Chapter 4 #2
“Uh, if you don’t mind,” Trask suggested as mildly as possible, “I’ll get everything organized if you’ll keep carrying.
” Normally, he’d be the first one to do the heavy lifting for a lady because he was old school and his mother had raised him right.
But his skin was almost itchy with the chaotic way Jett threw things over the bed rails, and the only way he could satisfy his need for order was by placing everything neatly into the large plastic containers that he’d had the foresight to put in the back.
“Sure. I can do that,” she readily agreed, not reading anything into it. She pranced off with the dogs at her heels to get more gear.
Trask’s eyes followed her as he shook his head.
Why did she have to be so sweet and accommodating? It was almost as if those attributes were aimed directly at Trask, looking for a way to disarm his aversion to the chaos she instigated.
Dichotomies.
Yeah. He fucking hated dichotomies. He’s spent his life attempting to bridge gulfs in reasoning, make sense of contradictions, and heal dualities.
Was the universe laughing its ass off; throwing this woman at him? Making him lust after every lift of her chest, every twitch of her fine behind, and every toss of her curls?
Well, hah, hah. That joke was not going to be on him. As soon as Trask got both himself and Jett fed, he’d have her back to her plane and in the air before she could bewitch him any further.
“I think this is the last of it,” she said, carrying over a final two suits while juggling a small, but very old cardboard container that had to hold something valuable. She juggled it recklessly.
Trask saw disaster about to happen, and leaped from the truck, barely catching the box before it hit the ground.
“Wow. Nice save,” Jett giggled, not bothered at all. She threw the pair of dive suits she held, into the bed. “What do you think is in it?”
Trask tamped down the urge to scold her over her nonchalance, but turned his attention instead to the box and opened it slowly. His eyes grew wide.
He whistled. “Sweet. If I’m not mistaken, this is a soviet era camera housing.”
The thing he carefully pulled out was over-the-top cool; colored bright red and yellow with a Bakelite handle, it had big, clunky dials, a built-in viewfinder, and wings to steady it underwater.
Clearly it had never been used. Trask had only seen pictures of similar things in magazines, and was super excited to have one in his hands.
He reverently put it back in the box and replaced the top. “I, uh, need to make sure all this stuff is secured,” he told Jett, climbing back into the bed, this time with more care since he held precious cargo.
“Okay,” she agreed easily. “Let me make one more sweep of the plane to make sure nothing rolled under the seats.”
Because…of course it probably had.
Trask had just finished folding the suits and fitting them into the storage bins when Jett let out a shrill whistle, staggering back toward him, her arms full.
“I forgot about these,” she said, struggling under the weight of the pile, and once again Trask came to the rescue.
He jumped out and took the stack from her arms, recognizing years’ worth of old diving magazines. He speculated that most of the publications, from what he was seeing, were probably long out of business. Wouldn’t this be a huge goldmine of information?
Jett humorously berated herself. “Dad stacked them in a floor compartment so they wouldn’t get messed up with everything else, and I almost forgot about them.”
Trask bit his tongue. Despite the erratic way the two DeLuca’s had handled the goods, everything seemed to be in amazing shape.
Pure luck.
He leaned over the truck’s rail, placed the magazines in his one remaining empty container, then carefully pulled the tonneau cover over everything to keep it safe while Jett went back to secure her plane and lock up.
Only when she was walking back toward him did Trask allow himself to really regard Jett and her dogs with a practiced eye again.
Damn, they were a good-looking trio. The bulk of that esteem, of course, went to a stunning Jett.
But he forced himself to focus on the four-legged pair as he pulled open the back door to his truck.
“Up,” he told the duo.
They didn’t need to be told twice. They hopped in with enthusiasm, tongues lolling, while Trask closed the door behind them, then opened the front one for Jett.
She paused, sassily. “Not going to give me an order, too?”
His thoughts immediately sizzled.
Oh, Trask would love to give her a few orders. His mind immediately went to how compliant she’d be with his dominant side in bed. The thought had color moving up into his face. Trask could feel it. He turned aside to hide his lust.
“Nope,” he responded heartily, pretending not to understand her innuendo. “I think you can get into a truck without instruction.”
“I think I can, too,” she agreed, and hoisted up into the seat as he went around to his door.
Once inside, however, the cab seemed…small. How could one woman seemingly take up so much space? It was beyond him.
“Seatbelt,” he said gruffly, before he realized she was already reaching for it.
Her tinkling laugh had his heart stuttering as she buckled up.
Such a joyous sound. When was the last time he’d felt so—?
“Don’t think I haven’t got your number, Trask,” Jett told him, cutting off his thoughts. She was clearly amused as her lids lowered once again and she chewed on that bottom lip. “And just to let you know. I’m not averse to bossy,” she gave him saucily. “In any situation.”
Crap.
Trask was hard in an instant, thinking about all the things he could order this woman to do.
And dammit.
Apparently “crap” was now part of his lexicon.