look at this place. It’s a mess.”

  “Maybe I like it that way.” I’d been walking around in a fog so long I’d barely noticed my office.

  “Do you?”

  I shrugged. “That’s irrelevant. What if I don’t have any ‘work’ for you?” I made air quotes around the word. “How do you intend to repay me if I agree to work on your uncle’s car? A restoration like this is bound to be expensive. Hell, it’d probably take you years to pay it off.”

  “I know.” She bit her lip. “He’s just given me so much love and support, Seb. This is the only thing I can think to do for him. Seeing that car restored…”

  “I get it.” If anyone understood the thrill of seeing a vintage beauty restored to its former glory, it was me. “Your uncle always been into classic cars?”

  She smiled, shaking her head. “Since he was a teenager. He told me he and my grandfather used to work on them together all the time.”

  My old man had been a deadbeat, so I’d learned about cars the old-fashioned way, through trial and error. But right now, the clock was ticking, and I couldn’t commit to something like this without speaking to my production manager. He was the one who scheduled our jobs and made sure we met our deadlines. We were already booking six months out, so squeezing her job in would be difficult if not impossible.

  “Skylar, I understand how important this is to you and I’d really like to help you out, but—”

  “Please don’t say no,” she whispered, stepping closer. “I’ve already been to see your competitors and—”

  “Why would you go to see them before coming to me?”

  She shrugged, looking at my chest instead of looking me in the eye. “Everyone knows you’re the best. You’ve got the show and all. I figured there was no way you’d even hear me out.”

  “So what did the rest of them say?” I asked.

  She blushed again. “They said they would do it, but the price was too steep.”
<
br />   “Then you’re definitely not going to like my quote. I think this is a sweet idea, you wanting to restore the car for your uncle, but maybe you should think of something else to—”

  “They wanted me to sleep with them,” she blurted. “All three of them said they’d do it if I had sex with them!”

  Dirtbags, every last one of them, but I couldn’t claim to be surprised. “Obviously you turned them down.”

  “Not before I told them off. Some things are not for sale.”

  “Your body being one of them?” One more discreet perusal told me she could probably fetch a fortune for it.

  “I may not have a lot,” she said, raising her chin, “but I still have my self-respect.”

  Damn, I hated to admit it, but I admired her courage—knocking on doors, making unorthodox proposals on the off-chance someone would say yes. “I need some time to think about this. I have to talk to my production manager, figure out if there’s even a way we could do this for you.”

  “But you’re the boss, right? Aren’t you the one who makes all the decisions?”

  I couldn’t run a multi-million dollar business without the help of the best team I could get, and as soon as I started undermining their opinions, I’d run the risk of the competition poaching them. “We make these decisions together. After all, they’re the guys doing most of the work.”

  “I understand,” she said, stepping back. “I appreciate your time, Seb.”

  “Give me your number,” I said, reaching across the desk for my cell phone. Opening my contacts, I handed the phone to her. “I’ll call you when I make a decision.”

  “Sure.” She typed the details into my phone before handing it back with a forced smile. “Thank you again. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  Believe me, baby, the pleasure was all mine. “Yeah, you too. I’ll be in touch soon.”

  Chapter Two

  Skylar

  So that was the infamous Sebastian Steele, the man my uncle had been gushing about for years and claimed was a master at vintage car restoration. I was willing to bet Seb was a master in other areas too. Like the bedroom.