The garage was a sanctuary of steel and shadow, a dimly lit haven where the hum of dormant machinery buzzed like a heartbeat. Flickering control panels cast ghostly blue light across the concrete floor, illuminating the centerpiece of the space: a nearly completed lightcycle, its sleek frame gleaming with the promise of speed. Tools and wires lay scattered like the aftermath of a storm, evidence of hours spent in obsessive creation. At the heart of it all stood Beck, her lean figure hunched over the cycle’s exposed circuitry, a wrench in one hand and a soldering iron in the other. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy knot, strands escaping to frame a face smudged with grease but sharp with focus. She was a woman who commanded her space, every movement precise, every thought calculated—until the door creaked open.
“Working late again, Beck? You’re gonna turn into one of these machines if you don’t take a break,” came a voice, smooth and teasing, cutting through the quiet like a blade. Veyr sauntered in, his boots scuffing deliberately against the floor, a smirk playing on his lips. He was all lean muscle and mischief, his tousled hair catching the faint light as he leaned against a nearby workbench, arms crossed, watching her with an intensity that had nothing to do with the lightcycle.
Beck didn’t look up, her jaw tightening as she adjusted a wire. “If I wanted company, Veyr, I’d have invited someone useful. Go bother someone else.”
“Oh, come on, sweetheart, I’m useful. I’m moral support.” He pushed off the workbench, closing the distance between them with a lazy swagger. “Besides, who else is gonna keep you from keeling over at two in the morning?”
She snorted, finally glancing at him, her hazel eyes narrowing. “Moral support doesn’t knock over my tools. Or breathe down my neck. Back off.”
Veyr grinned, undeterred, and reached past her to pick up a stray wrench—only to “accidentally” nudge a pile of screws onto the floor with a clatter. “Oops. My bad.” His tone was anything but apologetic as he bent down to retrieve them, his shoulder brushing against her thigh with deliberate slowness.
Beck’s grip on the soldering iron tightened, her voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “Veyr, I swear, if you don’t cut it out—”
“What?” He straightened, stepping closer, his breath warm against her ear as he murmured, “You’ll fix me like one of your little projects? I’d love to see you try.” Before she could snap back, his arms slid around her waist from behind, pulling her against him in a bold, possessive embrace. His fingers splayed across her hips, teasing the edge of her tank top. “You’ve got grease on your cheek, by the way. It’s cute.”
Her body stiffened, a flush creeping up her neck despite herself. She twisted in his grip, shoving him back with a force that made him stumble. “Touch me again without permission, and I’ll use you for spare parts. Got it?”
Veyr laughed, a low, throaty sound that echoed in the garage as he regained his footing. “Damn, Beck, you’re sexy when you’re pissed. Do that again.”
Her frustration boiled over. In three swift strides, she closed the gap between them, grabbing the front of his jacket and dragging him backward until his back slammed against a metal tool cabinet with a resounding clang. She pinned him there, one hand braced against his chest, the other gripping his collar as she leaned in close, her voice a lethal whisper. “Listen up, pretty boy. You’re gonna behave, or I’m tying you up with these wires and leaving you here ‘til dawn. Test me. I dare you.”
His eyes gleamed with wicked delight, not an ounce of fear in them. He tilted his head, lips curling into a sly grin as he drawled, “Promises, promises. You’ve got no idea how much I’d enjoy that, do you? Go on, tie me up. I’ll be your best project yet.”
Beck blinked, caught off guard by the raw challenge in his tone. Her grip faltered for a split second, and she hated how her pulse quickened, how the heat of his body under her hand seemed to sear through her resolve. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, stepping back and turning toward the lightcycle, desperate to regain control. “Get out of my garage before I actually do it.”
“Not a chance,” Veyr shot back, pushing off the cabinet to follow her, his voice dripping with amusement. “You’re blushing, by the way. Didn’t think I could get under your skin like this, huh? Admit it—you like the game as much as I do.”
She spun around, pointing the wrench at him like a weapon. “I’m not blushing. I’m annoyed. There’s a difference. And if you think this is a game, you’re playing alone.”
“Oh, I’m not alone.” He stepped closer again, his gaze locking with hers, daring her to push back. “You’re right here with me, Beck. Every time you snap, every time you glare, you’re playing. And I’m winning.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but the heat in her cheeks betrayed her. She turned back to the lightcycle, slamming the wrench down harder than necessary as she muttered, “Keep talking, Veyr. See how long it takes me to gag you with electrical tape.”
He chuckled, leaning against the cycle’s frame—far too close for her liking—and watched her work with an infuriatingly smug expression. “I’d like to see you try, boss lady. Bet I’d still find a way to make you blush.”
The air between them crackled, charged with something more electric than the machinery humming around them. Beck’s hands moved over the wires with forced precision, but her mind was elsewhere, tangled in the infuriating, undeniable pull of the man watching her every move. And Veyr, with that victorious smirk plastered across his face, knew exactly what he’d done. He’d gotten under her skin, and he wasn’t about to let her forget it.
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