That Kind of Girl (Fillmore & Greenwich Book 2) (22 page)

Dolores's niece pointed to the mural. "You aren't thinking of getting a sex-change operation, are you? I mean, it's your life, but I think you're perfect as a woman."

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the vote."

Going back to the garage, she looked at the car she should work on and her motorcycle, which she wanted to work on.
Want
won over
should.

She was sitting on the floor, studying a piece that didn't need to be there. Did she get rid of it or keep the integrity of the bike? Poppy would say integrity over design. Sometimes things needed to change though.

"How's the motorcycle coming along?" Ariana said, sauntering into the garage with a mug in her hand.

George made a face. "Not bad. I can't find some of the parts I need, which is unfortunate. And some of these"—she tapped the piece—"don't serve a purpose, as far as I can see."

Ariana held out the cup to her. "So get rid of it."

"I could, but then it wouldn't be the same bike." She accepted the afternoon cup, inhaling the sweet aroma. Ariana really did make the best coffee.

"Remember that car you pimped out?" her friend asked, her expression lighting up. "Maybe you should do that with the motorcycle."

"It's a Vincent Black Shadow," she said.

Ariana shrugged. "No matter how good a thing is, it always likes a little extra magic. Are you going to yoga tomorrow?"

"Is Aaron teaching?"

"Yes." Ariana gave her a siren's smile. "He's the main reason I work out."

George snorted. Aaron was nice to look at, but he didn't hold a candle to Remy.

"Come by later and I'll give you a facial," Ariana said as she turned to leave. "You're due."

She nodded. She needed something relaxing to perk her up after this day. Normally she'd have eschewed anything girly, but being with Ariana was always great. "I invited Michelle to hang out with us tonight."

"Michelle?"

"Dolores's niece." She shrugged. "I don't know. She just moved here and seems like she could use friends."

Ariana smiled. "You've got a soft heart for someone who wants to be Popeye."

She picked up a rag and threw it at her friend, who laughed all the way out the door.

The first thing Remy saw when he rode up to the garage was a tall woman in tight jeans and combat boots standing outside next to a motorcycle, braiding her long red hair.

He pulled into the space across the street under Esme's sign, where he usually parked, and got off his bike. Taking his helmet off, he met Georgina's gaze as he walked to her.

He hadn't seen her since she'd come over that night, when they'd ended up doing a different dance.

Her surprisingly sweet scent still clung to him, despite the fact that it was logically impossible. He could still taste her, and he still felt himself inside her.

And then she'd snuck out in the middle of the night.

Just like he wanted
, he grumbled to himself. He'd woken up, disoriented, not sure why she wasn't draped on top of him.

He'd given himself space—and her, too—because he hadn't been certain how he'd feel when he saw her. Only now he knew: he felt a sharp need to sink into her again, a strange longing to hold her hand, and fear that he'd never get to touch her again.

He scowled.

"You're cheery this morning," she said, not sounding any happier. She shrugged on a leather jacket that had been hanging on the bike handle.

"I could say the same about you." He came to stand directly in front of her.

She lifted her chin, about to take the challenge. Then her expression softened, and she said, "I don't want to fight."

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice hoarse with all the things he wanted her to say.

"A ride." She nodded at his helmet. "Want to come?"

His mind went there, because he was a man and she was gorgeous.

She grabbed her helmet and strapped it on. "We'll take the Black Shadow."

He blinked. "Both of us?"

Her lips curved in humor. "Unless you're scared for your manhood."

"My manhood is very secure."

"I seem to remember that," she said, glancing down at his crotch. Then she hopped on her motorcycle and started the engine. "Coming?"

He'd never ridden on the back of someone else's bike, but something prodded him to get on. She waited for him to buckle his helmet and settle, and then she eased away from the curb.

She handled the bike confidently, as if she'd been riding a long time. She wound her way through the streets, and then onto the highway.

It wasn't long before the highway turned into a windy coastal road. He watched the ocean down below and the way the sun and the clouds played tag in the sky. He was beginning to think they were going to drive forever when she pulled over into a lookout.

He got off the bike and watched as she gracefully swung her leg over the side. Hanging their helmets on the handles, he followed her lead and went to the railing at the edge of the cliff. He watched her lean over, her curls coming loose from the braid as the wind toyed with it.

"I like this spot," she said after a moment. "It's a good spot to think. The ocean air clears your mind, and there's never anyone here. The cars zip by and never stop."

He leaned his butt on the railing, arms crossed, watching her. "You come here a lot."

"More before. Since Poppy died I've been busy running the garage." She made a face. "He'd be really amused by the mural.
And
the furniture. I almost want to leave them both as is, because I know he'd have appreciated the humor in them, but I personally can't wait until the mural is changed."

Remy looked away, rubbing his chest against a peculiar feeling that he suspected was guilt. "Why is it so important to change the garage? It seems like you were happy with it before."

She pursed her lips, staring into the horizon. Then she faced him. "It doesn't feel like my own place. It's Poppy's. I love him, and I loved being there, and I'm happy he gave it to me, but lately there's something missing."

That was how he felt, but he knew what that was: Giselle. "What's missing?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I just know that the idea of changing car batteries the rest of my life makes me want to jump."

"Having a mural painted on the outside of your building won't change that."

"It won't, will it?" She looked up at him, her gaze puzzled. "What about you?"

He shook his head, his arms tensing. "What about me?"

"What are you doing with the rest of your life?"

"I don't know." The words felt ripped from his throat, like he had to overcome shards of glass embedded there.

"You must have loved her very much," Georgina said softly.

He tried to swallow. "Have you ever been in love?"

Returning her gaze to the ocean, she shook her head once. "I only do casual. Like us."

He wasn't feeling anything casual at the moment. "Why? I'd think your parents' relationship would have made you inclined to believe in love."

Her face went stony as she stared at the waves. "You thought wrong."

He angled toward her to study her face. "Are they why you don't want to tango?" he asked, everything suddenly falling into place.

"I don't tango because the culture around it is ridiculous," she said, facing him. "It should just be a dance, for enjoyment, but people wrap it up in passion and pain. I don't do that. Passion sucks."

"It didn't suck the other night," he pointed out in a low voice.

She met his gaze. "I told you, that was just sex. We weren't doing passion."

He pulled her into his arms, even though everything told him to step away. "It felt passionate."

"Passion causes people to do extreme things that aren't in their best interests," she replied soberly. "Tango only encourages that. I don't want any part of it."

"But you said you'd dance with me."

She lowered her gaze. "Because you said you'd paint my mural."

He said nothing to correct her, even though he didn't have any plans to fix the building. Worst-case scenario, she could just get it painted over.

He waited for Giselle to murmur something in his ear, but all he heard was a whisper of her disapproval echoing in his mind.

Oblivious to his inner turmoil, Georgina took his collar in her hand and tugged it. "It was just sex, right?"

No, it wasn't, and that was what disturbed him most. "Yeah."

"Nothing complicated?" she said, eyeing him closely. "Just two people who decided to get physical for a night?"

"For a night?" He frowned.

She looked away. "Did you think it was going to be more than a one-night stand?"

He'd been trying not to think anything, but the idea of a one-night stand bugged the hell out of him. He lifted her chin so he could see in her eyes.

It bugged her, too—he could see it.

That realization both reassured and scared him. He let his arms fall. "We should head back."

"Yeah," she said, sounding a little sad.

As he put his helmet back on, he told himself that he was saving her from being a lot sad, because as much as she denied that they'd shared any passion, he'd felt it, and she had too based on what he'd seen in her soul. There was no way he was going there again.

And that makes me sad
, Giselle's soft voice whispered as he sat behind Georgina, leaning back so he wouldn't get too close again.