Project Produce (13 page)

My fingers flew to my chest, and I felt my eyes widen. “Why,” I glanced down at my shirt, “I don’t even have a bra on.”

“No kidding.” His gaze dropped lower to stare at the twin peaks pushing out the front of my shirt.

“Excuse me?” I covered my bumps. My suspicion regarding his involvement blossomed fully.

He groaned and looked at my face, and I felt my cheeks burn. “I doubt he stood in his window and watched just you all evening. No one saw you get undressed.” Dylan stared into my eyes, never once dropping his gaze below my collarbones.

“How’d you know I changed?”

He checked me out yet once again. “That’s not the outfit you had on earlier.” He flashed me a ridiculous grin. “It’s my job to notice these things, but I would hope you got dressed in the bathroom. Your blinds are wide open.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re pretty good, Detective.”

“I’d better be, or I won’t have a job for long.”

Hmmm
. Pretty much what Gadget had said.

“Let’s get you home. You look cold,” Dylan added. His gaze dropped to my braless, puckered nipples, blatantly visible through my form-fitting T-shirt. Guess the Angels were right. Guys did like tight T-shirts, even if there wasn’t much beneath. He stared at me and smoldered.

I drew his coat together in front of me. “Home sounds like a good idea.”

“Right.” He moved my hands out of the way and zipped the coat clear up to the collar. Then he grabbed my hand and stepped into the street, his boot sinking deep into frigid slush. He glanced at my wet socks, then up to my red fingers, and finally to my questioning eyes.

“You can’t walk in this slop. You’ll be lucky if you don’t end up with frostbite after all this.” He turned his back to me. “Here, hop on.”

“Okay.” Leaping off the curb, I landed on his back and sent him stumbling forward, his hands grabbing my thighs as he struggled to keep his balance. “Whoa, Nellie.” I fisted my hands in his shirt, pulled back, and then wrapped my arms and legs around him and held on tight.

“I said
hop
on, I didn’t say
vault
on. You’re almost as tall as I am, for Christ’s sake. And you’re going to break my back if you don’t stop all that yanking. I’m not a goddamn horse, you know.” He hooked his hands further under the back of my thighs and picked his way through the slush, mumbling something about a pain in his ass.

“Sorry. I forget how big I am sometimes.”

“I didn’t say you were big, Mac, I said you were tall. There’s a difference. Believe me. You’re nicely proportioned.” He moved his hands under my knees--safer territory--and headed across the street.

Nicely proportioned. I liked the sound of that, even if it wasn’t true. “Oh,” was all I said, then I felt my bottom slipping, so I hoisted myself up on him. My teeth chattered and his body heat radiated through my clothes, so I wrapped my arms further around him and...
Oh, my God
. My hands cupped his hard pecs. They twitched, so I squeezed.

Call it a reflex.

“Hey, watch it.” He kept sloshing across the street.

“Sorry, but I have to have something to hold onto, or I’m going to fall.”

He grunted.

Okay, so even I knew I was full of crap. His amazing pecs weren’t helping me stay put, but they sure were helping me in other ways. My body hummed. Not the kind of help I needed right now. Especially when I didn’t trust Dylan as far as I could throw him.

And I trusted myself even less.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Oh, yeah
. I was warming up, all right.

Dylan’s hands slid closer to my behind as he hoisted me higher on his back. Trying hard not to feel him up again, I held onto his shoulder and tightened my legs, my feet dangling by his thighs.

He glanced back at me with a raised brow. “Are you trying to squeeze me to death?”

“Sorry.” I relaxed my legs but had to reach around his chest to keep myself from sliding down his back. I thought about locking my ankles around his waist, but then my heels would be a little too close to Mr. Winkie.

Lordy, I had some serious issues.

When he reached the other side of the street, he held his hand up in the air. “Keys?”

“I don’t have my keys, but maybe I didn’t lock my door.”

“Not very safe, Mac.” He turned the door handle. Nothing. “Got a hidden set somewhere?”

“Like that would be safe.”

He shook his head. “No shoes and no keys. Just great.”

“I was in hot pursuit, remember? Keys never crossed my mind.” Glancing up, I said, “We could climb up the fire escape and go through the window.”

“I guess safety and stupidity go hand and hand with you, huh.”

“Hey.” What was his problem?

“Look, these weren’t your most brilliant moments. You really have to think about your safety in this city. Not to mention your health.” He trudged through the snow to my window.

I hopped down and my ankles sank deep, making me shiver. “Man, it’s cold.”

“Here.” He lifted me up to the ladder.

I climbed a few steps and felt the metal beneath my hands and feet rattle, then I caught a whiff of his musky aftershave. I scurried faster, looking up, knowing he was looking up, too. Right at my big ole behind.
Oh, God
. My sweats weren’t that loose. Why the heck hadn’t I worn a thong?

Because you don’t own a thong, moron
.

He could probably see my underwear lines, see every nook and cranny, see every--gulp--dimple. I missed a step and swayed backward with a yelp, but he caught me. Whew, I took a second to slow my breathing.

“Much as I hate to protest, we really need to get you inside.” He nudged me with something.

I glanced down at him and gasped. My ‘nicely proportioned’ insecurity rested on top of his head like a hat with earflaps.

I faltered, bumping his head one last time, and then climbed as quickly as my frozen limbs would allow. Rolling over the railing, I tumbled to the iron-grated floor, and he crawled over right behind me, flashing that darned crooked grin.

“Can we get on with this?” I grumbled. “I’m freezing.”

His grin broadened. “Yeah, but my head is nice and toasty.”

“Hilarious.” Scrambling to my feet, I clambered through the window. My butt hit the window frame, halting my attempt at fleeing a humiliating situation.
Great
. Stuck like a pear that hadn’t ripened yet, giving him an even better view of my dimples. Nicely proportioned?
I think not
. I tried to squeeze all the way through. Not happening.

“Problems, Mac?” He... mother of pearl, he patted my fanny.

“V-Very funny,” I stuttered. “The window must have slipped.” Well, shoot, he’d already touched it once. What the heck? “Push me through, would ya? It’s cutting off my circulation, not to mention the blood is rushing to my head.”

“Say when,” he said, his voice sounding strained.

“Now! I’m about to pass out.”

He shoved, but the window hardly budged. “It’s stuck.”

“Ya think?”

“Don’t get short with me. I’m not the one who ate an entire box of macaroni and cheese.”

“How did you--”

He shoved harder, and I went flying forward.

“Ahhh!” I hooked my ankles over the window and braced my hands on the floor, wheelbarrow-style, so I wouldn’t land on my head. Something hard slammed into my backside, grabbing my hips. That something had hands? “Whoops. Guess I didn’t hook the window, did I?”

“More like my shoulders,” he said, but made no effort to move. “Interesting position, Mac.”

“Oh, God, is that?” I blinked, wishing I hadn’t just spoken out loud.

Note to self: This stupid project has my brain working like a man’s--unable to think about anything but “my” winkie.

He grunted, then coughed, adding more pressure to my backside, but I didn’t budge.

I closed my eyes, mortified that his flipping cue stick had found my center pocket. “Um, Detective,” I choked out. “You can let go of me now.”

“Um, Mac,” he mimicked. “I already did five minutes ago. It’s you who needs to let go of me. I don’t think Pinocchio can take much more.”

“Sorry.” I whipped my legs wide apart and landed on my head after all. “Ow.” Rolling forward, I sat up and rubbed my scalp, not quite meeting his eyes. “How did you know I ate macaroni and cheese for dinner?”

“You left the box on the table.” He stepped inside and did a quick sweep of my apartment while I stood. “That wasn’t too smart, leaving your window open after you climbed out.” He shut the window and then started to lower the blinds.

“Wait, let me see.” I peeked over his shoulder, still not completely buying his story. “I don’t see your backup.”

“He just went in the building.”

“The guy I saw wasn’t wearing a uniform.”

“Do I?”

“Well, no, but--”

Dylan dropped the blinds. “It might be a wise idea to keep these closed from now on. Wouldn’t want anyone staring at anything they shouldn’t be.”

“Ugh. I feel like I’m in a tomb with everything so closed up, especially in such a small apartment.” I shivered.

“Well, no wonder. My jacket’s as wet as you are.” Stepping forward, he slipped his jacket off me and draped it over a chair to dry. I couldn’t help crossing my arms in front of what little I had, feeling like a contestant in a wet T-shirt contest. Though a pair of Band-Aids would have done the trick.

His eyes locked on my face, thank God. “We need to warm you up.”

“We do?” I felt tingly, staring into his eyes, imagining all sorts of ways he could warm me up. My gaze ran over his rippling muscles and flat stomach. It had been a long time for me, but no way was I spoiling my record, especially for a zucchini.

“I’ll run the tub, and you get what you need to change into.” He strode into the bathroom and turned on the pipes. The small apartment came to life with rattles, creaks, and groans.

“Uh, I can take my own bath, thanks.”

“Who said I was giving you a bath?” he hollered back. “I’m just handling the pipes. But if you want me to wash your back, just let me know.”

Handling the pipes?
Oh, yeah
. He was just like Bob. Forcing myself into motion, I could barely move my fingers to crank up the heat. I don’t know how I managed to pull some clothes from my dresser. My teeth chattered so hard, and my feet stung as though I’d stepped on a beehive. Matter of fact, I couldn’t even feel my toes. That didn’t seem like a good sign.

Sauntering out, Dylan leveled me with his sizzling blue laser beams. “Sure you don’t need any help?”

Oh, I needed help, but not the kind he was offering. “Thanks, but I can manage.”

“Okay.” He folded his arms, but made no move to step out of the way.

“Okay, then.” I squeezed by him, shut the door, and then struggled out of my clothes. Sinking into the lukewarm tub with a hiss, I sighed with relief. It wasn’t as hot as I liked, but with the way my fingers and toes stung, that was probably a good thing.

Darn him
. Super Cop always seemed to know just what to do. I slipped on my headphones and closed my eyes, letting the warm water seep into my very bones. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get the image of him
warming me up
out of my mind. Like I would ever take a bath with Hot Britches.

So not gonna happen.

***

“Hey, Mac, do you want--Whoa!” The door crashed open, and Dylan stumbled into the bathroom carrying a cup of hot cocoa, the dark brown brew spilling over the rim.

I gasped, sloshing around in the tub, gagging on soapy water. I was ready to strangle him for disturbing my pleasant dream of locking lips with Ryan Reynolds. Water flew everywhere as I tried to cover up.

Hot Britches’ boots slid across the wet linoleum. His right leg bounced off the toilet, and his arms wind-milled. The steaming brew splashed on his hand as the cup sailed across the room to crash against the wall and fall to the floor in a million ceramic pieces.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Ditto
, I thought, and reached out to stop him from landing on me, to no avail. His body plunged down into the tub with a loud splash, dunking me.

I popped up out of the water and sputtered, my nose bumping his chin hard, my hair hanging in my eyes, and my headphones dangling off one ear. Coughing, I shrieked, “Wh-What are you trying to do, drown me?”

“No. I was trying to be nice, but I made the mistake of leaning against the door. You need to get that latch fixed.”

Wrenching my trapped hands from beneath Dylan’s stomach, I snagged the headphones and chucked them to the floor. “It’s at the top of my list. Next time, don’t be nice.” I blinked the water out of my eyes. “I can’t afford for these new contacts to get ruined any more than I can afford a new CD player.” I blinked again, and realized I was naked. And in his arms. In a tub full of soapy water. I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry.

“My fault. I’ll buy you new ones, and even an iPod,” he managed, his gaze roaming over my wet features. “I’ll clean up the mess in a minute.”

I wiggled beneath him, and felt his Mr. Winkie pulse against me as Dylan lay sprawled out on top of me in the way-too-small tub. Chest to chest, belly to belly, his thigh between mine. “Dylan.”

He started to get up. I snaked my arms around him and held on for dear life. “Don’t move.” No way would I let him check out my bumps with nipples or my huge insecurity
unclothed
!

“Now, you’re talking.” He grinned, then leaned in to kiss me.

Oh, no, I’m not
. I slipped my hand between the inch that separated our mouths and covered his lips. “And you’re not listening. What I meant was if you move, you’ll see me.”