What The Heart Wants Read Online Free Page A

finished working on, wiping his hands off on a rag and staring openly at her.
    She turned to the machine and typed in her amount and swiped her credit card. That part seemed pretty self-explanatory at least. Pulling out the handle, she tried putting the nozzle into her gas tank and failed.
    Looking over her shoulder, she checked to see if random-gorgeous-staring-dude was watching her humiliation. Thankfully he was gone.
    Trying again, the nozzle hit something hard. “Damn it,” she cursed under her breath. She pulled it back, preparing to shove the stubborn thing in if she needed to, when a big hand clamped down on top of hers, stopping the motion.
    “Easy baby,” a deep, gravely voice said right behind her shoulder. She felt his breath on her ear. “You have to unscrew the gas cap,” he explained, reaching forward and unscrewing it himself. It was only then that she realized how close he was, his chest against her back. She felt the entire hard length of his body as he reached forward. His cheek brushed against the top of her head and she felt her stomach did a little flip-flop and she felt her face growing red.
    “Now you can put it in,” he said with what sounded like a chuckle in his voice. He led her hand forward, putting the nozzle into the gas tank and pushing her finger town on the trigger.
    The gas started flowing into the tank but his hand stayed on hers on the handle for another moment. “See baby?” he said. “Simple enough.” And he rubbed his thumb across the side of her hand before letting go.
    She didn’t realize until he stepped away that she had been holding her breath. “Th… thanks,” she stammered, turning to face him. He was backing up toward the gas station, still facing her. It was the first good look she had really gotten of him. He had one of those long and slim but muscular frames that her mother would have called a swimmer’s body. His jet hair and somewhat pale skin made him look every bit dangerous… and unnervingly sexy.
    “My pleasure,” he said, shocking her with his audacity when he winked at her and grinned before turning back into the garage.
    The gas pump clicked and Anna put the nozzle back in the cradle and firmly screwed the gas cap back on. She had heard about men like him but had never met one. In all honesty, she had figured they were just figments of women’s imaginations used widely in television, movies, and romance novels but never based on actual real life flesh and blood men.
    She felt flushed and overheated. And more than a little irritated at her own reaction. She had never really been one of those man-obsessed women. She didn’t check out men at bars or have silly crushes on unobtainable male celebrities. And she certainly never got aroused by some random strange man assisting her with a daily task.
    But, she comforted herself, this was not just any man. He must have been some distant descendant of Cassanova or something. And she was, after all, a woman and not entirely immune to pure, raw animal magnetism. She glanced back at the garage but saw no one and suppressed a twinge of disappointment.
    Shaking her head, Annabelle looked across the street. There was a diner with a huge bay window and quaint lace white curtains. She could use a strong cup of coffee. Or ten. She parked her car, gave the garage one last glance, and walked over.
    Wind chimes sang happily as the door opened. The sound made her smile. Classic to any diner she was used to back home, there was a counter up front with a cash register, menus, and a long glass dessert case filled with pies, cookies, and danishes. Past the counter, there were about a dozen clean white tables and white chairs with a single yellow daffodil in a vase on the center of each table.
    “Girl,” a voice called out. “Eric O’reilly aint no good for a girl like you.”
    Anna searched for the speaker and found a woman who sat in front of the bay window. She was well into middle age with a thick build. Her thick