“I’ll be fine,” she replies, waving off the helmet.
“No, I insist.”
Blair holds still as I carefully place the helmet on her head and tug it into place. Her green eyes stare back at me through the visor, so worried, yet trusting, and I have this sudden urge to kiss her.
What the hell is wrong with you?
My movements are jerky as I sit on the snowmobile and stuff my hands into my gloves. “Get on and hold around my waist.”
She places her hands on my shoulders and swings her leg over the machine. Even through the cold air, I can feel the heat of her body as she scoots forward, plastering her front to my back, wrapping her arms around me and holding on tight.
Thank God my snowsuit covers what’s happening in my pants, because he is very much aware of Blair’s nearness. It might actually be the most uncomfortable ride I’ve ever had.
I move swiftly yet carefully through the snow, goosing the throttle as I round the corner to head up my driveway. Her scream rattles my eardrum, her grip so tight it’s hard to get oxygen into my lungs.
I can’t help but smile.
The moment I stop beside my back door, she practically bolts from the machine on wobbly legs. “Did you have to do that?” she demands, pulling the helmet from her head.
“Of course,” I reply with a smirk. “Have you never ridden on a snowmobile before?” When she just glares at me, I chuckle and add, “I’ll take that as a no. Well, let’s get inside, shall we?”
Since I left so quickly to go rescue my sister’s friend, I didn’t bother to lock the door, and the moment we step into the mudroom, we’re both engulfed in warmth. Blair removes her gloves and coat, glancing around for somewhere to hang her stuff.
“There’s extra hangers in the closet there,” I start, pointing across from the washing machine. “I’m gonna run out and put the snowmobile away. Make yourself at home.” I move for the exit but can feel her belongings shift against my chest. “Oh, here.” Unzipping my suit, I pull the cosmetics bag and clothing out and hand it over. Just as I go to rezip, a splash of pink catches my attention.
Reaching down to my groin, I pull the pink, lacy panties from where they slid down below my waist. Of course, it’s a thong. It’s a damn pink thong that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. “I believe this belongs to you.”
Blair snatches it out of my hand, her face burning red with embarrassment, and I’ll be damned if that heat flaring in her eyes doesn’t do something to me. Something I have no business even thinking about with my sister’s friend.
Not tonight.
Not ever.
I turn and escape the small room, desperately needing to cool off. The snow looks to be letting up a little but according to the forecast, shows no sign of stopping until the early morning. Honestly, it’ll be a hell of a lot easier to move what I can of the snow tonight, but something holds me back. Perhaps it’s the beautiful woman in my house. The one whose incredibly sexy thong I just pulled from my snowsuit.
Sighing, I glance up at the night sky. “You’re testing me, aren’t you.”
It’s not a question, but a statement.
I get the snowmobile put in the garage and grab the shovel. Maybe a little extra manual labor will help clear my head. The last thing I need is to go inside and make Blair uncomfortable by obsessively watching her, because something tells me seeing her in my space is going to fuck with my brain.
Majorly.
After clearing the walkway, I go back to the garage and strip off my snowsuit. I put my gloves and helmet back on the shelf, lock everything up, and return to my house.
As soon as I step inside the door, I can feel the difference. There’s a sweetness hanging in the air, something fruity and much different than the drywall dust, paint fumes, and wood stain I’m used to smelling. It’s recognizable, yet so unfamiliar at the same time, probably because I know it’s her scent.
Blair.
Kicking off my boots and leaving them beside her little ankle ones, I head to the kitchen where I find my sister’s friend. She’s looking at the cabinets, her hand gliding easily over the freshly finished wood. “These are gorgeous,” she whispers, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Thank you.”
She turns and faces me, her head cocking to the side very slightly, as if in deep thought. “There was pride in your response. You made them?”
I nod. “That’s why it has taken me three years to finish the kitchen,” I reply with a grin.
“Three years?”