When she saw the red Scout, all of her symptoms amplified.
Not her day!
She attempted to stand, trying to make it appear as though she’d just stopped to tie her shoe. She wobbled, but she thought she played it off. Straightening as he drove even with her, she turned to head in the direction of home. She spun on her heel too fast and stumbled but saved herself from going down. With a grimace, she heard the brakes catch.
“Day!”
She waved him off without looking, continuing on her way. Fred followed, torn, looking back over his shoulder at Mac.
“Fucking hell.” She heard the truck’s door open as the engine idled.
Stopping, she turned in surprised irritation. “What are you doing?”
He approached, his frustrated perusal sweeping over her black lycra-clad body, lingering on her bared midriff. “Do you think I’m blind? Think I can’t see down the road?”
Cassidy glanced in the direction he'd come. Yes, he probably had seen her before she’d heard him and saw her crouching on the side of the road. Returning his stare, she swallowed, shrugging. “I needed to tie my shoe.”
They both looked down at her slip-on running shoes; no shoelaces required. The dark look returned to her was accusing. Cassidy shook her head. Mistake. Her body broke out in chills.
Jesus, what the hell was wrong with her?
Turning away from him again, she began walking.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Mac caught her, grasping her upper arm and wheeling her back around to face him.
Cassidy’s head continued with the spin, and she lost her balance, slamming into him. Defeated, she sank into him, his hard body offering her the support her own body couldn’t provide. She was grateful for it, though unwilling to admit it. His arm came around her waist to hold her up, his other hand grasping her chin and forcing her head back.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Cassidy blinked, thinking the answer should be obvious. “Jogging.”
“Where’s your water?”
She frowned, confused by the question.
“Jesus,” he swore, his eyes traveling over her red face. “When’s the last time you ate?”
Groaning, Cassidy weakly pushed against him. Weakly, for two reasons: shewasweak, but also because she didn’t want him to let go. As annoyed as she was, his body was comforting. “Oh my god, will you please stop obsessing over that! I’ve lost something! It affected me. When’s the last time you lost someone you cared about?”
His brown eyes shuttered as his jaw tensed. Jerking her hard against him to still her feeble protest, he ignored her question as he snarled out, “You’re almost collapsed on the side of the road, no water, face redder than your hair, skin cold to the touch, and not sweating.”
Cassidy agreed; he had it about right. He couldn’t know how close to throwing up she was, or he wouldn’t be in her face.
Giving her another jerk, he hypothesized, “You wentjoggingin the middle of the day without having eaten. You’re either bottoming out from low blood sugar or dehydrated—or a combination of both. On the side of afucking road!”
“So, leave me here!” she snapped back, irked that he would be chastising her. “I didn’t ask you to stop!”
“Practically begged,” he muttered. In a quick motion, he bent and tossed her over his shoulder.
Cassidy shrieked to find herself up-ended, his arm hooked around the back of her knees. Never in her life had she been tossed over a man’s shoulder—she wasn’t a short woman, being five foot seven—and he’d done so with surprising ease. The feeling was at once unsettling and erotic even through her sudden wave of nausea at the motion. Grasping the waistband of his jeans with one hand, she slapped at him with her other hand. “I’m going to throw up!”
A dark chuckle reached her as he rounded his Scout. “Got nothing in you to toss up.”
She continued to squirm until she was airborne again with another scream, landing on her butt in the passenger seat of his Scout. Her arms flailed for stability as her head spun. “Shit.”
“Uh-huh.” Stepping back, he opened the back door and ordered, “Fred!”
Fred leaped eagerly into the back seat.