Free Down and Dirty by Christine Bell Page B

alone.
    Good. Making her nervous was very, very good.
    “Sure, sounds perfect. Don’t eat. You know my mom loves to feed people.”
    She adjusted her seat and seemed to settle in more comfortably. “Score. I love a free, mom-cooked meal.”
    The hum of the heater was the only noise for the rest of the five-minute drive, but the silence was more companionable. He imagined she was pleased with how things were shaping up and was busy mentally dressing him for tomorrow’s photo shoot. Which was sort of ironic, since he was pretty fucking satisfied with the way things were going, too, and mentally un dressing her.
    The short leather coat she wore belted at the waist accentuated the fact that she was stacked both in the front and in the back, and he allowed himself to imagine that she wore nothing but the coat and those boots for him. That if he leaned over and tugged that leather bow, she would be unwrapped. An early birthday present. The sides of her coat would fall open—along with those creamy white thighs—and he’d have an unobstructed view of the sweet, round tits that he’d gotten to touch but not see. He’d—
    “Slow down, my turn’s next, remember?” she said, giving his arm a tap and jarring him back to reality. “Jeez, you’ve been away so long you don’t remember where I live?”
    “Sorry, I was daydreaming.” And that little fantasy was costing him. He shifted in his seat in an effort to ease the pressure his jeans were exerting on the mother of all boners. One thing was for sure, there was no way he was getting a wink of sleep tonight unless he jerked off. Man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.
    When they pulled up to Cat’s tiny ranch a minute later, she turned to him. “Thanks a lot for the ride…and also for the whole Heimlich thing. It could’ve been really bad. I’m really glad you were there.”
    He didn’t meet her gaze, sure the truth was plain on his face. That had scared the shit out of him. “Yeah, me, too. Come on, let’s get you inside,” he said, swinging open his door.
    “Oh, Shane, you don’t need to walk me up,” she called after him when he stepped out of the car.
    “It’s late and dark and the ground’s covered in ice. You didn’t even leave your light on. Just come on.”
    She got out, and he rounded the car to her side, slamming the door behind her. It got him close enough to smell the citrus in her hair, which had his already-primed body tightening even further.
    They walked side-by-side up the narrow walkway, arms brushing with each step. When they got to her porch he stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Try to get some sleep. You look tired.”
    “Want me full of energy so I can pimp you right tomorrow, huh?” she said with a tight smile.
    He nodded. “Something like that.”
    She started up the stairs and he turned to go, but a muffled oath had him whipping back around just in time to see her scrabbling for the railing. Too late. Her feet flew out from under her, and she went down like a bag of rocks. He managed to catch her from behind around the waist and stop her from hitting her chin on the concrete, but barely.
    She hissed in a breath then exhaled a “Motherfucker!”
    His heart thudded in his chest, and he lifted her gently to her feet, taking the brunt of her weight. “Did you break anything?”
    She peered down in the moonlight with a mournful nod. “My Seven jeans.”
    Blood welled up under a jagged tear just above the knee, and he wanted to shake her. “Who cares about the jeans. Does anything hurt?”
    “My wallet’s going to hurt when I have to replace those jeans,” she quipped weakly. She was playing the tough guy, but there was no mistaking the wince on her pale face when she pulled away from his grasp and tried to stand on her own.
    “Shit, I’m so sorry, Cat. Lot of good I did, walking you up and then letting you fall down the stairs.”
    “It wasn’t your fault. I was bound and determined to go down, I guess. I’m just