Page 9 of Heart Set on You

“What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer me, instead shifting his car into park on the busy street, getting out and quickly rounding the front of it.

“Hand me your bags,” he says, arms outstretched. “I’ve got these. Hop into the car. I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

My first instinct is to hold on tightly to the armful of bags attached to my body. So, that’s what I do. “I’m fine. My hotel is only a few minutes from here. Thank you anyways. I’ll see you Monday.”

“Rylee.” He sighs, taking a step closer. “Please. Let me help you. It’s just a ride. It’s no big deal. ”

“That’s really sweet of you, but it’s not necessary. A little rain has never killed anybody.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off me. He steps closer. My skin heats and my heart jumps, a nervous little leap.

“I insist,” he says, reaching for the bags. “Besides… you’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t hop in with me. I’ll assume you don’t trust my driving and I’m sure you’ve heard how actors can be. Our egos bruise easily. Come on. Get in. You’re soaked.”

His point is adorable. I can tell I’m not going to win this argument and in the meantime we’re both standing here getting even more drenched. I reluctantly loosen my grip on the shopping bags. He raises his eyebrows and smiles a sexy smile, gently taking them from me. With his free hand, he opens the passenger door, guiding me in. He’s determined. I’ll give him that.

Once he’s loaded my bags into the trunk, he slides into the driver’s seat, looking casual and cool despite the downpour. I try to stop myself from openly staring in appreciation at him. His profile shows his chiseled jaw, long dark eyelashes and full lips. I wonder what they would feel like on mine, then quickly shake the thought from my head. Two more seconds of this and I would qualify as a fatal attraction stalker. I realize quickly that being in this small space with him is going to be tricky. My heart is pounding. I’m nervous he’ll notice how turned on I am.

“Hey,” he says, glancing over at me. “So, where to?”

“The Executive,” I reply. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you have better things to do today than drive me to my hotel.” I place my coffee into one of the cup holders, wrapping my arms around my chest in an attempt to warm up. My skin pebbles, and I’m not sure if it’s due to the wet clothes or the close proximity to Miles. Probably both.

Miles looks at me and smiles. I must look like a Golden Retriever after a swim through a mud puddle, but it doesn’t seem to faze him. He’s looking at me like there’s no other place he’d rather be. I, on the other hand, am mortified.

“Here, put this on. You look cold.” Miles removes the ballcap he’s wearing, pulls his sweatshirt over his head, hands it to me, then puts his hat back on. He’s wearing a short-sleeve gray T-shirt that looks one size too small for him. Not that I’m complaining. It shows off his athletic build, his defined pecs. It takes every ounce of willpower not to stare.

“I’m fine, honestly. You don’t need to do that.”

“Rylee, you’re shivering. Put it on. Here, let me warm up your seat.” Miles reaches towards the dash, tapping my seat warmer button while I throw the hoodie he gave me over my damp T-shirt. His scent lingers, making it hard to think straight. How does he smell this good?

He finally pulls into traffic, thankfully moving his eyes off of me and onto the road. I’m not sure what to say or where to look, so I stare at the shops and apartment buildings lining the streets. Silence fills the space between us. It seems like every resident of Vancouver is on Georgia Street this morning. A traffic jam of BMWs, Audis and Priuses crawl along at a snail’s pace. My entire body feels hyper-aware of the small space we’re sharing, of how close he is to me. I’m not sure I can do five more minutes of this.

Fortunately, we reach my hotel before I spontaneously combust right there in the passenger seat. Miles pulls his car up to the front entrance and kills the engine.

“I’ve got it from here. Thank you again,” I say, unbuckling my seat belt, desperately needing some space to calm my racing pulse.

“I’m happy I could help,” he says, then reaches towards me, tucking a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. His head tilts to one side at a 45-degree angle, and his lips tip up in the sexiest smile. I feel a flutter in my chest, but the moment is over as soon as it began, leaving a zip of electricity in its wake.

“Let me get your bags.” He moves from the car, meeting me at the trunk, and begins to unload my shopping. For a second I almost forget that this is the man so many women obsess over. It feels like we are just two regular people, out running errands on a Saturday morning. Then I look over at him and remember there is nothing normal about this situation. I begin to remove his sweatshirt when he stops me, looking me dead in the eye with a smoldering gaze. He probably doesn’t have a clue what that look is doing to me. Resting hot-as-hell face is his usual state. He moves a little closer to me and with every inch, my heart thuds a little harder in my chest. “Keep it, Rylee. It looks good on you. I like you in it.”

I am knocked off balance, my emotions all over the place. I tell my silly little heart to calm down. Miles Bennett can have anyone he wants and Rylee Brookes from Deer Lake, Tennessee is nowhere near his league. I’m not even in his galaxy.

“I’ll carry these to your room,” he says, already moving towards the front doors of the hotel. I open my mouth to protest when he turns his head around to face me and adds firmly, “Don’t bother trying to argue.” Then he smiles a red carpet-worthy smile that lights up his entire face and it feels like I’m living a scene from one of my favorite rom-com movies.

I shake my head at him. “You are relentless.” Then I follow him inside, trying my best to play it cool. I take a second to shamelessly stare at him. He’s wearing a baseball hat to hide his face, the snug T-shirt that’s just fitted enough to hint at the muscular, toned chest underneath it. A pair of faded jeans and leather sneakers complete his sexier-than-any-man-should-be-allowed-to-look look.

That’s enough, Rylee, I tell myself. I need to do my job on Monday morning, and that does not include swooning over this incredibly attractive man.

When we reach the door to my room, I fumble in my purse for my key card. Miles is standing behind me, just inches away. So close that I can smell the cologne on his skin. It takes me an extra minute to find the damn key in my bag thanks to my brain being fried by his scent.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m good, but thanks. You’ve already helped enough. I’ve got it.” I finally find the key and open the door to my room. Miles heads straight for the dresser, dropping my bags on top.

“This is nice,” he says, looking around, first at my view of the city then to the queen size bed, reminding me I am all alone in a bedroom with Miles Bennett. Something about that realization makes me conjure up all sorts of racy fantasies. I allow myself to indulge in them for just a moment before coming to my senses and putting an end to it.

I watch his gaze stop on the bureau. “Is this yours?”

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