“Babe, not gonna fucking hurt you. Just checking your temp.”
“You swear a lot.”
“That so?” he murmured as he touched her forehead with the back of his hand. Fuck. She was way too hot and sweaty. Her dark-blonde hair was plastered to her forehead. He needed to get her inside and rehydrated.
“I’ll try to watch that around you, okay?”
“Okay,” she replied in a smaller, almost childlike voice.
A suspicion started to form in his mind. But right now, he didn’t have time to think about that. He needed to get her inside and cooled down.
“When’s the last time you had a drink, baby girl?”
“I don’t know. Not thirsty.”
Her head kind of lolled back, as though she didn’t have the energy to hold it up right now.
He’d had enough. If he left this much longer, he’d be calling for an ambulance. Duke reached in and unlocked the door, opening it.
Then he unbuckled her seat belt. Her clothes were saturated with sweat. Fuck. Shit. Definitely had to be dehydrated. He’d get her inside then see about getting some water into her.
“What ya doin’, motorcycle man?” she asked.
“Motorcycle man?” he repeated, hoping to distract her as he reached for her. Last thing he needed was for her to resist him. But right now, she seemed compliant and sweet. He lifted her into his arms. She was lighter than he’d expected. Those hideous clothes she wore did nothing for her.
“You don’t like that one? How about biker babe?”
“Not very masculine,” he muttered. “Where are your keys, baby girl?”
“Under the flower pot.”
“What?” He froze, staring down at her. Please tell me I didn’t hear her just say that.
“Oh, sorry, the flower pot with the purple gerberas with the white centers. Aren’t they pretty?”
He had no fucking idea what the fuck gerberas were and since she had no security lights and he’d put his phone away to pick her up, he couldn’t fucking see any purple flowers with white centers.
“Babe, what the hell? Why the fuck are your keys under a flower pot?” He carefully set her down on the small bench by her front door.
“You’re swearing again,” she pointed out.
He bit back an impatient retort as he grabbed his phone and turned to search for fucking purple and white gerberas among the freaking hundred flower pots she had. She leaned forward to undo her boots, nearly toppling over.
“What are you doing?” he barked, catching her.
“Oh. Sorry.” She sniffled.
Nope. Christ. Last thing he needed was her crying. Seemed like she didn’t have the liquid to spare, either.
“It’s okay,” he said gently. Look at him, being soothing. This shit was harder than it appeared. “Just stay sitting there. I’ll help you with your boots, all right? Soon as I find the damn keys.”
“That pot.” She gestured over, pointing to a pot. When he turned his phone light that way, he saw that it held purple and white flowers that were apparently fucking gerberas.
Fuck him.
He lifted the pot, snatching up her keys. “No fucking safety lights. Keeps her fucking keys under a fucking flower pot and she drives a fucking car that should have headed for the junk pile a long time ago.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my car,” she protested, her words almost slurring together.