Page 5 of Reckless (Adventures in Love 3)
“Close the window,” he orders, removing his fingers from the top of Pebbles’s head and stepping back. I do as instructed, not that it’s something I need to be told to do—the cold air is enough of a reminder.
I watch him in my side mirror as he walks back to a seriously huge pickup truck that is idling behind me before I pick up Pebbles and place him back on his bed. Not surprisingly, it takes a few minutes to get my stuff packed and my suitcase zipped since I don’t have the option of sitting on it to get it closed this time around. By the time that I’m finished and have gotten my socks, boots, and jacket on, he’s put in enough gas to raise the dial above E in my car and pulled his truck into the spot next to me.
“Thanks for doing this,” I tell him when I open my door and get out with my cell phone and Pebbles in my arms.
“It’s not a big deal.”
“I’m pretty sure that driving in the middle of a blizzard to rescue a chick you don’t really know is the definition of a big deal.” I listen to him chuckle as he opens the door to his truck and holds it for me to get in. Not that I do that; instead I place Pebbles on the seat, then turn back to my car so that I can help him with my stuff—or that’s my plan anyway. What actually happens is I run face-first into his very firm chest, then grab onto him to keep from falling on my ass when my feet slip on the snow under me.
“I got you.” His arms wrap around me as the scent of pine and musk fills my senses. Tipping my head way back, I look up at him, realizing then just how tall he is. I also can’t help but think he’s even better looking from this angle. His jaw even more chiseled, his lips even more full, and his cheekbones that much more pronounced. I would not normally use the word pretty when describing a man, but he is pretty in a very masculine way.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” His hands move to my shoulders, then down my arms. “How about you let me worry about getting your crap from your car, and you just stay with your dog.”
“It’s not crap,” I tell him, and he takes a step toward me, leaving me no choice but to take a step back or be pressed even tighter against him.
“All right, your stuff.” He takes another step toward me, and I take another back.
“I can help.”
“Or you can stay put.” He shakes his head, and the next thing I know, his hands are moving from my arms to my waist, my feet are off the ground, and my ass is on the seat.
“You . . . you just picked me up,” I sputter, now eye to eye with him or just about anyway, which shows just how tall he really is.
“Do you just want your suitcase, or is there anything else you need?” he asks, and I look around the interior of his truck, which is really fricking nice and smells like him.
“You picked me up.” I turn back to him, still stunned that he was able to lift me off the ground with ease. I wouldn’t say that I’m a large woman, but I’m definitely not tiny.
“Pippi, what do you want from your car?”
“Pippi?”
“Longstocking.” He tugs on one of my red braids, and I blink at him. “It’s an old TV show.”
“Oh.”
“So what do you want from your car?”
“My suitcase, purse, and the bag behind my seat with all of Pebbles’s stuff in it.”
“Got it. Tuck in your feet.” He takes a step back, and I swing my legs into the truck before he slams the door shut and walks back to my car. Instead of watching him do what he’s doing, I search for my pup, finding him curled up in the driver’s seat, sound asleep. Leaving him for now, I take off my still-wet coat and hat and turn up the heat.
“Anything else you want before we take off?” Maverick asks after opening the back door of the truck and placing my bags on the back seat.
“Not that I can think of.” I turn to look over my shoulder at him, then worry my bottom lip. “Do you think that my stuff is going to be okay until I can come pick up my car?”
“Do you have anything of value in there?”
“My whole life is in my car, or the most important stuff is anyways,” I admit, and without a word, he shuts the door, goes back to my car, and opens the driver’s door before leaning in to pop the trunk. I start to roll down the window to tell him that he doesn’t need to do what I know he’s about to, but the truth is I would be devastated if anything happened to my things. Everything that is in my car has sentimental value, since I left all my furniture and house stuff in my parents’ garage, where it will be until I find a job and a place of my own. As he puts the few boxes from my trunk in the back seat with my bag, I check to see if I have phone service, finding that I still don’t.
