Free Turn Up the Heat by Kimberly Kincaid Page A

cracked open a cold pack and passed it over wordlessly.
    â€œNot me, him.” Bellamy’s words were so quiet, they almost qualified as a whisper. She leaned into the cold pack, feeling the ache of it seep into her cheekbone. It was embarrassing enough that she’d walked into a pole trying to look cool in front of the cocky jerk, but then to go and kiss him like a groupie on top of it all? Insult and injury were supposed to be metaphorical, for God’s sake!
    Jenna lifted her gaze from the bagel she was buttering, confused. “But he seemed sober.”
    Bellamy cut off her thoughts with a wave. Nope. Her ego was a sinking ship as it was. She simply couldn’t dwell on it. “Either way, it was nothing. As a matter of fact, it was less than nothing.” Shifting the cold pack, Bellamy traced a line down her half-numb cheek. “Hey, does this look bad enough to get me out of work for a couple of days? I’m thinking I should milk it for all it’s worth, and fifty bucks says Bosszilla asks for photographic proof of bodily harm before she gives me another couple of days off.”
    â€œOh, come on! Your car is about to be in a bazillion pieces. She won’t let you off the hook?” Holly rolled her eyes.
    Bellamy smirked. “Clearly, you’re forgetting the time I took two days off for my great-aunt’s funeral in New Jersey. She made me give her the obituary so she could call the funeral home to verify everything.”
    â€œWell, the bruise isn’t terrible, but we could Photoshop you to make it look really awful,” Holly suggested, falling for the change in subject hook, line, and sinker.
    Bellamy played right along. “Knock yourself out. I have twenty-four hours to come up with a viable excuse, or else my boss is going to go full frontal bitch. And trust me when I say, it’s not a pretty sight.”
    She sank back against the headboard as Jenna and Holly argued over whether being mauled by a bear in the mountains was a viable excuse. The subject of Bellamy’s clandestine barroom kiss had been all but forgotten, swept under the rug as if it had never happened. Which was just the way she wanted it, because the whole thing had been a mistake of epic proportions.
    Now if only she could get the feel of Shane’s mouth, hot and oh so male, out of her head, she’d be just fine.

Chapter Seven
    By the time lunch rolled around, Shane had been under Bellamy’s Miata for three hours, and that was after running the five mile loop behind the old log cabin he rented. The unease he’d felt all morning sloshed around in his belly by the gallon. If a five mile run and yanking a transmission that was as stubborn as its owner didn’t work to lighten his restlessness, Shane was out of ideas for what would.
    â€œLemme guess. You’ve been here a while. And by a while, I don’t mean twenty minutes,” Jackson drawled from the side door of the garage as he came in, huddled deep in his jacket against the January cold.
    â€œA while, yeah.” It wasn’t Shane’s fault he couldn’t sleep, for God’s sake. He had work to do.
    â€œTell me you at least stayed in bed until after the sun was up, you freaking workaholic.”
    â€œWhatever makes you feel better, man.” Getting paid meant getting it done, and Shane had waited long enough to start pulling the tranny on this thing. Plus, if he kept his hands busy on Bellamy’s car, then maybe he wouldn’t be so tempted to be doing other things with them. Christ, it was a good thing this tranny would take all afternoon. Maybe he’d offer to tune up Jackson’s truck, just for good measure.
    Jackson shook his head, joking as he ducked to stand under the car. “Don’t you ever rest?”
    â€œGot plenty of time to rest when I’m dead,” Shane quipped over his shoulder with forced humor.
    â€œAren’t you just a ray of frickin’