Connelly's Flame (4 page)

“What would a woman like her be living alone out here for? Where is her man to take care of her?”

He looked at all these pictures on her wall of cars. Antiques, classics, they were beautiful.

Dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, he moved to the door and looked out into the dark. He could

barely make out the glow of a light from across the way. As the smell of cooking food filled the air, he

grabbed a thick jacket and stepped out into nature’s wrath.

Eyes squinted against the wind, he grabbed the rope that was secured to the porch and began to

follow it. His feet were freezing as he finally made it to a large building. Opening the door he slipped inside,

grateful to be out of the wind and cold. The place wasn’t hot but it was tolerable.

He brushed the snow from his hair and his ears picked up her voice. It sounded like she was on the

other side of the building or in a room, for it was muted. When he heard a man’s voice, his gray eyes

narrowed.

Stepping out to make his presence known, he took two strides and stopped dead. There were four

cars under the lights in various stages of rebuilding. They were classics; they were astounding.

In amazement, he walked closer to the first one. It was cobalt blue and gleamed under the bright

lights. “Jesus,” he muttered.

“It’s a 1965 Aston Martin DB6 with a Vantage engine,” a feminine voice said.

He looked up to see her weaving her way across the building to his side. “Whose are they?” One

hand gestured to encompass all the vehicles in there.

“Clients. I’m almost done with this one. I’m just making sure the triple twin-choke carburetors and

pumps are working properly.” She moved down the line.

“This is the same thing, only a convertible. Both of them are five-speed manuals. They only made

215 of the convertibles. I have a bit more to do on him.”

Gray eyes took in the black convertible. The top was removed and he could see that the gears and

wheel were on the right side of the car. The interior was leather, wall-to-wall carpeting, lots of gauges and a

wood/metal steering wheel.

13

CONNELLY’S FLAME

Aliyah Burke

“You do this?” the incredulous question came.

“Yep. I do.” With a smile, she took him farther into the shop to the next car. A dark green color.

“This is a 1964 Ford Fairlane. And down here is my latest addition to the garage.”

Wordlessly, he followed her to stop in front of a whit car. “What is it?”

“An Oldsmobile Toronado. A 1966 Toronado.”

“You repair cars,” he stated.

“No, I restore cars. My business is
Phoenix Restorations and Rebuilds
.”

“And you do all this by yourself?”

Chocolate eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms and leaned against the car. “Why are you snooping

around out here?”

He seemed taken aback. “What are you talking about? I was looking for you.”

“What difference does it make if I do this myself or not?”

“Hey, I was just asking. Why are you being so defensive?” He took a step towards her.

Even though she was scared, Dezarae refused to budge. “Because you are asking a lot of personal

questions and I don’t know you.”

“I am not going to hurt you.” He tried again.

“Look, nothing overly personal, but I have been having some trouble with a few of the locals and I

am not inclined to totally trust a man who has a rebel flag tattooed on his chest.”

His eyes hardened. “Nothing personal?” He shook his head, “You tell me you are judging me

because of a tattoo but I am not supposed to take it personally. How exactly
should
I take it?”

“Like it is. Fact. I am just getting a bit nervous here.” Her eyes moved from his tense body back to

his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, he held out his hands. “I’ll go. I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” He

turned around and missed her shocked expression.

“You don’t have to go. I just don’t want to tell you everything about me,” she shouted as he walked

away from her.

“Thanks for everything.” Within moments he was gone from the building.

“Shit!” Dezarae ran up to the door and out into the storm after him. “Hey!” she yelled into the wind.

“Hey!”

Nothing.

Way to go, Dezarae, send a man to his death just because of a tattoo.
She hurried into the house and

found him walking out of her room wearing nothing but the clothes he had worn when she found him.

Shaking the snow off her head, she held up her hand.

“You don’t have to leave.” She tried again.

“I think it would be best.” He kept walking towards her with sure strides.

“Look, you won’t survive out there,” she pled.
I don’t need his death on my conscience.

“I’ll think of something.” He opened the door, after barely touching her, to get by.

“Fine!” She yelled, as he pulled the door shut after him. “Be an idiot, Johnny Reb, I don’t give a

damn!” Ripping off her coat, she was totally unprepared for the blast of cold air that hit her as he shoved the

door wide open again.

“What did you call me?” he growled, reaching for her and clamping a hand around her.

“An idiot,” she muttered.

“No, after that.” His eyes were fierce as they bore into hers.

“Um, Johnny Reb,” she said quietly, suddenly not as confident as she had been.

He dropped her arm and shut the door with one strong slam. “Johnny Reb, Johnny Reb…Jeb. Jeb,

that sounds familiar to me. Jeb, I remember people calling me Jeb.” She was the recipient of a winning smile.

“My name is Jeb,” he said as he hugged her in gratitude.

As the smell of man surrounded Dezarae, she found her body trembling. How was it that one look,

one touch from this man could set her to quivering this badly? She moved out of his embrace and smiled

back. “Hello, Jeb, I’m Dezarae.”

“Hello, Dezarae, I’m, Jeb, an idiot, can I stay?”

“Of course you can.” She began to walk away but he latched onto her arm again.

14

CONNELLY’S FLAME

Aliyah Burke

“Hey, I’m sorry my tattoo bothers you.”

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry about it.”
Your chest bothers me more. I’d like to lick warm chocolate and

caramel off it.
“Let’s eat. I have to get to work.”

Falling into step beside her, he asked. “Out in the shop?”

“No, I have some paperwork that I have to get done.”

“Let me know if there is anything,
anything that
I can do.” He fairly purred in her ear.

Swallowing hard, she managed to stutter, “I’ll do that.”

15

CONNELLY’S FLAME

Aliyah Burke

After breakfast was over and they had both cleaned up, Dezarae sat in her office filling out form after

form of tedious paperwork. Her guest, now going by the name of Jeb, was in there with her.

He was silent, though, as he looked through some of her books on classic cars that she had in the

room. She worked until her watch read eleven o’clock. With a groan, she stretched and rolled her neck. The

desk was clean. Papers had been filed.

“Done?” a deep voice asked from behind her, setting butterflies to fluttering in the pit of her

stomach.

“Finally. I hate this part of running a business.”

“Anything I can help you with?” he offered as his body materialized beside her.

Don’t answer that, Mouth, don’t answer that.
She shook her head. “I am going to make lunch and

then work out in the shop. You are welcome to come along if you want,” Dezarae offered.

He arched a brow as one lean finger brought her chin up to meet his gaze. “Why the change of

heart?”

She didn’t even pretend to misunderstand. “I’m sorry, okay? I took my instinctive reaction to the flag

and lumped you into a category. Combined with the stuff I heard from Dale…”She stood and shrugged as her

deep-pool eyes met and held his gaze. “I’m sorry. I was out of line.”

Granite eyes bore into hers as another few inches of snow fell outside. “Apology accepted.”

Dezarae winked. “Besides, it’s hard to court if we aren’t together.”

He smiled showing a perfect white smile against tanned skin. “That is very true.”

“Well, let’s go then. I told the sheriff I would check back in with him later.”

“Why don’t you have a CB in the house?”

“I spend more time in the garage than I do here. So it makes more sense.” They walked up the hall to

the kitchen where Dezarae made some sandwiches and soup which she put in a thermos. “Dale is always

after me to get another one for the house.”

“Who’s Dale?” He interrupted.

“Oh, sorry, he’s the sheriff.” Finally ready, they bundled up and had their food. Talk halted as they

walked through the storm to the shop, holding tightly to the connecting rope.

As the door slammed shut and they were shaking the snow from their hair, she spoke again. “I have

an extra pair of coveralls you can use.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Well, that’s a loaded question.
“Give me a second. I want to turn up the heat.”

So would I.
“Okay,” he said as she walked off to the thermostat.

Jeb watched as the exquisitely lovely Black woman sashayed away from him. He knew it was her

natural stride because of the fierce way she was fighting her sexual attraction to him. She wanted him and he

knew it. But then, he wanted her, a fact she was soon going to learn.

He heard the motor kick in and knew that more heat was soon to follow. She walked towards him

and tossed him a pair of green coveralls. Without missing a beat, she slid her body into a second set and he

got to see that she was indeed curvaceous.
Damn, she is stacked.

He pulled on his coveralls and waited for instruction. All the lights were on and she pointed over by

a wall. “What?” He asked.

“There is a radio over there, go put on some tunes. I have a whole bunch of CD’s, so mix and

match.”

“What do you want to hear?” Jeb yelled over his shoulder as he walked away.

“I like all the music that’s there. Doesn’t matter to me,” she hollered back as she walked up to the

Aston Martin, the one that wasn’t a convertible. Rolling over her tall cart of tools and parts, she lifted the

hood and disappeared under it.

The music of Destiny’s Child filled the shop as, from under her arm, she noticed him walking back

over towards her. “What now?” his seductive voice teased her.

16

CONNELLY’S FLAME

Aliyah Burke

“Eat something. I could use your help in just a moment.”

“No rush. I am enjoying the view from here.”

Glad her head was under the hood, she blushed. “I know, the cars are nice aren’t they?” Dezarae was

determined to ignore his statement.

“Well, there is a nice back end that I am looking at.”

“And you have a nice everything,” she muttered as she gave the ratchet a final turn.

“Thank you,” he purred in her ear.

Dezarae jumped. “You heard me?” Still, her gaze refused to turn toward him.

“Most definitely.” His shoulders settled beside her as he cocked his head and asked. “What are you

doing?”

“I, well,
we
are about to make sure this baby runs.” Wiping her hands on a rag, she backed out from

under the hood and put her tools back.

“What do you need from me?” The prospect of working on this car was amazing to him.

“Well, can you cover the seat in that plastic and then get in and start it up?” Her gaze turned

mischievous. “That is, if you can drive a stick.”

Molten mercury was the only way to describe his eyes. “Oh, I can drive a stick. I promise you that.”

She trembled. “Talk is cheap, Jeb. Get in and prove it.”

“Let me know when you are ready to let me ‘get in and prove it,’” he said as he carefully protected

the leather seat and climbed in the right side of the car.

“Ready back there?” Dezarae asked as another blush overtook her body.

“Let me know.” His hands lovingly caressed the interior of the car. It was beautiful.

“Hang on.” He heard some more tinkering under the hood. “Okay, go now, nice and easy,” she

hollered to him from where she was.

“Gotcha.” Jeb turned the car over and it started but sounded a bit off. “Now what?” he yelled to her.

“Let it run for a bit. I have to do some adjusting. Make sure the brake is on, please,” she said as her

head peered at him from around the hood briefly before it was hidden again.

Jeb sat on the butter-soft leather and just admired the car. Nice cars. His eyes drifted closed as his

memories became clearer.

****

laughing. “Let me know when you get your hands on an old Jag and then we will talk, Jeb,” the large Black

man in the group said to him.

“I’m just a noncom, you are commissioned. How about you buy me one?” Jeb teased back.

“But you’re the newbie. It’s customary to buy us a gift.”

“Oh, sure, I will get right on that…” The picture faded before the name could be revealed.

****

she asked.

“I had a memory, but I lost it.” He didn’t want to tell her what he had gotten yet, not until he was

sure.

“I’m sure you will get it back. Can you rev the engine for me?” She slipped back out of view.

He did and before long the car was purring like a kitten. With a slam, she shut the hood and winked

at the man who still sat behind the wheel. She made a slashing motion with her hand and he cut the engine