Rambler pulls the bike under the carport, parking next to a black Dodge Ram pickup. He cuts the engine and slips out from in front of me.
“Let’s get you inside, baby.” He hangs his helmet from the handlebars and offers me his hand.
He doesn’t have to ask me twice.
I grab his hand and slide off the bike, wincing as my frozen butt protests the movement. Everything hurts. My ass is sore from the long ride, my legs feel like they’re made of rubber, and I swear my fingers might snap off like icicles if I try to bend them.
“I c-can’t feel my f-face,” I stutter, my lips numb.
Rambler wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his side as he leads me toward the door. “We’ll fix that.”
He pulls out a set of keys and unlocks the door, pushing it open and ushering me inside ahead of him. The first thing I notice is the blessed heat—it’s blowing full blast from the vents, and I almost cry with relief. Thank God for that prospect he sent ahead.
“It’s w-warmer in here,” I manage, my teeth still chattering as I look around.
The place is definitely a bachelor pad. The open-concept living room and kitchen are cluttered with motorcycle parts, including a couple of wheels stacked in the corner. There are dishes piled up on the counter that look to be clean. Thank the Gods for that. This place would wreak otherwise.
Next, I spot several piles of laundry scattered across his black leather sofa and the loveseat, too. Empty Amazon boxes are stacked by the door.
Rambler rubs at the back of his neck, his eyes scanning the mess. “Sorry about this. I don’t usually bring people here.”
A strange feeling of jealousy washes over me, which is completely irrational. I don’t have a claim on him. We just met for heaven’s sake.
My eyes drift over to the stack of motorcycle magazines on the coffee table, then to the empty pizza box beside them. He’s a bachelor. A hot, sexy, muscular bachelor who could have any woman he wants.
I look down at my own body, at my small chest hidden beneath the oversized jacket. The women at the clubhouse were beautiful. Curvy. A lot curvier than me.
“Hey.” Rambler moves into my space, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. “What’s wrong?” His stormy gray eyes search mine for answers.
“Nothing.” I force a smile. I’m being stupid. He’s doing me a huge favor, and here I am throwing a pity party.
“Babe?”
Tears mist my eyes.
“Come here.” Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me against his chest. I close my eyes and sink into his embrace. I always feel so safe when he holds me like this, like nothing bad can touch me.
I feel his lips press against the top of my head. “It’s all gonna be okay, butterfly. You’ll see.”
I nod my head against his chest. If he says so, I believe him.
“Gonna check the pipes and grab the keys to my truck. Then we’ll hit some stores and get you some warmer clothes.”
He steps back and drops a quick kiss on my lips before disappearing down the hallway.
Alone for a moment, I take a moment to pull myself together while I look around the open-concept kitchen and living room.
It really is a mess. And it could definitely use a woman’s touch. The thought makes me smile. Maybe that woman could be me.
In the blink of an eye, Rambler is back, holding a dark brown leather coat. “This’ll be too big, but it’ll do until we get you a heavier coat of your own.”
I slide off the thin leather jacket Bubble’s gave me and slip my arms into the heavy-duty, buttery-soft leather jacket and sigh at the weight of it on my shoulders. It swallows me whole, hanging down almost to my knees, but it’s warm and it smells like him.
“Let’s roll,” he says, guiding me back out the door.
The cold hits me again, but it’s not as brutal with his thick coat wrapped around me. Rambler hits a button on the key fob, and I hear his truck start up with a deep rumble.
“Remote start,” he explains. “So it’s warm when we get in.”
