Love On The Vine by Sally Clements Page A

pocket for her keys, and strode to her pickup. Okay, so Mrs. White had called it. Her new neighbor was not only totally gorgeous, but he needed her help. And who could resist a hero in distress?
    ***
    S o this was his mysterious new neighbor.
    3B had been empty for a while. When he’d made it back last night after a few days away finalizing the pre-nup for a new client in New York, Mark had noticed the light on from the street outside and the battered pickup next to his parking space.
    He took advantage of the fact that she was busy searching her truck for jumper cables to check her out without being noticed. Alice . The name suited her. Long, platinum-blond hair pulled up in a ponytail looked natural—her skin was Nordic pale too, and the eyes he’d caught a glimpse of were ice blue, like aquamarines. She barely came up to his shoulder, and even the ugly overalls weren’t able to totally hide the hint of curves he’d noticed when checking out the image of a woman holding the spanner on her uniform.
    Mark frowned. He really shouldn’t be noticing his new neighbor that way. If she was a mechanic, she probably had men hitting on her all day. Besides, he wasn’t in the market for a new relationship. Extricating people from ill-judged romantic follies all day had taught him to be cautious where attraction was concerned.
    He pushed back his shirtsleeve and looked at his watch. Luckily, he’d left himself plenty of time to make the meeting at his client’s office, and if a dead battery was all that was wrong with the MG, he’d be on his way quickly.
    His gaze lingered on Alice for a long moment as she popped the hood and then grabbed red and black leads, attached one set to her battery terminals, and handed the others to him.
    Her hand brushed his, and a jolt of electricity raced up his arm.
    Mark stared. What on earth?
    Alice looked pointedly at the engine as he stood still, fixed to the spot by the unexpected reaction to her touch.
    Then her eyes softened. A small, sympathetic smile tilted the corners of her lips upward. She stepped close, and took the leads from his unresisting fingers. “This one goes here,” she said, fastening the clip in place, “and this one goes here.”
    Mark nodded, still stunned. She thought he was so clueless about engines he didn’t even know how to attach jumper cables.
    “Now, I’ll just start my truck and you’ll soon be on your way.” She walked to her pickup and swung inside.
    Mark opened the car and slid into its polished interior. He should have said something. Should have confessed that there was absolutely nothing he didn’t know about cars—he’d been taking engines apart his whole life. He’d inherited the MG from his grandfather and had it shipped over from England. Maintaining the little classic car took plenty of man-hours, and he was discerning about who he let tinker with the engine. His sisters called him a control freak where the car was concerned. And they were right.
    He turned the key and the engine roared to life. Through his windshield he saw her give him the thumbs up, and before he’d climbed out, she had the cables off and stowed.
    “Got to run—have a good day!” She hopped into the pickup and sped out of the lot.
    Mark stood there, staring after her. She’d liked helping him. He’d seen warmth in her eyes as she took the cables from his fingers. His mouth curved into a smile.
    Being rescued is fun.
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