Cashmere and Camo

  Cashmere and Camo

  Billionaires in Blue Jeans book three

  Erin Nicholas

  Copyright © 2018 by Erin Nicholas

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN: 978-0-9988947-6-8

  Editor: Lindsey Faber

  Copyeditor: Nanette Sipe

  Cover artist: Lindee Robinson, Lindee Robinson Photography

  Cover designer: Angela Waters

  Cover models: Alexis Susalla, Dustin Oprisiu

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  About Cashmere and Camo

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  More from Erin Nicholas

  Going Down Easy!

  Enjoy this excerpt!

  About the Author

  About Cashmere and Camo

  A friends to lovers romance…and then some.

  Run a pie shop with her sisters for a year. Date for the first time at age twenty-nine. Don’t be terrified.

  * * *

  Well, she’s got the first thing under control at least. Mostly.

  * * *

  But this is exactly what a best friend is for. Advice, pep talks, matchmaking, sex education…

  * * *

  So what if her best friend is a guy? A very hot, tattooed, ex-Marine, mechanic guy? He’s definitely well-versed in everything she needs to know. And she trusts him. Who better to teach her the man-woman stuff she’s been missing out on?

  * * *

  But there could be one tiny problem. The only person causing her any butterflies…and dirty dreams…is her matchmaker himself.

  Prologue

  1

  Motor oil and tattoos.

  Brynn Carmichael would never in a million years have guessed that motor oil and tattoos would make it onto her list of Top Ten Turn-Ons.

  But it just so happened that they were number one and number two.

  Okay, maybe it was the sight of motor oil streaked across the blue-jeaned ass of Noah Bradley that actually turned her on. Or maybe it was just the ass. Or Noah.

  But whatever it was, Brynn Carmichael took a deep breath of the motor oil scented air around her, felt the hum of arousal ripple through her body, and settled back against the windshield of the baby blue 1953 Ford F-100 pickup—her favorite place in the entire town of Bliss, Kansas.

  Granted, there wasn’t a lot of Bliss, Kansas so her options for favorite places were more limited than they were back home in New York. Bliss was a tiny town smack-dab in the middle of the Midwest. But, truth be told, the hood of the pickup in Noah Bradley’s garage was probably her favorite place anywhere.

  It was the perfect reading spot. The windshield was a great backrest and she could sit with her knees bent, her book or e-reader propped against her thighs. And being in the shop was strangely comforting.

  Which had shocked her in the beginning. The first day she’d wandered to the garage on the walk, she’d taken to escape the close confines of the pie shop with her sisters, she’d stood in the doorway, watching Noah until he noticed her.

  “You okay?” he’d asked, pulling the rag from his back pocket and wiping his hands as he’d come toward her.

  “Can I just…be here?” she’d asked. “It’s really loud at the pie shop.”

  She’d needed a place where she could get away from…everything. She wasn’t used to dealing with people all day long. She definitely wasn’t used to dealing with her sisters all day long. She loved Cori and Ava dearly. But they hadn’t all lived together in eleven years. And they’d never worked together. Now it was Ava and Cori twenty-four-seven and well, Brynn just needed a break. She couldn’t go to the house where her sisters might find her. There was no escape at the pie shop. She’d even realized that a walk in the park meant running into people and having to socialize.

  But when she’d found herself in front of Noah’s garage, something had made her step through the door. It wasn’t quiet exactly, but he was the only one there, and he was hardly what anyone would call chatty. Plus, there was nothing here she needed to do. She had no idea what most of the machines and tools were that occupied the garage and there was no pressure here. It had seemed like a perfect hideout. Partly because no one would ever expect her to be here.

  She’d always been very happy in the library or her lab. Places that were quiet and everyone just kept their heads down and did their thing. She’d never expected to find the same thing in a mechanic’s shop in a little town in Kansas of all places.

  The truck she’d claimed as “her spot” didn’t run, but it sat inside the big doors of Noah’s shop, out of the sun, with a perfect view of Main Street, Bliss, Kansas. And the perfect view of the hard, toned mechanic bent over an engine.

  Brynn let her gaze travel over Noah’s back and upper arms, his muscles bunching as he reached for something under the hood of the car he was working on. He wore a white T-shirt that was streaked with black and well-worn blue jeans with a hole by one back pocket and more black streaks. A red rag hung from his other back pocket that he used to wipe his hands when he wasn’t absentmindedly wiping them on his thighs. The right sleeve of the shirt hid only a fourth of the tattoo that decorated that arm and shoulder, and Brynn found herself shift slightly so she could see more of the arm as he pulled on the wrench he held.

  She’d been attracted to Noah from the first time she’d seen him in the kitchen of the pie shop she and her sisters now owned. But she hadn’t expected him to become her friend. Or for his garage to become her oasis in the town that overwhelmed her with its friendliness and nosiness.

  Interestingly, Noah’s garage was even better than the library or the lab. It always smelled the same—a combination of motor oil, gasoline, rubber, and good old dirt. It always looked the same too. The vehicle in the bay changed, of course, but while it was cluttered with tools and parts back here, and stacks of papers, and invoices, and more parts all over the desk in the front, it had a nice…feel to it. It was unassuming. No one wore ties or heels or lab coats here. It was jeans and T-shirts and dirt and grease. And while it wasn’t quiet, she found she preferred the sounds of metal tools against metal car parts, the occasional muttered curse from Noah, and the classic country music drifting from the ancient boom box that sat on his tool bench to the stark quiet of her lab.

  Her lab was…sterile. Obviously. It was clean and polished, and everything was labeled and in its place and carefully controlled. But here, tools could be tossed into the toolbox without worry. Things were banged on, tires were kicked, hands and clothes got dirty. There were no delicate glass tubes or tiny microscope lenses. Here, things were big, and tough, and sweaty.

  Brynn rolled her eyes at that last one. No, she didn’t sweat in her lab, but she didn’t really have a desire to sweat. The appeal of sweating had everything to do with the man she was now ogling.

  The man she’d been ogling for about five months, two weeks, and six days. Ever since she’d started coming to his garage in the middle of the day.

  If the tools and smells and sounds of this garage were a far cry from her sterile research lab in New York, the man in charge here was even more d
ifferent from the men she typically spent time with. Scientists, researchers, scholars. Men who preferred lab coats and microscopes and thick textbooks. Noah not only worked on cars and had tattoos, he was an ex-Marine, wore denim and cotton almost exclusively, and read mystery novels.

  She found that incredibly hot. Watching him prop a mystery novel on a denim clad thigh, while his big, calloused hand with grease under the nails wrapped around a bottle of beer got her going. It was probably very shallow to be so aware of all of Noah’s physical attributes, but he was an anomaly in her world, and scientists studied anomalies. And hey, she hadn’t been shallow up until now so she thought that could be forgiven.

  She’d just never been as aware of a man as a man in her life, and she couldn’t help but take note of everything from his reading preferences, to the way his jeans were slightly frayed at the bottom. She was thrilled with the attraction. Men were one thing she hadn’t studied a lot and she’d admit it—she wanted to know more about this kind of chemistry. Noah was, in her opinion, the perfect subject. New, different, appealing, and available. He was always there for her, so getting to know him and observe—okay, ogle—him had been easy.

  And then there was the most appealing thing about Noah—he didn’t talk much.

  He was quiet and thoughtful. Just like she was. He didn’t need to fill the space with words. He didn’t ask a lot of questions. Which, along with the view, and the no-Cori-and-Ava thing—and had she mentioned the view?—made his shop the best place in town for relaxing and reading.

  “Mer-ow.”

  Brynn looked over to find a large cat climbing out through the window of the pickup’s cab and up onto the hood with her.

  “Hey, Penn,” she said, holding out her hand.

  He bumped his nose against her fingers and then dipped his head so she could rub behind his ears.

  Penn was named after Pennzoil brand motor oil because he was a sleek, solid black and looked like spilled oil when he sprawled on the floor of the shop. He slept on the front seat of the truck about sixty percent of the time. The other forty percent of his naps were taken either up on the top of some old boxes on the highest shelf of the garage or on the lowest shelf behind stacks of old invoices in the front office. He spent most of his time at the shop, though he did wander the town during the day, checking things out, as cats were wont to do.

  Brynn shifted her tablet to the side as Penn climbed up onto her lap, his purring loud enough to be heard over the whirring of Noah’s machines.

  “How are you, baby?” she asked him, setting her tablet next to her so she had two hands for the rubbing and scratching Penn seemed to need. “Did you have a good nap?”

  Penn started kneading his front paws into her thigh. He had claws, but he kept them carefully sheathed whenever they cuddled. Brynn was surprised by how much she liked Penn’s once-a-day lap time. She’d never been a cat person. Then again, she’d never really been around cats. Or dogs. Or any other animals. She liked Penn though. He came and told her when he needed attention and then when he’d had enough, he’d jump down and go off to do whatever else he had on his agenda. Noah kept food and water out for him and the window in the truck rolled down so he could come and go. Otherwise, Penn seemed to take care of himself. In fact, Brynn suspected that if there wasn’t food, water, and shelter provided, he’d make do on his own.

  He did, however, seem to need help rubbing that spot behind his ear that made him close his eyes, arch his neck, and purr so loudly it vibrated Brynn like a massage chair.

  She laughed as he settled his rump on her thighs as well, clearly ready to stay for the next several minutes. Running her hand over his silky fur, she glanced up. Noah was watching her and Penn, with a soft look on his face. It was a look she saw from time to time. It was clearly affectionate, but she wasn’t entirely sure if he was feeling affectionate about her or the cat. Or both. She’d never seen him hold or pet Penn. In fact, that cat didn’t get too close to Noah at all. He didn’t shy away either. He just kind of did his thing while Noah did his. But Penn also didn’t leave. He wandered from the garage from time to time, but he never stayed away. He always came back. And clearly Noah didn’t dislike the cat. He fed him, made sure there was fresh water out, and never chased him out of the antique truck. He didn’t fix the hole at the back of the garage where Penn slipped in and out. He even washed the blanket that Penn slept on in the truck every once in a while.

  She opened her mouth, deciding it was time to find out what the deal was between man and cat, but before she could say anything, she heard, “Hey, Noah!” from just outside the garage doors.

  Noah turned, his mouth stretching into a grin, and Brynn felt her heart trip. She loved his smile.

  “Hey, Mitch.”

  A tall, good-looking man step into the garage. He was about their age—late twenties to early thirties—and had an easy smile.

  Noah reached for the rag that was always in his back pocket. “What are you doing here?” he asked, as he reached to clasp Mitch’s hand.

  “I’m back,” the other man told him.

  “No shit.”

  “Yep. Seems none of us can stay away for long.” Mitch chuckled.

  Noah hitched a shoulder. “Does seem that way.” But he wasn’t laughing.

  Brynn frowned. Noah loved it here in Bliss. Didn’t he?

  “So I was wondering if you could take a look at my car. Making a…clanking sound,” Mitch said.

  Now Noah chuckled. “Yep. Clanks are one of my specialties.”

  Brynn felt herself smiling.

  “Great. I appreciate it. I can fix a lot of stuff, but cars are out of my league.”

  “Well, I appreciate that cars and stuff are out of your league,” Noah said. “Makes paying my bills a lot easier.”

  Mitch chuckled again, and Brynn observed the interaction between the men with interest from her perch on the pickup. She was only a few yards away, but it was clear that Mitch hadn’t noticed her yet.

  Brynn watched Noah as he asked about Mitch’s car problems. Noah could fix everything from leaky pipes to crooked floors. He kept the old house running she and her sisters had inherited from their dad. And the old car, Elvira, they’d inherited from their dad. And the pie shop that they’d inherited from their dad.

  With all the old, worn-out stuff Rudy Carmichael had passed on to his daughters, there was no way they could have avoided getting to know Noah. Which she knew had been Rudy’s intention. Noah had been one of Rudy’s favorite people in Bliss during the five years he’d lived here. Probably one of his favorite people in the world, honestly. He and his friends, Evan and Parker, had been the sons Rudy never had.

  But she wondered if her father had any idea how attractive a guy was when he could look at any problem, know exactly what needed done, and would step in and just do it.

  Rudy might have. He really might have. Brynn just wondered if he knew that she would find that incredibly attractive.

  She wouldn’t have blamed him if he didn’t. It was possible he believed she just wasn’t into men. Not that she was into women. But she’d just never been that interested in dating. Men or women. And she was a twenty-nine-year-old virgin. Not that her dad had known that specifically. But considering that Brynn’s last actual pick-her-up-at-the-door date had been when she was sixteen, and her dad had never lived with them so hadn’t been there anyway, he might have suspected.

  She didn’t really want to date, honestly. She just never felt that need. Or desire. She worked with like-minded men who she could have dated. She hung out with her sisters—who would have gladly set her up with men, like-minded or otherwise. But she didn’t need a man. And she’d never really wanted one.

  Until Noah Bradley.

  Maybe because she hadn’t realized what she’d been missing. How it could feel to have a guy taking care of her. Not because she needed it. God knew her sisters took care of her—babied her actually. But with Noah it felt different. He was doing it just because he liked doing it. Liked
being with her. No doubt about it, Noah Bradley’s attention was addictive.

  “So, I see you’re taking over Jared’s interest in old cars,” Mitch commented, glancing out the garage doors.

  Brynn knew he was referring to the 1937 370-D Cadillac that her father had left to her and her sisters. Elvira was parked out front because Noah had insisted it was time for an oil change.

  “That belongs to a friend,” Noah said of Elvira. “I’m just keeping her running from point A to point B. And that’s the only one I work on.”

  A friend. He was referring to her. The car belonged to her sisters too and he considered them friends as well, but when he talked about them, he used their names. He always referred to Brynn as his friend. Besides, Brynn was the one who drove Elvira most. Because her sisters had boyfriends who would drive them places or would let them borrow their vehicles.

  Of course, her friend Noah would gladly pick her up and drive her places. Or loan her a car. You didn’t have to be in love to help someone with their transportation needs, and Noah was the most helpful person she knew

  “That old truck of Jared’s still not running?” Mitch asked.

  Brynn straightened at the mention of her truck. Which wasn’t her truck at all. But it was as familiar as the chair in her lab back in New York by now. And who was Jared?

  “Nope,” Noah said.

  “You’re not working on it?”

  “Nope,” Noah repeated.