The cold

Chloe took a shaky breath and reached for the door handle. "Fine. Outside. I'm doing this, and I'm not even going to be embarrassed about it."

Ethan's grin was pure evil. "That's my girl."

She stripped quickly—cardigan, dress, bra, panties—piling them on the passenger seat. For a moment she sat there, pale and naked, her skin already prickling with goosebumps in anticipation. Then she shoved the door open.

The cold hit her like a wall. Forty-five degrees felt like winter on her bare skin. She gasped, her nipples hardening instantly into tight peaks. But she **** herself to stand tall, flipping her raven hair over her shoulder with exaggerated confidence.

"See?" she called back through the open door, her voice only slightly higher than normal. "Totally fine! Just a little fresh air!"

Ethan leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, clearly enjoying the show. "You've got two jobs, babe. Gas tank needs filling—and it's not an auto-pump, so you'll have to stand there and hold it the whole time. And that windshield needs scrubbing. Every. Single. Bug."

Chloe looked at the pump, then at the squeegee hanging from its bucket. Her mind raced. The gas would take a few minutes of standing still, exposed, holding the nozzle. The windshield would require bending, stretching, reaching across the hood...

"Your choice," Ethan added, his voice a dark purr. "Which do you want to do first?"