The Hierarchy of Needs (The Portland Rebels #2) by Rebecca Grace Allen

easy, do you think I would’ve scheduled the whole day for it?”
    She leaned over the car and pushed her bottom out, taunting him with the suggestive curve of her rear. “Anything I can do to help?”
    His eyes cut over to her, then away again. “Not like that, you can’t.”
    Jamie stood up and stuck out her tongue. Dean reached out and squeezed her side, digging his fingers in until she squealed. She squirmed and batted his hand away, but he was too quick. He curled his fingers beneath her sweater, teasing her bare skin with two quick swipes before pulling them free. Jamie hissed in a breath, her nipples pebbling to sharp points.
    “Somebody’s impatient,” he murmured.
    She glared at him, but couldn’t hide her smile. “Just find what you’re looking for.”
    She followed him around the lot, watching as he picked through parts and talked to the owner, assessing classic pieces from the junk. It was nice, seeing him in his element, but boredom after an hour had her asking for his keys and waiting in the cab. Her boots thrown up over the dash, she listened to the radio and played aimlessly with her phone. Dean finally trudged out by the time she’d exhausted every diversion available, his eyes on the ground and one hand rubbing the back of his neck.
    Jamie opened the door to greet him, not liking the look on his face at all.
    “Bad news,” he said. “They don’t have what I need.”
    “So what does that mean?”
    “It means I’ve got to cut this weekend short so I can keep looking. I’m sorry.”
    Her stomach bottomed out. She bolted upright on the seat and turned to face him. “Are you serious?”
    He grinned full and wide. “Gotchya.”
    Jamie’s mouth dropped open. She jabbed out a fist to punch him, but he darted back before she could make contact.
    “You suck,” she said, crossing her arms even as amusement and relief filled the void disappointment had created. Dean hung his arms on the roof of the car and leaned over her. The sun lit up the tips of his hair like a halo.
    “Looks like somebody can’t take what she dishes out.”
    Jamie glowered at him. “Shut up. You’re mean.”
    Her ire was short-circuited when he ducked his head into the cab and bracketed her hips with his hands. He traced his lips from her cheek to her ear. Warm breath grazed her skin.
    “Don’t pout,” he whispered.
    His chin and jaw were covered with more scruff than usual, the bristles a soft, tickling scrape. Her arms fell open without her permission, hands dropping to curl around his wrists, legs parting and welcoming his body between them.
    God, it was so easy for them to get like this. To go from friendly banter to holy-shit-I-want-you in two seconds flat.
    Dean pulled back, gazing at her as he breathed in deep, like he was drinking in her reaction. Savoring it.
    “I found what I need,” he said. “I’m almost done.”
    She snaked a hand between them, fingers lifting the bottom edge of his shirt to chafe his stomach with her nails. He sucked in a breath and his shoulders jerked.
    Payback was sweet.
    “Good.” She toyed with the button on his jeans. “Hurry up.”
    He snatched her hand away. “Behave.”
    The order sent a thrill through her.
    Jamie pressed her clit against the seam on her jeans, a little bit of friction to stifle the ache. It was another half hour before he returned with the owner, pieces of metal being heaved onto the flatbed, tied down and covered with a tarp. The lunch hour was long gone by the time they were finally on the road again, and they grabbed sandwiches at a little lakeshore spot before cruising into Meredith Bay.
    Dean parked while she checked them in, and met her in the lobby with both their bags easily slung up over his shoulder. They walked in silence down the hallway, and Jamie’s heart thrummed wildly with the fact that this was real. They weren’t stupidly intoxicated or swept up in the moment.
    They both wanted this.
    Inside the room, he dropped their bags to the