Project Produce(36)

“I said hop on, I didn’t say vault on. You’re almost as tall as I am, for Christ’s sake. And you’re going to break my back if you don’t stop all that yanking. I’m not a goddamn horse, you know.” He hooked his hands further under the back of my thighs and picked his way through the slush, mumbling something about a pain in his ass.

“Sorry. I forget how big I am sometimes.”

“I didn’t say you were big, Mac, I said you were tall. There’s a difference. Believe me. You’re nicely proportioned.” He moved his hands under my knees--safer territory--and headed across the street.

Nicely proportioned. I liked the sound of that, even if it wasn’t true. “Oh,” was all I said, then I felt my bottom slipping, so I hoisted myself up on him. My teeth chattered and his body heat radiated through my clothes, so I wrapped my arms further around him and... Oh, my God. My hands cupped his hard pecs. They twitched, so I squeezed.

Call it a reflex.

“Hey, watch it.” He kept sloshing across the street.

“Sorry, but I have to have something to hold onto, or I’m going to fall.”

He grunted.

Okay, so even I knew I was full of crap. His amazing pecs weren’t helping me stay put, but they sure were helping me in other ways. My body hummed. Not the kind of help I needed right now. Especially when I didn’t trust Dylan as far as I could throw him.

And I trusted myself even less.





CHAPTER SEVEN





Oh, yeah. I was warming up, all right.

Dylan’s hands slid closer to my behind as he hoisted me higher on his back. Trying hard not to feel him up again, I held onto his shoulder and tightened my legs, my feet dangling by his thighs.

He glanced back at me with a raised brow. “Are you trying to squeeze me to death?”

“Sorry.” I relaxed my legs but had to reach around his chest to keep myself from sliding down his back. I thought about locking my ankles around his waist, but then my heels would be a little too close to Mr. Winkie.

Lordy, I had some serious issues.

When he reached the other side of the street, he held his hand up in the air. “Keys?”

“I don’t have my keys, but maybe I didn’t lock my door.”

“Not very safe, Mac.” He turned the door handle. Nothing. “Got a hidden set somewhere?”

“Like that would be safe.”

He shook his head. “No shoes and no keys. Just great.”

“I was in hot pursuit, remember? Keys never crossed my mind.” Glancing up, I said, “We could climb up the fire escape and go through the window.”

“I guess safety and stupidity go hand and hand with you, huh.”

“Hey.” What was his problem?

“Look, these weren’t your most brilliant moments. You really have to think about your safety in this city. Not to mention your health.” He trudged through the snow to my window.

I hopped down and my ankles sank deep, making me shiver. “Man, it’s cold.”

“Here.” He lifted me up to the ladder.

I climbed a few steps and felt the metal beneath my hands and feet rattle, then I caught a whiff of his musky aftershave. I scurried faster, looking up, knowing he was looking up, too. Right at my big ole behind. Oh, God. My sweats weren’t that loose. Why the heck hadn’t I worn a thong?

Because you don’t own a thong, moron.

He could probably see my underwear lines, see every nook and cranny, see every--gulp--dimple. I missed a step and swayed backward with a yelp, but he caught me. Whew, I took a second to slow my breathing.

“Much as I hate to protest, we really need to get you inside.” He nudged me with something.

I glanced down at him and gasped. My ‘nicely proportioned’ insecurity rested on top of his head like a hat with earflaps.

I faltered, bumping his head one last time, and then climbed as quickly as my frozen limbs would allow. Rolling over the railing, I tumbled to the iron-grated floor, and he crawled over right behind me, flashing that darned crooked grin.

“Can we get on with this?” I grumbled. “I’m freezing.”

His grin broadened. “Yeah, but my head is nice and toasty.”

“Hilarious.” Scrambling to my feet, I clambered through the window. My butt hit the window frame, halting my attempt at fleeing a humiliating situation. Great. Stuck like a pear that hadn’t ripened yet, giving him an even better view of my dimples. Nicely proportioned? I think not. I tried to squeeze all the way through. Not happening.

“Problems, Mac?” He... mother of pearl, he patted my fanny.

“V-Very funny,” I stuttered. “The window must have slipped.” Well, shoot, he’d already touched it once. What the heck? “Push me through, would ya? It’s cutting off my circulation, not to mention the blood is rushing to my head.”