Sebastian Lores liked engines. They were simple. Predictable. If something broke, you fixed it. If it stalled, you figured out why. There were no games, no masks, no silk gloves hiding sharp claws.
Unlike the woman in red.
He couldn't stop thinking about her—not since that accidental coffee collision. That dress clung to her curves like it had been sewn onto her skin, and her lips had parted with outrage and just the tiniest glimmer of curiosity. She was fire, and he was already too close to the flame.
He should've walked away and never looked back.
Instead, he was still grinning like an idiot while tightening bolts under the hood of a classic Mustang.
"Yo, Lores," his coworker Jason called from across the garage, wiping his hands on a rag. "You good, man? You've been smiling at that engine like it offered you a date."
"Maybe it did," Sebastian muttered, straightening up.
Jason raised a brow. "You're thinking about a woman."
Sebastian rolled his eyes. "What makes you say that?"
"You haven't cussed once today. That's how I know you're distracted."
He didn't respond. How could he explain her? The sass. The way her eyes flared with indignation but held something else—like she wasn't used to people talking back to her, and somehow... liked it.
She'd said her name was Emilia. Just that. No last name. But from her dress, her heels, and the car that had dropped her off, she was someone important. Someone he had no business thinking about.
Still, his fingers twitched with the memory of brushing against her skin. That accidental contact felt too intimate, too real. And God, she smelled like vanilla .
He shook the thought off and returned to the car. Work. Focus.
Meanwhile, Emilia stood at the top floor of her office building, facing a glass wall that overlooked the city. Her assistant rambled about lunch appointments and press meetings, but all she could hear was that stranger's voice in her head.
"Is Valentino your lawyer?"
She should've been annoyed. Offended. But all she could do was smirk to herself, arms crossed as she stared at nothing in particular.
"Miss Stone?" her assistant called, blinking nervously. "Should I cancel your lunch with the partners from Milan?"
"No," she replied slowly. "Move it. Push it to four."
"Of course. Any particular reason?"
She turned, lips curving slightly. "I think I need some air."
---
Later That Day
Sebastian wiped sweat off his brow as he stepped outside the garage. He barely made it three steps before a sleek black car pulled up to the curb—and out stepped the last woman he expected to see again.
Red lips. Black sunglasses. White blazer over a fitted dress that screamed money and attitude.
"Emilia," he muttered.
She slid her glasses down her nose, eyeing him like he was an item on a menu she wasn't sure she should indulge in.
"Sebastian," she said, her voice smooth as honey—and just as dangerous. "You owe me a coffee."
He blinked. "Thought you didn't want to see me again."
"I changed my mind."
He smirked, tossing the rag over his shoulder. "So, princess wants to slum it a little, huh?"
"I'm not a princess," she replied coolly. "And you look like you could use some fun."
He stepped closer, tilting his head. "And you look like you don't know what that word even means."
She smirked. "Surprise me."
Oh, he would.
And from the heat flickering between them, he knew they were both about to get burned.