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looker—a well-built looker. Her pulse raced, and she hated the thought of dealing with him again when she came later to pick up her car.
    Adam Corbain couldn’t
help but grin as he watched the woman drive off in the car. She had to have been the snootiest yet most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Dark brown shredded hair fell to her shoulders, and her eyes had been the color of gingerbread. When she’d walked off, he had tried not to stare, but he hadn’t missed the generous curves showcased in the pair of shorts she was wearing.
    She had tried looking down on him like he was a cockroach, but that was only after he detected that hot look of interest in her eyes. Sexual chemistry was hard to resist, and he had felt it the same moment she had, when their gazes first connected. And when she had given him her car keys and business card and their fingers had touched, he had actually felt her tremble, which sparked a need he’d ignored for the past six months. His desire for her had been just that spontaneous. In all his thirty-seven years, he had never experienced such a thing before. He glanced down at the business card in his hand.
    Dr. Shannon Carmichael
    Professor of English and American Literature
    Duke University
    “Hey, man, whose car is this?”
    Adam turned around at the sound of his old friend’s voice. For as long as Adam could remember, Kent Scott was a person who loved tinkering with automobiles, so no one was really surprised after they’d graduated from high school that Kent went to college to obtain a degree in mechanical engineering. After working a few years designing cars for General Motors, he began his NASCAR career and earned the reputation of being both a high-performance mechanic and a fearless race car driver. However, the latter came to a screeching halt when he met and later married Lori. Now he was a family man and the owner of several profitable high-performance repair shops around the country. His clientele included sport figures and celebrities looking for classic cars to add to their collection.
    “A woman brought it in,” Adam finally answered. “She heard a knocking sound and wants you to check it out.”
    Kent raised a curious brow. “And she just left it here?” he asked, eyeing the sports car, a sleek and stylish Porsche.
    Adam smiled as he handed him the keys and the business card. “Yes. She thought I was one of your mechanics.”
    A grin flickered across Kent’s lips. “You, a mechanic? Not Mr. Ivy League graduate. Mr. Suave Attorney. How on earth could she assume such a thing?”
    “Probably from the way I’m dressed, which wasn’t to impress,” Adam said, glancing down at himself. His jeans and his T-shirt had seen better days.
    Shaking his head, Adam walked over to the car he had been about to work on before he’d noticed Ms. Carmichael sitting in the parked car. In a way, it was kind of comical that for the next month or so he would be just what Shannon Carmichael thought he was. A mechanic.
    Kent had contacted him a few months ago, letting him know he’d located a 1969 Pontiac GTO, and that all it needed was a little work. “A little work” to Kent meant a lot of work to anyone else. So Adam took a month’s leave from the family law office in Memphis to come to Hilton Head. And because he intended to spend the majority of his days and, in some cases, late into the night working on the vehicle, Kent suggested he occupy the empty apartment over the garage. Perfect.
    So for one month he would shed the role of Adam Corbain, the cool, sophisticated, and suave Memphis attorney and become a man on a mission to restore what he considered as the beauty of all muscle cars. He intended to make the vehicle into nothing less than one hell of a commemorative collectors’ item that would be an added bonus to his five-car garage.
    “So was she good-looking?”
    Adam glanced over his shoulder. “Who?”
    “The woman driving this set of wheels.”
    Adam smiled. “You’re