Lena showed up just after noon, sun already brutal, turning the asphalt into a shimmering heat wave. She’d swapped the sundress for denim cut-offs that barely covered her ass and a white cropped tank that left four inches of smooth stomach bare. No bra—her n*****s poked against the thin cotton like they were already begging for attention. She walked in like she owned the place, hips swaying, flip-flops slapping the concrete.
The garage was dead quiet except for the low hum of the air compressor. Jax had the Mustang up on the lift, front end high, hood open. He was underneath it on a creeper, legs sticking out, jeans slung low enough to show the deep V of muscle disappearing into his waistband. Grease streaked his forearms, his abs, even a smudge across his cheek.
He heard her footsteps a
