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The next half second I’m preoccupied with the thought that he might be stealing from me. But again, that doesn’t seem likely.
Just when I wonder what’s going to happen next, he’s got me in his arms. He literally scoops me up off my feet, and he’s lifting me up into the cab of his truck like I weigh nothing.
It’s hard to determine his features while my eyes are being pelted with snow, but his arms are strong and he’s tall and lean, even under the work overalls and coat he’s wearing. Nobody has ever swept me off my feet before and I can’t lie, it gives me a tiny thrill. I’m a modern woman and all, but a little bit of chivalry on Christmas Eve lights a warm little cinder in my belly.
The driver gently but quickly sets me into the cab and then follows me inside, slamming the door.
“You don't need to…” I start, but I can’t finish because I’m speechless. This man is climbing on top of me.
I gasp.
He gruffly says, “Driver side door is frozen shut. Just trying to switch places with you, unless you know how to drive stick, Mary Reed.”
My mouth forms an O, but I don't make any noise because I don’t know whether to be embarrassed by my own assumptions or by the fact that his abdomen sweeping hard across mine has awakened a latent arousal in me.
I wiggle this way, he inches that way, and soon we've successfully switched seats.
“Thought it would be easier this way than me turning into a popsicle while trying to get it open,” he says. “Sorry if that was a little too close for comfort.”
It occurs to me that he could have entered the truck first and pulled me in, but I’m still feeling tingly all over from being in his arms. Even if he is a total stranger.
Because, he’s a nice stranger. A tall, strong stranger.
He’s buckling me in. I protest, but he’s just doing it anyway. “I can buckle…you don’t have to do that…”
Click.
His hand is still on the seat belt clip by my hip and his other hand is adjusting the strap at my opposite shoulder.
It’s now that I get a good look at his face.
Whoa.
And then he grins at me and says, “Bear. Bear Bailey. Nice to meet you. You OK?” His full lips when they smile are full of mischief but not threatening, and he’s got the kind of creases all over his forehead and by his eyes that betray the kindest of natures. Just like my Jimmy Stewart.
Don’t do that, Mary, I say to myself. Don’t go equating helpful tow truck drivers with your fantasy dreamboat.
“Your last name is Bailey?”
He nods. “As in all things Christmas. Irish cream and George.”
I blush.
A news chyron flashes through my head before I can stop it. “Bear Bailey: hottest of all the tow truck drivers in the city? Take our Twitter poll! #stonefoxtowtruckdriver.”
He has flashing irises that remind me of a warm fireplace. He has full, sharp eyebrows that are knitted together in concern. A nice nose that looks like it’s seen a few fists or close contact with a football tackle in its time. His jawline and cheekbones look like you could cut paper on them.
I catch myself getting lost in his eyes for a minute, and dammit if the walls of my sex don’t contract in response.
He sees my cheeks flush in reaction to him and his grin goes bigger. His teeth are nice, but he has a charmingly crooked front tooth. His lips are oh-so nice to look at, full and luscious enough to be the envy of any pouty-lipped male model. He has shy little dimple, just on one cheek. I can’t decide if the look he’s giving me is full bad boy or charming do-gooder.
Sweet Lord. Bear Bailey is half old-timey World War II hero and half ruffian. And 100 percent under my skin.
Chapter 5
Bear
“I’m Mary. Mary Reed. You must have seen my video and found me. But you know, I didn’t call for a tow,” she says.
