to look at her. “Need some help?”
Up close, he packed a punch. A five o’clock shadow blued his jaw deliciously. His eyebrows drew sharp lines above his dark gray eyes. Who knew Samaritans were so gorgeous?
Of course, Ted Bundy had been good-looking and charming, too, she reminded herself, but she still brought the window down an inch. “No thanks. I’ve got a tow truck coming,” she said, holding up her cell phone.
“It kind of looked like you were trying to change it yourself when I drove by. Are you sure you don’t need a hand?”
She could think of a thing or two to do with hands like his, but not in her current situation. “It’s nice of you to offer but I’m sure you’re on your way somewhere.” And if conditions were different, I’d be happy to jump you.
“I’ve got time,” he said easily.
Cilla hesitated. Unless she got this stranger, or a tow-truck driver, to change the tire, she clearly wasn’t going anywhere. Part of her was ready to open the door and take him up on his offer—how many Ted Bundys could there be? The other part of her, the part that had lived in the city for too long, perhaps, wasn’t about to take a chance. “I appreciate the thought,” she began, “but I’d really prefer to stay in here and wait for the tow-truck driver.” No matter how gorgeous you are.
Instead of looking offended, he nodded. “You know what? You’re being smart. That’s exactly what I’d tell my kid sisters to do in your spot. But what’s not smart is for you to be sitting on the side of the road out here in nowhere land.” He gave her a thoughtful look. “How much do you weigh?”
“Pardon me?”
“Never mind. You look pretty small. How about if you stay put and I’ll jack up the car with you in it?”
Cilla blinked. “Isn’t that dangerous?”
A corner of his mouth curved up in a smile. “Not unless you plan to start bouncing around.”
“Are you sure? I can wait for the tow-truck driver, or even do it myself.”
His smile broadened. “I’m sure you could, but I bet I can do it quicker. I worked at a garage when I was in high school. And the quicker you say ‘yes,’ the quicker it’ll be done.” He paused, watching her. “The price is right,” he wheedled. “I’ll have you on the road in fifteen minutes.”
Cilla gave up. “Okay, fine.”
“Good call,” he said approvingly. “Okay, let’s get to it. Make sure it’s in gear and put on the emergency brake. Then don’t move until I tell you.”
As he walked to the back of the car, Cilla leaned over and adjusted her side mirror to watch him. If he looked good from the front, he looked even better from the back. Not to mention the fact that he sounded like a genuinely decent guy. She felt the car shift as he pulled the tire out of her trunk. And then he was walking forward to knock at her window.
“What did you do with the tire iron?”
Cilla looked down and realized she was still holding it. She raised her hand.
He blinked and a down-to-his-toes belly laugh rolled out of him. “I see you’re prepared. So much for worrying about a helpless woman at the side of the road.”
“You should be careful about laughing at a person holding a lethal weapon,” she said with dignity, her cheeks burning.
“Damned straight,” he agreed. “Never mind, I’ll get mine.”
And that, of course, treated her to a direct view of him from behind. He rummaged in his trunk for a moment, bending down, she was pleased to see, before getting the crowbar. There was nothing quite like a fine-looking ass on a man, Cilla mused, small and tight and marble hard.
Back at her car, it took him approximately five seconds and one try on each to break loose the lug nuts. It was because she’d loosened them for him, she told herself, trying not to be impressed. The car lurched as he raised the jack, and then the old wheel was off and the spare put on so efficiently it seemed like only a minute or two had passed before the car was back down. There was something immensely sexy about a capable man. Her system buzzed pleasantly.
Sooner than she would have wanted, he was back by her window. “The jack is back in its bracket and I put the old tire in the well but you should get it fixed right away. This is bad country to be driving around in without a spare.”
“Of course.” Cilla hesitated, wanting to be more forthcoming and knowing it wasn’t smart. “You’ve been unbelievably nice. How can I thank you?”
He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I’m happy I was here to help.” His eyes locked on hers and the seconds stretched out. “So, anyway, you’re all set,” he said finally, as though he really wanted to say something else. “You okay to drive? Do you want me to follow you for a while?”
“Um…” she said helplessly. Offering money seemed tacky. What she really wanted was to see him again, but she knew nothing about him, not who he was, not where he was going. You’ve done well so far, she told herself. Don’t screw up.
As though he were reading her thoughts, he smiled faintly. “The way I look at it, what goes around comes around. It’s your turn next. Keep an eye out and when you get a chance to do something good for someone, do it.” He looked in her lap. “And you might want to put the tire iron back in your trunk after I leave.”
He gave her a wave and walked back to his car. The last thing she saw was the red of his taillights fading slowly into the gathering darkness.
“CHECKING IN, name of Rand Mitchell.” Rand slid his credit card on the marble counter.
A blond desk clerk, made up to within an inch of her life, beamed at him. “Welcome to the Carrington Palms Hot Springs Resort, sir. And how are you this evening?”
Considering he was going on his twenty-fifth hour without sleep, not too bad, Rand thought. “A little jetlagged, but otherwise okay.” Milan suddenly seemed a long time ago, but not very far away. With its curved marble archways and pillars, and cool tile on the floor, the lobby of the resort would have fit right in in Italy. To one side, an archway led into the vast glass-roofed central atrium of the resort, with its fountains and flora. If you didn’t look up too high, you’d think you were outdoors, with the minivillas in the courtyard, the French doors and balconies up on the wall.
“Well, you’ve come to the right place if you want to relax,” the clerk told him. “We’ve got a world-class golf course designed by Jack Nicklaus and ten outdoor mineral hot springs for you to relax in when you’re done. And, of course, Palm Springs is only another half hour up the highway, if you want to get out and see the sights.”
He’d already seen the best the desert had to offer, Rand reflected, flashing on the stranded motorist he’d stopped to help. He’d glimpsed her fighting with the tire as he’d driven past. Tired as he’d been, he couldn’t help thinking about his mother or one of his sisters stuck on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. Once he’d done that, stopping to help was a no-brainer.
Then he’d walked up and seen her triangular, tilty-eyed face, looking out at him from her absurd little roadster like a fox peeking out of a thicket. And suddenly being the chivalrous gent hadn’t seemed like a hardship at all. The only thing that had been a hardship had been making himself drive away.
He shook his head faintly. Rand Mitchell liked women. A lot. He liked the way they looked, the way they felt, the way they thought, their sometimes quirky behavior and insecurities. He dated the same way he played in a local basketball league before he’d moved to Europe—with casual enjoyment, adeptness and no particular commitment. Serious wasn’t for him; it never had been.
Done deal, he reminded himself as the clerk handed him his room folio. His mystery woman was probably a rich wife headed off to her estate in Palm Springs. Meanwhile, he had a date with a shower and a bed.