Jac had already shoved her legs into hers. She glanced up. “Oh. I didn’t realize they were different sizes. I’m swimming in mine, so they might be yours.”
The idea of Jac wearing his clothes nearly made his eyes cross. Cursing his damned vivid imagination, his mind conjured a vision of her in his white Oxford shirt and nothing else. Hair tousled, a sleep-deprived, sated glow on her face.
Thank heavens he still held the coveralls against his body. Hopefully it hid his solid erection. Watching her strip hers off didn’t help. The square of the hypotenuse . . . he began reciting the Pythagorean Theorem.
Jac swapped her pair for the ones he held on to for dear life. Bunching the material at his waist, he released a pent-up breath as the lusty grip on his body eased a little . . . is equal to the sum . . . Ah, much better.
After Jac pulled on the protective covering, she scanned the taped off portions of the floor. Grasping the handle on the cart, she pushed it toward their assigned spot. With a sheepish grin he did his best to hide, Luke pulled on the larger coveralls and quickly zipped up. Although he had the urge to palm the front of his pants to relocate his woody to a less obvious position, he feared someone else catching him in the act. Instead, he wiggled his hips as discreetly as possible to adjust the fit of his jeans, giving himself precious extra seconds before following her.
The teams around them took their places, and work began in earnest.
Across from their section, insurance man DIG, who was the thinnest of all of the four of them, squeezed his frame behind the barrels. “This is going to suck big time. There’s no room to maneuver,” he complained loudly.
“Well, I sure as hell ain’t going to fit. Shut up and let’s get busy.” FIG’s voice resonated against the ceiling, sounding as if he were standing next to Luke, instead of across the wide room.
In the corner, Marcus cleared his throat and scowled toward the insurance dudes. “That’s not how we build a team, Jeff.”
“Glad I’m not partnered with them,” Jac murmured against his ear, her soft breath tickling.
Of the square of the other two sides. Jesus, it was a good thing there were going to be barrels between them. Luke knew as sure as the sun would rise he wasn’t going to be able to keep his hands to himself.
Jac laid one hand on the top of a cask and her foot on the platform it rested on. “Can you help me?” she asked.
Moving behind her, he gripped her waist, steadying her as she boosted herself upward. “What are you doing?”
“Recon.” Laughter tinged her tone. “I want to figure out our best options before we start. Might as well try to be as smart about the exercise as possible.”
“Spoken like a world-class leader.” Luke dug his fingers into the sleek muscles of her hips and resorted to reciting the infinite numbers associated with pi.
Jac glanced over her shoulder. “I think I have this figured out. Let me down.”
Stepping back, Luke complied, but in the process, Jac’s backside slid against his groin. He sucked in a sharp breath.
She didn’t notice, or at least pretended not to notice, and moved toward the cart with a graceful sway of her hips. Squatting next to it, she pawed her way through the contents of the shelf.
“I knew I saw this here.” She tugged out a folded sheet of canvas. Catching two of the corners, she snapped it open. “I think what will work best is if we split the wall horizontally. I’ll fit behind the platform, so I’ll take the bottom half. You can work on the top.”
Luke eyed their section, evaluating Jac’s suggestion. “It will work if we have the right tools. Is there an extendable roller? One capable of reaching the ceiling?”
The drop cloth fell to the floor when she released it to pluck another tool from the cart. A series of clicks sounded as Jac pressed tiny buttons on a short rod. With each click, she pulled the end further out, until it extended to a full five feet.
A cocky grin on her lips, she screwed the roller handle to one end. Five seconds later she’d slipped a fuzzy roller cover into place and handed the entire contraption to him. “Here you go.” Bending, she picked up the cloth and spread it over the casks in their section.
“What’s up with the cloth?” he asked.
“Did you not hear Marcus say getting paint on the barrels was grounds for dismissal? I’m just trying to make sure I get to stay until the end.”
“Ah. You really know what you’re doing, don’t you?”
She chose another frame from the cart and prepared it as she spoke. “I enjoy painting. It’s like mowing the lawn, or ironing a shirt. You can see your progress as you work. It’s satisfying. My friends know I like it, so I’m always invited to help them whenever they’re redecorating. Here.” She handed him the paint bucket.
Setting two trays on another drop cloth, she motioned for him to pour.
Luke pried the paint lid off as Jac continued to prep their area. Getting down on all fours, she peered under the platform. With deft movements, she slid her roller and a roll of masking tape under the stand. The end of the brush she shoved through clacked woodenly against the opposite wall.
Luke straightened from pouring the paint. With his toe, he nudged one of the pans in her direction. She grasped it, her finger plunging into the white paint. Chuckling, she wiped it off on the front of her coveralls. With a satisfied grunt, she gently manipulated the paint tray under the stand of casks. She stood and dusted her hands on the back of her painter’s overalls.
“Let’s roll,” she said with a little snort of amusement.
Not waiting for his nod, she squeezed between a break in the platforms. Her head disappeared from view as she sat down. Over the top of the barrels, Luke watched as she squirmed to get comfortable, picked up the masking tape, and began taping off edges.
She tipped her head back to look at him, exposing the long column of her neck. A damn good thing we’re separated by the wine barrels.
“Luke, get busy,” she chided, saturating her brush in white paint. She drew a bold horizontal line halfway up the wall. “You paint everything above, I’ll do the lower half. And don’t you dare drip on me.”
A mock salute later, Luke soaked his roller in paint and started on the wall above the barrels. They worked silently, quickly, and cohesively as a team. Around them, some teams did the same, while others laughed and joked. The insurance guys took turns painting dirty words and pictures on the walls, washing over them with the paint, hiding their childishness.
Luke found the mindless motion of stroking the roller over the wall soothing. His brain completely disengaged from the clusterfuck going on at the medical center between the nurses and Dr. Dipshit. The idea of any problems the accountant might uncover faded into the background. The only things worth his consideration right now were the continuous motion of his paintbrush, and the occasional blast of Jac’s tangy perfume over the paint fumes.
Jac sang quietly while she worked, her soft, rich alto invading his brain. Luke caught himself humming along as he worked.
After adding more paint to his tray, Luke lifted it onto drop cloth-covered barrels, balancing it in the valley between two of them. He dipped his roller and resumed painting overhead.
Jac repositioned herself directly under where he worked. His wet roller squished against the wall, echoed by the sound of Jac stroking paint on her half.
The next time he stuck the roller in the tray, it began to skid toward the edge of the barrel. Dismay filled him and time slowed into an oh-fuck-no freeze frame as the shallow piece of plastic tipped over.
Jac’s outraged screech bounced off the wall, followed by sudden quiet. Drips of paint plopped on the canvas under her. Other teams stopped their progress and craned their necks to check out what was going on.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry.” Luke propped his roller between the barrels, m
aking sure to wedge it in place. Stepping on the platform with one foot, he lifted up to peer over the top. “Jacqui, are you okay?”
“Um . . .”
Whitewash covered half her head, oozing down her left side. After scrubbing the back of her hand over her leg, she tried to wipe the excess from her face. With her back to him, Luke couldn’t see just how bad it was.
“Oh, fuck. I can’t believe I did that.” His voice sharpened in horror.
“Believe it!” Thank God she chuckled as she said it. “Can you find a rag or some paper towels? I’m afraid if I move the mess will end up bigger.”
Belinda hustled over, a wad of paper in her hand. She knelt next to the riser and shoved her arm under. “Take these. Sally’s coming around to help.”
Sally had already slipped between the platforms. Even though she was tiny, Luke could see how crammed together the two of them were. Sally reached across Jac’s chest and began sluicing the sticky mess off her shoulder. Jac twisted a little to give her better access and pressed the unpainted portion of her back to the barrels. FIG wandered over and took up a position right next to Luke.
Anger at his own stupidity swept over Luke like a broom through a dust pile. “I’m so sorry, Jac. Setting the tray on the barrels was asinine.”
“Won’t get any argument from me.” Jac struggled to her feet in the confined space. She turned as Sally continued scrubbing at the paint coloring half her head white.
Marcus joined the onlookers. “What’s going on?” He let out a low whistle. “You’re a mess, girl.”
Marcus’s comment brought a rueful pout to Jac’s face, creasing the remaining paint. “Tell me about it. But look, Marcus. Not a drop on the barrels.” She said it like it was the most important thing to her.
“At least you took that to heart.” Marcus’ teeth flashed whitely against his dark complexion. “You better come on out of there and get cleaned up before the shit dries. It’ll be a bitch to get out if it does.”
“The choir is on the same page with ya there.” Holding her hair away from her head, Jac followed Sally from behind the barrels.
Luke was ready with more paper towels. He wiped away as much of the mess from her back and sides as possible. Jac inhaled sharply as he passed his hand down her arm, brushing the side of her breast in the process. Everything in him tightened in the instant after the brief contact.
Jac cleared her throat and shrugged away Luke’s hands. She took the paper towels from Sally, smiling as she did. “Thanks, Sally. I’ve got it from here. Marcus, I can’t go into the house covered in paint this way. I don’t suppose you have a place where I can wash off the worst of this, do you? An outdoor shower, maybe?”
“Back by the picnic pavilion where we had lunch, there’s an area where you can hose off. Just behind the building.”
Luke grabbed the drop cloth off the barrels. Carefully, he wrapped it around Jac’s shoulders, sealing her paint-splattered body within the canvas folds. “I’ll take you over.”
“We should clean up this mess before we go.” Jac gestured toward the other side of the barrels, where she’d been sitting when he’d dumped half a can of paint on her head.
Luke glanced at Marcus and lifted a hand in question. “Can we get a little help here? I don’t want the paint drying in her hair.”
“Me and the boys will take care of the mess.” Marcus slapped FIG on the back. FIG shot him a dirty look. “Hey now, Jeff. That what teams do. They help each other. You’re not going let the team down, now are you?”
“We’ll help, too,” Sally offered.
Marcus beamed at her. “Atta girl! Luke, take Jacqui and get her cleaned up. You’re excused from the rest of this exercise.” He tapped his hand on Jac’s arm. “You know, the color works on you, but maybe you should go clean up now.”
Jac chuckled, the sound easy and sexy at the same time. “Thanks. We’ll see you at dinner.”
Body humming like a plucked guitar string, Luke followed her out of the cask room.
Chapter 7
The rapidly drying paint oozed down her neck like a cold, disgusting slug. As she swiped it away with a corner of the drop cloth Luke had wrapped around her, Jac thanked her lucky stars she’d worn the coveralls Team Vino had supplied. Otherwise, her blue T-shirt would have been ruined. The bench seat of the golf cart became a trampoline as Luke sped to the barn where they’d worked earlier. She bounced with each rut they hit.
“You can slow down,” she said, hanging on to the side handle for dear life. “With the amount of water in the whitewash, this mess should clean up pretty easily.”
“I’m just sick I did that.” Luke’s voice held a note of frustration.
“Well, you did fix it so we got out of the exercise. It might not be the best way to be excused, but we don’t have to finish painting. Or clean up. Bright side, right?”
He snorted. “Damned Pollyanna. Do you always find the good?”
The barn came into view as they crested a small hill. “It’s a rewarding way to live. For example, now I know FIG’s name is really Jeff. Easy enough to remember because fig starts with F and Jeff has a double dose of F in his name. Easy peasy.” She jerked forward in her seat as Luke braked to a stop on the side of the building.
Sure enough, there was a cedar-fenced enclosure at the far corner. She pulled the sides of the drop cloth together before she jumped out of the cart and reached for the gate handle. The bottom scraped over the pavement as she swung it open. Inside were gardening tools, a wheelbarrow, and a green hose coiled on the ground. There was also a drain in the center of the cement pad, and several buckets filled with sand.
Luke bumped into her when he stepped around her. “Sorry.”
Shrugging, Jac peeled the canvas material away and dropped it while he fastened one end of the hose to the barn spigot. Pipes clanked to life when Luke twisted the knob. The hose jerked and jumped, filling with water that gushed from its open end. Jac toed off her shoes and kicked them aside, away from the water, the pavement rough and chilly under her bare feet.
Luke straightened and motioned her to the center. “Unfortunately, your clothes are probably going to get soaked.”
“They’ll dry. Come on, hose me down.” She scrunched up her shoulders and squeezed her eyes shut. Frigid water splattered over her head. “Bloody hell! That’s cold.”
“Sorry. Again. There isn’t any hot water available here.”
Keeping her eyes closed, she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to push the paint out. “Not your fault. You don’t have to keep apologizing. Let’s just get this done.”
At least Luke’s fingers were warm as he massaged her scalp to help. Yeah, they actually felt freaking amazing. A rush of heat seeped from her chest then lower, raising more goose bumps than the icy shower had.
“Can you hold the hose? I could help more if I can use both hands.”
It flashed through her mind, which hose she really wanted to hold. And how much better it would be if his two hands were on her. The heat in her cheeks was at complete odds with the arctic temperature of the water flowing over her head.
“If I hold the hose, you’ll end up getting soaked, too.”
“True.” He dropped the hose to the ground where it promptly spurted over her feet.
Not caring how she looked, she danced a crazy jig to keep her toes from going numb. Luke grabbed a garden rake, flipped it upside down, and shoved the wooden handle into one of the buckets of sand. After he retrieved the hose, he wrapped it around and around the shaft and ended by jamming the brass-fitted end between the tines.
He grinned and pointed to his handiwork. “Ta-da! Instant shower. C’mere.”
Jac accepted the hand he offered and let him pull her forward under the flow of water. It was still cold, but with him helping to scrub the paint awa
y, it wouldn’t last as long.
The cold water sluicing down her spine remained at odds with the heat generated when he massaged her scalp. She tipped her head back and he framed it between his hands. Something flickered in his eyes, a flash of lust, of hunger. Jac bit her lower lip as sensation coursed through her body, lodging in her brain. In spite of the temperature of the water, this little impromptu shower had activated the desire receptors within.
And they weren’t going to be denied.
Luke didn’t hold back either. Dark lashes swept down as he closed his eyes an instant before his lips claimed hers. It wasn’t a tender kiss. No, this was filled with raw want and need. Open-mouthed, thrusting. His tongue stole into her mouth, retreated, only to advance again.
Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her close, nestling her against his hard-in-all-the-right-places body. The heat and evidence of his arousal turned the moisture between their wet bodies to steam.
Without releasing his hold Luke walked her backward until she hit the board fence surrounding them. The planks pressing into her shoulder blades were rough, the planes of Luke’s chest incendiary. Raising her hands from those hard muscles, she threaded her fingers through his short, wavy hair. Luke nibbled her lower lip, nipping and pulling slightly before soothing the sting with his tongue.
The tingling between her legs kicked up a notch when he worked his hands between their bodies. He trailed them up her ribcage, pausing to cup and squeeze her sensitive breasts as he ground his hips to hers. The sweet tugging sensation in her gut tightened her body until it felt like a plucked string on a violin.
Her heart raced at the feel of his fingers, unfastening her coveralls, the rasp of the zipper loud in the quiet air. He slipped his hand into the opening and ran it from her pubic bone to the waistband of her jeans. She squirmed and shifted, her body giving in to desire, offering him more. He pulled her T-shirt from her pants, smiling against her lips.
Risking the Vine (Romancing the Vine Book 1) Page 8