When I’m With You (Indigo) Read Free

red silk dress that draped below a slender waistline and fell just short of her knees. The straps on her pumps wrapped around slim ankles that connected to a pair of shapely legs. But it was those eyes he’d first noticed. Dark brown and slanted, they were mesmerizing, and he was spellbound.
    “Tell you what, let me go and take a look at your car.” He motioned to the space behind her. “Have a seat in the customer waiting area. Shouldn’t take me more than a few moments to see what’s going on.”
    * * *
     
    Ten minutes passed, and Caitlyn surged to her feet when she saw him open the door. But the sudden jolt made her lightheaded, and a wave of nausea hit her. She slumped back to the chair and rested her head on top of her knees.
    Marcel squatted in front of her, his voice filled with concern. “Ma’am, are you okay?”
    “I’m sorry.” Caitlyn managed to say the words a few moments later, embarrassed. She flashed a weak smile. “Guess that’s what happens when you don’t eat all day.”
    Marcel stood. “Here, let me get you some water.”
    She shook her head. “No, please. I’m fine. Just moved a little too fast, that’s all.” God, she’d taken up enough of his time. The woeful look in his gray-green eyes concerned her, and she sensed it was bad news concerning her car. “Can you fix it?”
    “I can, but not tonight.”
    Caitlyn looked away, then back at him again as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “Any idea of what it’ll cost to fix it?”
    He shook his head and answered truthfully. “I won’t know that until tomorrow.”
    Worried the expenses would be astronomical, Caitlyn was almost too afraid to ask the question, but she did anyway. “Are we talking a…lot?”
    “Well, that depends on what you consider a lot.”
    “A thousand?” She held her breath and waited.
    “Hmm, not that much. You’ve got a problem with your fuel line and a couple of sensors. My best estimate right now is around five hundred.”
    Caitlyn swallowed the urge to scream. Tension seeped along the space between her neck and shoulders, and the sharp, prickling sensation felt like stickpins. She needed her car, period. But five hundred dollars? At that moment, she was so tired, she couldn’t think straight. She figured the best thing to do was head home, get a good night’s sleep, and worry about the car expenses the next morning.
    “I see.” She stood and extended her hand. “Well, thank you for your help anyway. I’m sorry I bothered you.” She placed the strap of the purse on her shoulder and headed for the door.
    The cloud of distress that pierced her eyes didn’t go unnoticed, and Marcel certainly didn’t want to add to her frustration. From behind, he called out. “Wait. How are you getting home?”
    She stopped and turned around. “I’ll call a taxi.”
    Marcel walked toward her. “Tell you what, let me give you a loaner car for tonight, Mrs.—”
    “I’m not married, and I prefer to call a cab.” She glanced around the room. “Perhaps there’s a phone I could use?”
    “Ma’am, you don’t need to call a cab. The loaner is part of our service.”
    Marcel quickly turned and made his way toward the service desk, subtly making the sign of the cross to whatever fate that had landed this Nairobian beauty at his doorstep. Grabbing the necessary paperwork, he placed the key to the loaner in his pocket and took the seat next to her. “We can settle up your bill tomorrow when your car’s ready, and I’ll do my best to stay within the five-hundred-dollar range.”
    He looked over the information she handed back to him and frowned slightly. C. R. Thompson. That couldn’t be her full name, he thought. And even if by some off chance it was, it didn’t tell him a whole lot. He wanted vital statistics, like her address, telephone number, and whether she was single, and not necessarily in that order. His thick, black eyebrows bunched as he reviewed several sections of the form she’d left