“Give me your keys, and I’ll grab his seat.”
“Oh. Um.” Suddenly, I’m flush with embarrassment. Here he is with a jacked-up truck with all the bells and whistles, and here I am with a car that doesn’t even have power locks or windows. “Sure.”
Ever the gentleman, Orion doesn’t utter a single word about how old my car is. He doesn’t even pull a face.
I watch as he moves the seat, torn between making sure he latches it properly and watching the way his back muscles flex and bunch as he tightens the straps.
“You wanna check this?” he asks once he’s done.
I snap to attention. “Yes, please.” I move to step around him, but freeze at the feeling of his hands on my hips. “Orion?” My voice comes out all soft and breathy.
I swear to God, he’s trying to drive me insane. He has to be.
“Just giving you a boost,” he murmurs, lifting me from the ground and onto his running board. “You know, since I don’t have a ladder.”
Maverick giggles, and the sound instantly douses my topsy-turvy libido in ice water—thank God.
I take my time checking the latches, not because they’re questionable, but because I know my cheeks are the color of a tomato. Finally, when I can’t put it off anymore, I give my seal of approval. “Looks good.”
But before I can climb down, Orion grips my hips again and lowers me to the ground. I stumble out of the way, and then he lifts Maverick into the truck and buckles him, not once hesitating.
His confidence with my son is such a freaking turn-on that I find myself zoning out, imagining we were a real family, instead of heading for the passenger seat.
Something I immediately regret when Orion steps down and grabs my hand. “C’mon, little mama, your turn.”
My insides turn to downright mush at the words little mama, a fact I am studiously trying to ignore. I know I have no right to feel any kind of way about this man, because the months-long history we share has only ever happened in a darkened room.
And because I have the worst luck in the world, he has no idea the dancer he keeps coming to see is me.
“Oh, no.” I try to step away, knowing that if he touches me anywhere else, my gooey insides will go straight-up molten. “I’ve got it.”
“Humor me.” He tightens his hold and tugs me forward.
The momentum is too much, and I have to brace my free hand against his shoulder to keep from face-planting into his chest.
“Are you okay?” he asks, close enough that I can feel the timbre of his voice all the way down to my toes.
“Frankie?” he asks when I don’t reply.
I’m too busy trying to decide whether I should run for the hills or dive into the temptation that is Orion Cartwright.
“What?” I ask when I finally manage to get my wits about me.
“Let me help you into the cab,” he murmurs, following my retreat. “I’d hate for you to fall and get hurt.”
“Okay.” I turn my head to the side and suck in a lungful of air, determined to get my body and heart under control. He’s just a man—a stupidly attractive man—but flesh and bone, all the same.
Orion winks as he grabs my hand once again. This time, I allow him to lead me around the front of the truck.
He looks back at me with a Colgate-worthy smile before opening the door. This time, when he grips my hips, I’m ready for him. I don’t jump or gasp. I’m cool, calm, and collected as he lifts me into my seat like I weigh nothing.
My body’s listening to my heel command—that is, until he steps up onto the running board and leans so far into my space, he’s all I can see.
“Um.” I swallow thickly. “What are you doing?”
“Safety first,” comes his deep, rumbly reply as he grabs my seat belt and stretches it across my chest.
His hand brushes over the valley between my breasts, and I swear to God, it takes every ounce of my willpower not to scramble over the console and into the back seat.
He’s freaking driving me crazy.
He clicks the buckle into place and then grins, victorious. The whole encounter is probably only seconds, but it feels like hours. “Y’all ready?”
I try to nod, but Maverick beats me to it. “Yes! I’m starving. I haven’t had no food since breakfast and that was hours ago!”
God love him, for both his ability to lighten the mood and his bottomless pit of a stomach.
“Guess we better hurry.” His body sways toward mine, and I tense. But he merely tugs on my seat belt one more time, making sure it’s secure, before stepping down and heading around to the driver’s side.
God help me, I say silently, because I really think I’m going to need some divine intervention to not lose my head—or my heart—around this man.