Spitfire in Love (Chasing Red 3)

“Holy smokes, what the fuck?”

I cranked open my window—it wasn’t automatic—and gulped cool, fresh air. Eyes still on the road, I quickly reached over to open the passenger window, heard the sharp zap of the seat belt as it locked in and snapped me back, nearly choking me.

Pissed, I pulled over to the side of the street, slammed my brakes, unbuckled my seat belt, and, finally, thank God, opened the two windows.

The source of the terrible smell was lying happily on the mat on the passenger’s side.

It was the same boxy shape as my perfume—except it wasn’t my perfume. It was Dylan’s cologne.

What the hell was it doing in my backpack?

I blew out a defeated breath, leaned my forehead against the steering wheel.

8:03 a.m.

I was late.

* * *

He was waiting outside for me.

Under the portico where he was shielded from the rain, he leaned against the wall, wide shoulders, long legs crossed at the ankles, hands in pockets. He looked dark and broody and so brutally beautiful.

He was wearing black sweatpants and a thick, dark-blue sweater with the sleeves pulled up just under his elbows so that the thick, corded muscles of his forearms were visible. He had a backpack slung carelessly over his shoulder.

The wind rose and blew his loose, dark curls, covering his eyes. I couldn’t see the blue of them, but his head came up, a proud lion sensing prey, as I rolled my car in his driveway.

My hands curled tightly around the steering wheel. I could feel the pulse in my neck beating wildly. Slowly and surely, his eyes found me in the rain.

I shivered.

But it was only because the windows were both open and the cold wind had soaked into my bones.

He didn’t take his eyes off me as he walked to my car. Confident, long strides that ate up the ground in a matter of seconds.

I faced forward, refusing to turn my head so I could watch him. My heart jerked as the passenger side door creaked open. He reached in, grabbed my backpack, and gently threw it along with his into the back seat.

Butterflies danced in my belly as he slid his big body inside my small car. I jumped a little when he slammed the door closed.

Then we were locked in together. And the air around me changed.

In my peripheral, I saw him crank his window closed, then push the seat way back to accommodate his long legs. I heard his soft groan as the seat jolted to a stop and his body rocked slightly, then settled back.

His broad shoulder nearly touched mine. I would have moved a little to my left if I could, but I was paralyzed.

God, he was just so big. It was impossible to ignore his presence or even pretend to.

I gripped the steering wheel harder as I felt his eyes watching me.

“Can I?” he asked quietly. Whispered it.

I didn’t even know what he was asking, but I nodded. I gasped as he carefully reached over, grazing my arm as he reeled my window closed.

“You’re shivering,” he said, a hint of frustration in his voice as he turned the heater on full blast.

He grasped the back of his sweater, pulled it off. The black shirt he had on shifted up, showing the hard muscles on his stomach.

“Here,” he said, offering his sweater to me.