Jardin's Gamble (Haven, Texas 9)

“Why? Do I need to?” she joked.

He shrugged. “I’d never do anything to hurt you, rocket. But it’s always a good idea to be safe rather than sorry.”

She just stared at him for a long moment. “You’re a good man, Carrick Jones.”

Red flushed his cheeks. She loved that this big, tough-looking man could blush. Holy hell.

She bet Jardin had never blushed a day in his life.

Argh. Stop thinking about Jardin.

“You’re safe while you’re with me. I promise you that. But text a friend. It will make both of us feel better.”

Giving him a small smile, she wrote down the address he gave her and sent it to Juanita in a text. Her friend texted back immediately that she’d send over some condoms. She groaned.

“Everything okay, rocket?” he asked her.

“Yeah, just my friend being a dork. Why do you call me rocket?”

“Oh, the other day you were like a pocket rocket. Small but feisty.”

“Not so sure about the small part, but I can be feisty when I need to be. Especially if someone is trying to hurt someone I care about.”

“I like that. Loyalty is something I value.”

“Me too.” She cleared her throat. “So that went deep quickly. Shall we get those steaks?” She picked up her shoes to force them back onto her feet.

“That’s not going to work,” he told her. “Your feet are already swollen. Why don’t you come with me in my truck? We’ll stop at the store for steaks and some salad since I doubt I’ve got the fixings for one, and I’ll see if they’ve got some flip-flops there for you. I mean, if you’re okay with them?”

“Are you kidding? They’re what I live in on the weekends.”

“Good. How about we trash these then?” He picked up her shoes and walked them over to the garbage can.

“Hey! I still need those for work.”

“You seriously want to wear these again?”

“Want to, no. Need to, yes. I only have two pairs of suitable shoes for work.”

He gave her a knowing look. Shit. She needed to watch what she said around him. He was perceptive and smart.

Sighing, he walked away from the garbage can, her shoes dangling from his huge hands. There was something about that image that did it for her. Big, rough hands holding her tiny, delicate shoes.

Yep. Sexy as hell.

You’re a weirdo, Thea.

He held out his hands to her and she reached up with her injured hand without thinking.

“What did you do to your hand?” he asked, noticing the bandage on her palm.

“Oh, nothing,” she squeaked.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He seemed kind of protective. Sweet and thoughtful. But definitely the type who wouldn’t like hearing that she’d injured herself the other day and hadn’t told him.

“That’s a guilty fucking face if ever I saw one,” he said to her roughly. “Thea, what happened to your hand?”