Page 33 of Rambler's Snow Bunny
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.
