by Lisa Plumley
“Yikes. What a terrifying idea.”
Her grin must have looked unconvincing, because Luke only went on gazing at her in that intent, deeply absorbed way he had. This must be, Josie thought inanely, what a disassembled motorcycle engine would experience if it could feel Luke examining it. If it could feel him preparing to make it whole again.
“It won’t be terrifying,” he said. “It’ll be great.”
“Easy for you to say. You won’t be the one all in pieces.”
He angled his head, looking confused. And gorgeous. And macho and strong and white-hot wonderful. She didn’t know how she’d lucked into having him, but she felt giddy with joy about it, all the same.
“Never mind,” she said. “If I ever get a chance to be me again”—she gestured toward her hated green granny-dress getup, so necessary for her dance school dream but so not her—“I promise you’ll be the first person I call.”
“That’s right. You’ll be calling to hear me say ‘I told you so.’”
“Oh, yeah?” Josie teased. “You’re that sure of yourself?”
“Nah.” Luke lowered his hands to her waist. He spread his fingers over her hips, then tugged her against him, pelvis to pelvis, in one insistent movement. “I’m that sure of you.”
His next kiss stole her breath. It wiped her thoughts clean of everything except the man in her grasp, the feel of their mouths coming together, the heat and urgency of the moment. Josie crowded against him on sneakered feet, raising on tiptoes to be closer…closer. She buried her fingers in his hair and kissed him back, and all the while she only needed one thing. Only wanted one thing.
More.
“I’m sure of you, too,” she whispered. A smile burbled up from somewhere inside her. Josie couldn’t fight it back. Didn’t even want to. “So take me, Luke. Take me, because I’m yours.”
Groaning, he agreed. They fell backward on the four-poster’s rumpled coverlet, rolling until they fit together like two pieces of a forgotten puzzle. Hip against hip, belly against belly, chest against chest. Josie panted and arched against him, and when Luke’s hand found her breast, when he caressed her through the Day-Glo fabric of her dress, she bit her lip to keep from screaming aloud with pleasure.
How had she waited so long for this? Waited so long to feel Luke’s strong hands holding her close, to feel the hard, hot length of him against her thigh? She didn’t know. She didn’t care. She only wanted more. More, more, more.
She ran her hands over his back, feeling the muscles flex. She grabbed his arms for balance, admired the tattoos she’d once thought looked so dangerous. Luke wasn’t dangerous. Josie knew that now. Not so long as he was in her arms…in her heart.
“Yes,” she murmured, “just like that.”
She’d never felt so out of control, so eager and impatient and ready. It took ages for him to kiss her again, eons for her to strip him of his T-shirt. She didn’t want to waste time with her dress, so she only covered Luke’s hands with hers and helped him hike it up. The glide of his callused palms against her skin was everything she’d hoped for. Hot. Sensual. Expert.
“Wait,” she gasped. “I want—”
To touch you, too, she’d been planning to say, but something else grabbed her attention. It came from far away, barely heard over their panting breaths.
It was…it was…. Josie couldn’t quite identify it as Luke’s hands slid from her knees to her thighs. A riot of good sensations followed the movement. Oooh….
“Now that we’ve seen the first floor and basement,” a distant voice intoned, “where the servants spent most of their time, we’ll continue to the second floor. This part of the Kincaid House was meant for the family…a more private space.”
Private space. Breathing hard, Josie stilled with her hand on Luke’s fly. The tour!
She jerked upward. Beside her, Luke froze.
“The tour! I forgot about the tour!” she whispered harshly.
If they found her here, it would be the talk of the town. Panicked, Josie jumped from the bed. The mattress dipped as Luke did the same. Hastily she smoothed her dress, then her hair. With her ponytail and stupid June Cleaver headband secured again, she looked back at Luke. He was still semi-naked. Gee, he looked terrific.
Hang on. Focus.
“Your T-shirt! I threw it over here someplace….”
She grabbed it from the cheval mirror it had gotten snagged on and pitched it to him. With a pang of regret, she watched as he pulled it on. In seconds, he looked dispiritingly respectable again, his naked chest, gorgeous arms, and rippled abs all covered by plain black cotton.
“Your hair!” She hurried over to smooth a pillow-rumpled hank, then stepped back to examine the rest of him. Perfect. Maybe they could pull this off after all.
“It’s fine. We look fine. They probably won’t even come in here,” Luke said, angling his head with a posture of readiness. “The door’s closed.”
Breathing hard, they stared at it. From beyond the paneled oak, voices and footsteps came closer. Old floorboards creaked.
“Just hold still,” he warned. His smoldering glance zipped over her figure, looking for anything out of place.
Josie felt her knees weaken. If he kept looking at her that way, so hot and so knowing….
She couldn’t possibly stand still. Anyone who came in the room would see her need for him at fifty paces. She turned to the window instead, pretending to look out at the view of the city park sprawled below. Pine trees, people walking in twos and threes, balloons and colorful tents.
Yes, that was better. A good six feet separated her and Luke. They couldn’t possibly look more innocent.
“The bed!” he whispered.
She looked. The huge four-poster was completely wrecked, rumpled and rolled on. There was no doubt it had seen some hot and heavy action—and recently, too. No surprise there. Luke lunged toward it, grabbing the edge of the messy spread. Josie snatched the other edge. Together they fluffed it, then spread the coverlet. They each rearranged some pillows.
“Good, good,” Josie murmured. “That looks perfect.”
Footsteps came closer. They stopped.
“Oh! That’s strange,” said a voice from the hallway. “This door isn’t supposed to be closed.”
Heart pounding, Josie flew to her window. Luke stepped to the opposite window, pretending an urgent interest in nineteenth-century woodworking.
The door burst open. Someone gasped.
A prim-looking docent stood there, the entire tour group crowded behind her. She took one look at Luke and Josie, and her whole face turned red.
“You! I always knew you were up to no good!”
Josie faced her bravely, determined to stand her ground. As she did, she realized this was no ordinary docent. That buttoned-up, tour-giving, ex-Miss-Saguaro-runner-up was Tiffany Maynard—Howie the Loudmouth’s daughter.
“You were wild growing up,” she said, “you were wild when you went away to Las Vegas, and you’re wild now!”
Luke gave her a bland look, not recognizing Tiffany as anyone but an ordinary docent. Then he turned to Josie. Where had he gotten the pocket tape measure in his hand?
“See? These windowsills are six inches wider than the ones at Blue Moon,” he said. “That’s the difference.”
Home restoration! It was the perfect cover. She could have kissed him for thinking of it. Or honestly, for any reason at all.
“Six inches?” she confirmed, suppressing a naughty grin.
They both gave Tiffany identical wide-eyed looks.
“You don’t fool me!” she cried, arms crossed. “You’re up to something, Josie Day. You always were. And you—you, with the tattoos. Get away from that windowsill.”
Obligingly, Luke stepped away. A scowl darkened his expression, though, and his jaw flexed.
“I’ll have to ask you both to leave this instant.”
Trembling, Josie raised her chin and moved toward the door. Halfway there, Luke caught her hand in his
. They edged through the crowd of tour goers, all of whom had fallen silent and gaping.
Not for long, though.
The murmuring started up before they hit the stairs. By the time they reached the first landing, a full-fledged gossip tornado had kicked up behind them. Terrific. All her hard work, undone in an instant.
“I always knew that girl was up to no good,” came a judgmental voice. “Never was, never will be.”
Never will be, Josie thought. Never will be.
Maybe they were right. But if she couldn’t shake her reputation, she decided in that moment, the least she could do was earn it.
Chapter Seventeen
The good news, Luke realized after they left the Kincaid House, was that Josie’s sexy, hip-wiggling, take-no-prisoners shimmy was back in full force. The bad news was, she was using it to walk away from him. As mesmerizing as that sight happened to be, he didn’t much like the implications.
“Hey, Josie. Wait.”
She stopped in the parking lot beside his motorcycle, her expression unreadable. Luke frowned. Something about her had changed. She seemed to have added three inches to her already willowy height, and the angle of her chin made him nervous as hell.
Probably, he told himself, she was bugged by that tight-assed busybody who’d booted them out of the Kincaid House.
“That docent didn’t have anything on you,” he said, hooking his thumb toward the tour they’d just left. “She was guessing. Trying to stir up trouble. Don’t let her get to you.”
“I’m not. I’m just ready to leave, that’s all. I made plans to meet up with some old girlfriends later tonight, and I need time to get ready.”
Luke examined her, his suspicions growing. He’d swear something was different. “You look fine to me already.”
She scoffed. “Are you crazy? I can’t go out for a girl’s night looking like this.” She held out her dress’s gaudy green fabric, letting it billow a good foot in both directions. “I look like an Amish hooker. Not the impression I’m going for, trust me.”
He did trust her. But he didn’t trust her mood.
“I’m sorry,” he said, intent on getting to the bottom of things. If he knew women—and he did—an apology was always a good place to start. “I got carried away in there. On the bed. You just felt so good, I—”
“It’s over with. Don’t worry about it, okay?” Josie grabbed the spare helmet and tugged it on. She hiked up her dress with both hands, then straddled his Harley. “Let’s go. I’ve got lots to do.”
Acres of bare, showgirl-perfect leg showed from beneath her still hiked-up dress. Temporarily befuddled by the sight, Luke just stood there. That outfit wasn’t half bad when worn that way.
The sound of Josie snapping her fingers brought him to.
“Earth to Luke. I don’t know how to drive this monstrosity, but I’m willing to give it a go. Toss me the keys.”
The hell he would. “I’ll drive.”
All the way to Blue Moon, Josie hugged herself to him. Her curvy dancer’s thighs gripped his hips; her breasts teased his back. Her dress fluttered behind her like a battle pennant, green and wild in his rearview mirror.
What the hell was going on? The change in her had him bewildered. Luke couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but he’d bet it had something to do with her absolutely steely sunniness—and her new willingness to flaunt her showgirl gams. That wasn’t part of the respectability playbook she’d been using until now. Neither was the rebellious whoop she’d let loose as they’d peeled out of the parking lot.
Climbing off his Harley at the estate, Josie took off her helmet the way she always did. No metamorphosis there. She raised her hand to smooth her sensible ponytail.
Or so he thought. Instead, she wrenched something loose, threw away her headband, and let down her long hair for the first time in weeks. It tossed around her face in the breeze, impossibly red and inexplicably her. With a plink of her fingers, she pitched away her ponytail holder.
She ruffled up her hair. “Ahhh. That’s better.”
“I’ll say.” He took off his helmet. “I like your hair that way.”
“Me, too. I’d forgotten how much.”
Small talk. Between two people who’d all but hooked up a half hour ago. People who’d lived in each other’s back pockets for weeks now. What was going on?
Perplexed, Luke turned over his helmet in his hands. Josie wouldn’t talk about anything real. He couldn’t read minds. That left them at an impasse.
He swore under his breath. One more try wouldn’t kill him.
“Let’s talk inside,” he volunteered.
“Later.” She whisked his helmet from his grasp and put it down on his bike. “I’ve got beautifying to do, remember?”
She smiled, but her attitude still felt weirdly distant. Distracted.
Luke realized what it must be. “Are you pissed because I said you look ‘fine’ earlier? Because what I meant was that you looked gorge—”
She shushed him with her finger on his lips. Wearing a bemused expression, Josie lowered her hand. Her fragrance wafted toward him on the same breeze that tousled her hair.
“I’m not mad at you,” she said.
More confused than ever, Luke stared at her. “You looked—”
Cutting him off, she rose to kiss him. The touch of her lips, although brief, felt soft and sweet.
“I’m not mad,” she repeated.
Stupid relief filled him. “You looked mad.”
“At you? Nah. You knew the truth all along.” She gazed at him with her usual directness. “It just took me a while to catch on.”
“Catch on to what?”
“To the truth. About me.” Her cell phone rang. With an apologetic glance, she fished it out of her purse. “Hang on. Just let me get this. It looks like it’s Parker.”
He nodded his approval.
“Sure?” She paused, poised to flip open her phone.
“Yeah. I’ve got things to do in the carriage house anyway.”
Josie’s chattering voice faded as he crossed the lawn. Luke headed for his garage, feeling grateful for the getaway. That probably made him an asshole. But right now, escaping to a world he understood—a world where the problems were concrete and fixable—sounded pretty damned good.
That didn’t mean he didn’t care about Josie, though. Halfway to the carriage house, he stopped. Frowning, Luke glanced backward.
Engrossed in her conversation, Josie cradled the phone to her ear, her expression hidden by the tangles of hair in her face. Head down, she toed off her sneakers. She scooped them up and dangled them carelessly from her fingertips.
Ordinarily, she’d have worn them all the way into the house—another of her self-imposed “rules for respectability.” Today, she wiggled her bare toes in the grass, then meandered toward the porch.
Hmmm. That was weird. He debated going back and pressing her for answers. But then his mind spun toward the latest of his growing list of jobs—the carburetor repair he’d promised to do on a friend’s Harley—and Luke kept going. Whatever Josie’s problem was, she’d tell him when she was ready. Until then, he might as well get some work done.
Making her way upstairs, Josie paused on Blue Moon’s east wing landing. She held the phone to her ear, hardly able to believe what she’d just heard.
She’d been cut from her show at Enchanté.
“I’m really sorry, Josie,” Parker was saying. “I wanted to come there and give you the news in person, but with the schedule the way it is…well, you know. Two shows a night, matinees—it’s just impossible.”
“I understand.” Woodenly, she climbed the stairs again.
“This was the best I could do. Management’s sending you a ‘nonrenewal of contract’ letter, the cold-hearted bastards. Can you believe that?”
Josie nodded. Then she realized her friend couldn’t hear a nod. “I guess that’s just the way it’s done,” she managed.
“Not when I’m around, it’s not. The lea
st you deserve is to hear about it from someone who loves you.”
“Thanks.” Her throat closed up, making it hard to speak.
“I’m sure it’s only temporary,” Parker rattled on, sounding concerned. Also, irritated on Josie’s behalf. “You know how Jacqueline is. She gets in those choreographer snits of hers. One whisper from her and a dancer’s cut. It could have happened to anyone, honestly.”
“I know. You’re right.”
“If it’s any consolation, Greg really fought for you.”
“That was nice of him.” Greg was the producer at Enchanté. They’d worked together on the Glamorous Nights Revue for six years now. “Tell him thanks for me, okay? Or maybe I’ll just do that myself. Yeah. I’ll call him.”
“Josie….” Parker hesitated, worry in her voice. “Are you going to be okay? I know you’ve got your dance school in the works and everything, but it’s not every day a girl gets cut. I know how much that hurts. You’ve been with the show a long time.”
“I’ll be fine.” In her bedroom, Josie sank on the chenille-covered bed. She felt numb. “Not having the show to come back to feels kind of weird. It’ll take a while to get used to the idea, that’s all.”
There was a momentary silence. Josie let herself fall backward, feeling the coverlet billow around her. She ran her hand over its softness, still holding the phone to her ear. She sighed. She really hadn’t seen this coming.
“That’s it. I’m coming down there,” Parker announced. Something scraped in the background, then paper rattled. “I can borrow Thad’s Jeep and be there in a couple of hours, tops.”
At Parker’s loyalty, tears prickled Josie’s eyes. God, she was sick of crying. It wasn’t like her at all.
“No! No,” she insisted, forcing a note of assurance into her voice. “Getting yourself fired—right along with me—won’t accomplish anything. You’ve got a show to do. I’ll be fine. Really. Besides, you and Thad will be married soon, right? If you want to buy a house in one of those new subdivisions, you’ll need both your incomes.”
Parker hesitated. “You’re my friend. You’re more important than a cookie-cutter house in suburbia. Thad and I can stay in our apartment for a few more years. Heck, I’ll throw in an extra fishing trip every six months. He won’t notice a thing.”