CHAPTER SIX
Clinging to Rambler like a spider monkey, I hang on for dear life as we roar down the highway. And holy crap, I’m so freaking cold.
How do people live like this?
“You doing okay back there, butterfly?” Rambler’s voice comes through the speaker in my helmet.
“F-f-fine,” I lie, pressing my body as close to his as I can, desperate to steal some of his warmth.
He chuckles and the sound vibrates my cheek that’s pressed against his back. “Liar.”
I don’t have the energy to argue. Every bit of my concentration is focused on not turning into a popsicle on the back of his bike. I keep my face pressed between his shoulder blades, using his body as a shield against the biting wind.
You ain’t in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.
No, I’m definitely not in Florida anymore. That’s for dang sure.
After what feels like forever, Rambler takes an exit off the highway, and we start winding through what looks like farmland.
There’s nothing but trees and open fields as far as I can see.
It’s pretty in a rural America sort of way, all browns and grays with patches of white where the snow has already started to stick.
Suddenly, Rambler slows the bike and turns down a gravel road hidden among all the trees.
“Home sweet home,” his rough voice announces.
I lift my head from his back and peer around his shoulder. A mobile home comes into view at the end of the gravel path. A double-wide with gray siding and white trim, complete with a large covered deck and a carport off to one side. Not what I was expecting, but it looks cozy.
Rambler pulls the bike under the carport, parking next to a black Dodge Ram pickup. He cuts the engine and slips out from in front of me.
“Let’s get you inside, baby.” He hangs his helmet from the handlebars and offers me his hand.
He doesn’t have to ask me twice.
I grab his hand and slide off the bike, wincing as my frozen butt protests the movement. Everything hurts. My ass is sore from the long ride, my legs feel like they’re made of rubber, and I swear my fingers might snap off like icicles if I try to bend them.
“I c-can’t feel my f-face,” I stutter, my lips numb.
Rambler wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his side as he leads me toward the door. “We’ll fix that.”
He pulls out a set of keys and unlocks the door, pushing it open and ushering me inside ahead of him. The first thing I notice is the blessed heat—it’s blowing full blast from the vents, and I almost cry with relief. Thank God for that prospect he sent ahead.
“It’s w-warmer in here,” I manage, my teeth still chattering as I look around.
The place is definitely a bachelor pad. The open-concept living room and kitchen are cluttered with motorcycle parts, including a couple of wheels stacked in the corner. There are dishes piled up on the counter that look to be clean. Thank the Gods for that. This place would wreak otherwise.
Next, I spot several piles of laundry scattered across his black leather sofa and the loveseat, too. Empty boxes are stacked by the door.
Rambler rubs at the back of his neck, his eyes scanning the mess. “Sorry about this. I don’t usually bring people here.”
A strange feeling of jealousy washes over me, which is completely irrational. I don’t have a claim on him. We just met for heaven’s sake.
My eyes drift over to the stack of motorcycle magazines on the coffee table, then to the empty pizza box beside them. He’s a bachelor. A hot, sexy, muscular bachelor who could have any woman he wants.
I look down at my own body, at my small chest hidden beneath the oversized jacket. The women at the clubhouse were beautiful. Curvy. A lot curvier than me.
“Hey.” Rambler moves into my space, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. “What’s wrong?” His stormy gray eyes search mine for answers.
“Nothing.” I force a smile. I’m being stupid. He’s doing me a huge favor, and here I am throwing a pity party.
“Babe?”
Tears mist my eyes.
“Come here.” Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me against his chest. I close my eyes and sink into his embrace. I always feel so safe when he holds me like this, like nothing bad can touch me.
I feel his lips press against the top of my head. “It’s all gonna be okay, butterfly. You’ll see.”
I nod my head against his chest. If he says so, I believe him.
“Gonna check the pipes and grab the keys to my truck. Then we’ll hit some stores and get you some warmer clothes.”
He steps back and drops a quick kiss on my lips before disappearing down the hallway.
Alone for a moment, I take a moment to pull myself together while I look around the open-concept kitchen and living room.
It really is a mess. And it could definitely use a woman’s touch. The thought makes me smile. Maybe that woman could be me.
In the blink of an eye, Rambler is back, holding a dark brown leather coat. “This’ll be too big, but it’ll do until we get you a heavier coat of your own.”
I slide off the thin leather jacket Bubble’s gave me and slip my arms into the heavy-duty, buttery-soft leather jacket and sigh at the weight of it on my shoulders. It swallows me whole, hanging down almost to my knees, but it’s warm and it smells like him.
“Let’s roll,” he says, guiding me back out the door.
The cold hits me again, but it’s not as brutal with his thick coat wrapped around me. Rambler hits a button on the key fob, and I hear his truck start up with a deep rumble.
“Remote start,” he explains. “So it’s warm when we get in.”
He follows me around to the passenger side and opens the door. The truck is lifted high off the ground, and I eye the door handle, wondering how I’m supposed to—
“Oh!” I squeal when he grabs me by the waist and lifts me up, setting me in the seat like I weigh nothing.
“Like that.” He smirks.
I smile as he closes the door. I track him with my eyes as he rounds the hood and climbs in beside me, the whole truck shifting under his weight.
“There’s a big box store up the road,” he says, putting the truck in reverse. “We’ll hit it today. We can grab you some clothes and get some groceries while we’re there, too.”
My eyes start to burn. He’s so thoughtful. “Thank you, Rambler.”
His eyes soften. “When it’s just us, and we’re not at the clubhouse, you can call me Aaron.”
Warmth spreads through my chest. I know how huge it is for a biker to allow anyone to call them by their real names. It’s an honor usually reserved for their ol’ ladies.
“Thank you, Aaron.” I test the name on my tongue. It feels right. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I start working. I promise.”
His eyes shift from the road to me and back again. “I need to tell you something else.”
My brows furrow. Oh no. This can’t be good. “O-kay.”
He blows out a breath. “At the clubhouse earlier, when we were meeting with Denali and the officers...” He pauses, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. “I claimed you as my ol’ lady.”
All the oxygen in my lungs whooshes out at once. “You what?”
“I claimed you,” he repeats, glancing at me nervously. “I know I should have talked to you about it first, but it just sorta happened.”
I don’t know what to say. He claimed me? As his old lady? This big, sexy, grumpy biker wants me to be his?
Guilt starts to creep in. He was a nomad. A man with nothing holding him down, free to come and go as he pleased. And now he’s claimed me to keep me safe.
“I... I don’t know what to say.”
His eyes dart over to me again. “I’m sorry, Pinky. I know getting saddled with an old fucker like me isn’t what you signed up for.”
Wait, what? He thinks he’s the problem here?
“Saddled?” I stare at him in disbelief. “You’re the one who’s getting the short end of the stick.”
His head whips around so fast I worry he’ll give himself whiplash. “Babygirl.”
“You could do so much better. And now your—”
“I think we need to talk,” he growls, cutting me off.
He signals and pulls over to the side of the road, putting the truck in park. I turn in my seat to face him fully, my heart pounding. He shifts in his seat too, angling his big body toward mine as best he can in the confined space.
“Savannah,” he says, his voice deep, and I know he’s serious by the way he uses my real name. “I feel like I hit the fucking lottery, getting to call you my ol’ lady. You’re sexy and sweet. You’re funny. You make my dick harder than steel.”
I can’t help but laugh at that last one, even as heat floods my cheeks.
“There’s more to life than sex, ya know.”
He pops a dark brow, and I get the feeling that to him, sex might just be at the top of the list.
“You really want me?” I bite my lip, feeling suddenly nervous that he might change his mind.
“Fuck yes.” The words come out as a growl, and before I can blink, he’s dragging me across the console into his lap.
I straddle him, my knees on either side of his thighs, and wrap my arms around his neck. His hands grip my hips, holding me steady as his mouth crashes down on mine. The kiss is wet and wild, his tongue sliding against mine, making heat pool between my legs.
Damn, the man is potent.
When we finally come up for air, his gray eyes are dark and stormy, full of lust. “Let’s go shopping.”
“What about this one?” I hold up a simple black sweater, checking the price tag.
We’re in the women’s clothing section of the big box store, and I’m pushing a shopping cart that’s already half full.
I’ve never been a big shopper. My Miami wardrobe consisted mostly of shorts, tank tops, and bikinis, but it’s clear I need a complete winter wardrobe if I’m going to survive here in St. Louis.
Rambler—Aaron—eyes the sweater and nods. “Get it. And that blue one too.”
I hesitate, looking at the price. “I don’t know...”
He reaches past me and grabs the blue sweater I was eyeing, tossing it into the cart. “Get both.”
I add the black one to the cart, next to the single pair of jeans I selected. Aaron immediately grabs four more pairs in different washes, tossing them in without even checking the sizes.