And God, she looked young. The makeup she had worn had made her look older, more experienced. He knew she had been eighteen when they married, and he was suddenly desperately aware of how young she had really been.
At twenty-six, she still looked like a kid without the shield of cosmetics to add maturity to her still unlined face. But the grief was there. It was thick and dark in her eyes, in the tightly controlled line of her lips, the stiff set of her shoulders before she disappeared beneath the car.
He drew in a deep hard breath as the mechanics stared back at him, watching him as Sabella disappeared beneath the car. Their expressions were wary, part relief, part concern. They weren't the same men who had worked here when he left, they were unknowns and unknowns were always the enemy. And he would never forget that only one, the youngest, had stepped forward to protect Sabella while the others stood back.
"She's not alone anymore," he growled, knowing the fury that roughened his voice now. "Get your asses in there and finish the work now, or get your stuff and get out. I want every vehicle in that damned bay finished before any of you go home tonight, or the only one I want to see in the morning is this one." He stabbed his finger imperiously toward Toby. "And your ass belongs in the office, if I'm not mistaken."
Toby swallowed tightly, his brown eyes flickering in indecision toward the garage where Sabella had disappeared. It was obvious he was more concerned about leaving her undefended than he was about his job.
"Go, boy," he snarled. "We'll discuss details later." His gaze swung to the other men, watching as they shifted nervously, their oil-streaked expressions and wary eyes staying trained on him.
"Make your choice now," he snapped. "And make sure you make the right one."
He didn't wait for their decisions. He made for the garage, striding straight to the line of clipboards on the workstation and grabbing the first one. It was time to get to work.
He wasn't fooling himself; after the others had left, Sabella would let that temper he knew she had, erupt. He'd only seen it once before in their marriage. The day he had made the mistake of telling her she couldn't do something.
She had taught him fast and hard exactly what happened when he tried to control her.
Control came naturally to SEALs. It was a part of who they were and what made them so efficient. So it wasn't unexpected that the night she had arranged to meet some of her girlfriends for drinks and dinner, he had told her she couldn't go. He wanted her home with him. He'd been horny, and he wanted his wife. He didn't want her at the local watering hole together with a bunch of women and the men there lusting after her.
She'd stared back at him silently for long moments then continued to inform him where she would be and when she would be home.
Dammit, Bella, you can stay home tonight. With me.
He'd barely ducked in time to miss the salt shaker that had been aimed a little too close to his head. Then his sweet, soft-spoken little Southern angel had erupted.
Flushed, furious, she had proceeded to lay down the law regarding their relationship, and by time she stalked out of the house, ass twitching beneath her jeans like an enraged little hen, he'd had his tail tucked between his legs despite the fact that he had informed her to just stay the night with her damned friends. He'd be fine without her.
Two o'clock that morning, he'd driven around town until he found her car, parked at the house of one of those friends. He'd carried his tipsy little wife out of the house, put her in his track, and driven her home. And he'd never made that mistake again.
And now, after hearing that muted, smothered little sound from beneath the car, coming from the woman he wondered if he had even known as his wife, he realized that there was a chance Sabella had held as much back from him as he had held back from her.
Because he hadn't had nearly enough of her before he had "died." He hadn't touched her in the ways he'd wanted to, even then. The darkness that filled him had always been waiting for an outlet, he realized. And now it was focused on one, tiny, too independent little woman. A woman who deserved far better than she was about to get.
* * *
CHAPTER FOUR
It was closing on seven that evening, the brilliance of the sun was fading and easing over the mountains as the mechanics left, staring back at Noah, as though afraid to leave her there with him.
At least the sheriff hadn't shown up, which meant Mike wasn't pressing charges. Yet. His truck had been delivered to the bank while he was still there, and if luck was on her side, she wouldn't have to deal with him again for a while.
Noah Blake, on the other hand, she was more than ready to deal with. The blood had pumped furiously through her veins all day, leaving her nerves heightened, a feeling almost like excitement digging sharp claws into her chest.
He had worked hard, steadily, and kept the other men working faster. But she didn't need him there. She didn't want him there. She didn't need him interfering with the structured, ordered existence she had created for herself. And she didn't want the excitement or the feeling of tension she could feel tightening inside her.
The men working for her would accept taking orders from her eventually or she would do as she had done the past three years. Fire their asses and hire others. She'd fired plenty of them since taking over, another here and there didn't make a difference to her.
Toby delayed as long as he could until Sabella had to push him out the door before turning to face Noah. She jerked the money bag from the desk and shoved it in her purse before slinging the leather bag over her shoulder and glaring back at him.
This was it. He could get the hell right back out of her life now and she could stop feeling so alive.
"When you see Rory, tell him I want to talk to him. Immediately," she snapped. "And if he isn't back to work tomorrow, then as far as I'm concerned he doesn't have a job any more than you have one. I won't have a maniac working in my garage and attacking my customers." She held a hand up as he started to speak. "Whether they deserve it or not."
He stared back at her, his eyes raging, wild, twisting with color in an expression that could have been carved from stone.
His gaze flicked over her body and she flushed. She could feel her own hardened ni**les beneath her shirt and bra. She could feel the flesh between her thighs tingling and she hated it. She hated feeling that and she hated him for making her feel it.