Sultry with a Twist (8 page)

“Feeling Amish today, Sister Augustine?”

She flinched and brought a hand to her heart, dropping the magazine to the floor.

“Nice dress.” He stepped inside, grabbed her magazine, and tossed it onto the bed without getting too close. Judging by Pru’s reaction downstairs, he really needed that shower. “Only two days with the Baptists and you’re already going modest on me?”

“You look filthy,” she said, changing the subject. “And tired.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve already heard it from your grandma. She won’t feed me till I get cleaned up, so I’m gonna hop in the shower.” He started to turn away, but she held her palm forward to halt him.

“Wait.” She went silent a minute, and then those brown eyes swept his body from head to toe with such intensity he almost felt her warm, gentle touch all over. He recognized that glazed look. He’d seen it before, her first day—hell, her only day—working at the Jenkins place. He had a pretty good feeling she wasn’t criticizing the mud on his jeans when her eyes fell there, and when her tongue darted out to wet her lips, he had to grasp the doorway to keep from closing the distance between them and finishing what they’d started the other morning. He scraped together enough willpower to tease, “Like what you see, Junebug? I can take a picture—make one of those wall calendars for you, even tape it to the ceiling above your bed.”

She wrinkled her ivory forehead and pushed up straighter. “I
was
going to offer to wash your clothes while you’re in the shower, but since you’re being such an—”

“I accept. Thanks.” When she started to object, he cut her off. “Especially since I’m here to fix your car. For free.”

“Fine. Leave them in a pile outside the bathroom.”

“That means I’ll be naked when I open the door. You gonna try to sneak a look?”

“You wish.”

With a smirk, he left her to grab some clean clothes from his room and then get washed for supper.

While in the shower, his mind conjured naughty images of June. Cranking up the cold water didn’t help, and neither did shampooing his hair extra rough, scrubbing with his fingernails hard enough to make his scalp burn. He couldn’t stop picturing himself hooking one finger beneath the hem of that long, black dress and sliding it up the length of her smooth legs, then slipping her panties down, down, all the way down past her ankles…Damn it. If he didn’t quit this madness right now, his soldier would come to attention, and he couldn’t very well relieve it of duty knowing he’d have to hold Pru’s hand for grace in ten minutes. Turning off the hot water completely, Luke doused himself in the icy spray, closed his eyes, and recited the Texas Rangers’ starting lineup.

***

“What’s this thing?” Wedging herself between Luke and the car, June braced on her elbows and bent over the hood, poking at engine parts and bringing her firm, round behind to the front of his hips, where it brushed his fly. Sweet Jesus. He needed to finish this repair and get the hell out of here before he died of chronic blue balls.

“Hmm?” she pressed.

“That’s where your windshield wiper fluid goes, Junebug. You couldn’t figure that one out yourself?”

The cool evening breeze picked up, swirling June’s chestnut curls around the back of her neck, while the setting sun cast pinks and reds over her skin. “Well, what do I know about cars?”

“At the very least, you need to know how to check your oil, especially when you drive something this old.” Girls. How did they manage to survive? “Come out of there. I’m gonna teach you real quick.”

She stood and turned to face him. “What does age have to do with it?”

“The older a car gets, the more oil it loses. Nobody ever told you this?”

“No.” When she shook her head and stirred those curls, he inhaled the familiar, spicy-sweet scent of her orange shampoo. Did other women smell this good? Had he simply failed to notice all these years?

“Okay.” Focusing on the task at hand, Luke pulled a clean rag from his back pocket. “The first thing you gotta do is clean your dipstick.”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it now?” she said with a giggle. “I bet you’re an expert at that.”

“Concentrate, Junebug. This could save your engine.” Actually, he’d be surprised if the thing made it another thousand miles. “See this loop?” He slipped one finger into the dipstick pull. “You take it out, like this…” When he turned to make sure June was paying attention—which she wasn’t—the wind kicked up again and swirled her black dress up around her calves, drawing his attention to patches of raised welts on her skin. He shoved the dipstick back into place and wiped his greasy fingers on the rag.

“What happened to your legs?” he asked, kneeling at her feet.

“Nothing!” She scurried backward, right over an empty drip pan, and her arms flailed wildly in the air for a few seconds as she tried to right herself. Luke launched forward to steady her, but he wasn’t quick enough, and she went down hard on her backside onto the lawn.

He crawled forward with a grin tugging his lips. “You okay?”

Rolling to the side, June rubbed her palm against her fleshy bottom, while her lips formed the word
Ouch
. “Yeah.”

“Good thing you had—” Luke bit short his reply. Probably not a good idea to say
plenty
of
cushion
on
that
big, gorgeous ass
. Instead, he finished, “the thick grass to break your fall.”

He rested on one elbow and used his opposite thumb to pull June’s dress to her knees. Scenes from the shower flashed in his mind, tying his stomach in knots, but those sexy mental pictures died awfully quick as her imaginary, silken skin was replaced by oozing, scarlet blotches. Bee stings, by the look of them—he’d had enough experience to know. “What on earth did you get into, Junebug?”

She brought her knees to her chest and heaved a sigh, pulling the dress back into place. “It’s not a big deal. Happens to people all the time.”

“Then stop acting like it’s a big deal and spill it.” He remembered how Trey had tried to pry information earlier, and he laughed to himself, resolving not to push too hard and lose his man card.

“I ran over a bees’ nest mowing the church lawn the other day.”

Luke sucked a sharp, sympathetic breath through his teeth. He’d accidentally stumbled over a nest of hornets as a kid and unleashed such a fury he’d had to leap into the pond to escape them. A few of the spiteful little bastards had hung around for half an hour to zap him when he’d waded out of the water. Of course, he’d expect something like that to happen at a wooded pond. Only June could find trouble in a churchyard.

“Who else but you would raise hell in God’s house?” he asked.

She snatched a fallen pecan from the ground and hurtled it at his boot. “I knew you’d give me a hard time.”

“Ah. This explains the Amish dress.” He flipped it to her knees again, scanning her marred flesh. “Trying to conceal the evidence, huh?” Her lack of response said it all. Gently gripping June’s ankle, he stretched her left leg to rest on the grass so he could investigate the damage. “You need some Benadryl.”

“It’s on the list. Grammy’s going to the grocery tomorrow.” June lay back, resting on her elbows in the tall grass.

“Have her pick up some antihistamine cream too.” Using his index finger, he trailed it gently from one sting to the next, like playing connect the dots. “These welts will go down a lot faster that way.” Those damn bees hadn’t messed around. He followed their stinging pattern, smoothing his palm higher along June’s calf, up past her kneecap, and beneath the cotton fabric of her dress to her thigh, where he felt a couple scattered lumps on the surface of her skin. He halted his hand. “Did they go any higher?” he asked softly, half hoping she’d say yes.

June’s eyelids fluttered shut, and she swallowed hard. After a while, she said, “No. I ran inside before they—”

“Luke!” When Pru’s voice echoed from the porch, he snatched his hand away like a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar. But he wasn’t after June’s cookies this time. Not really.

“Ma’am?” He rose to his knees and tried to appear innocent, like he hadn’t just had his hand under June’s dress.

“You stayin’ tonight? I stripped your bed, but I’ll make it again for ya.”

“No. I’m gonna wrap up here and head over to the house. Gotta finish tearing out the old cabinets before they deliver the new ones.” Remembering all the work hanging over his head pushed away thoughts of June’s thighs. His shoulders tensed, and a heavy weight settled around his ribs. The new doors would arrive soon, right along with the cabinets, which meant pulling off the old doors, unscrewing all the hinges, filling the holes, and prepping them for new hardware.

“You sure?” Pru asked, gripping her hips and probably gearing up for a lecture.

“One hundred percent.” Before she had a chance to object, he stood and began clearing his tools from the lawn. “I’m on my way in a minute.”

With a loud grunt of disapproval, she said, “Suit yourself,” and returned inside.

June helped him clean up, tossing a screwdriver into his toolbox. “Hey.” She curled her fingers around his wrist, forcing him to slow down. “Thanks. I’m broke right now, but I’ll find a way to pay you back for these parts. And your time.”

“Don’t worry about it, Junebug. That’s what friends are for, right?” He didn’t mention that worrying about her car breaking down, stranding her helplessly in the middle of nowhere, had kept him awake a few nights. Replacing the fan and all those belts had lifted an invisible burden from his back.

“Hey, why don’t you stay tonight? Come lie down. I can tell you’re beat.”

“No can do.”

“Just a quick nap? I promise I’ll wake you in an hour.” Her eyes darted to the pecan tree, and she chewed the inside of her cheek. June was a terrible liar. She’d wake him after he’d wasted twelve hours sleeping.

“You’re trying awfully hard to get me into bed, hon.” He added a wink. “As much as I appreciate the effort, I really have to go. And quit fretting. I’m fine.”

He left her with a quick pat on the head before climbing into his truck. When a yawn threatened to stretch his lungs, he stifled it, knowing June was still watching him.

Pulling out onto the main road, he switched on the radio, smiling when the perfect song filled the cab. He sang along with Cage the Elephant, feeling the lyrics deep in his soul—there really was no rest for the wicked.

“How was your first week?” Judge Bea leaned back in his oversized leather chair and slurped coffee from a Styrofoam cup. The early morning light streamed in from the side office window and lit up what remained of his bushy, mad scientist hair.

“Fine. Well, the first couple days were a little rough, but I’m doing better now.” Which was true. June had started to appreciate little things she’d taken for granted before. Like waking up to a soft, lazy whip-poor-will’s song accompanied by pattering squirrel paws on the roof, instead of to a shrieking car alarm or a barking dog. And the feel of the cool, dewy grass beneath her bare feet first thing in the morning when she gathered fresh tomatoes.

The judge leaned over his desk and glanced at her time sheet. “Been workin’ at church? Didn’t expect that.”

“It’s not so bad. I’ve been cleaning, mostly, and helping Gram with the newsletter.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Reclining, Bea kicked up his boot heels and rested them on the corner of his desk. He gave a slow, cautious nod. “How’re things ’tween you and your grandma?”

June folded her arms and summoned her best poker face. Things with Grammy were better than they’d been in years. They spent their evenings rocking on the front porch, sometimes shelling beans or pecans, and sometimes just eating melon and listening to the wind chimes. Grammy had seen June play an electronic, handheld Sudoku game one afternoon, and she’d asked to learn. Since then, they’d worked the puzzles together at the kitchen table each morning while drinking their coffee. Even Lucky had warmed up to Gram. He’d started sneaking into her room at night to sleep curled in the bend of her knees. But Judge Bea didn’t need to know that. June didn’t want to reward him for forcing her into this situation.

“Fine,” she said. When he raised his eyebrows and waited for her to elaborate, she didn’t.

“Hmm.” Bea tilted his head and narrowed one eye like he was trying to see through her, but she gave nothing away.

“Judge,” she said, changing the subject, “I need permission to leave the county.” He held up a palm and shook his head, but she cut him off before he could get a word out. “Just listen before you say no. It’s not Austin.”

“Where, then?”

“Two places. First, I hear there’s a little bar right outside county lines. I’m broke, and I need a job. You mind if I apply?”

“That’d be Shooters. Burl Bisbee’s hole in the wall.” Bea pursed his lips and considered her request. “I’ll give you one night a week. That oughta bring enough tips to tide you over.”

“Thanks. And then there’s Luke’s place. He’s working on a house a couple counties over, and he needs my help.” He just didn’t know it yet. But June had a plan. She’d started thinking like a businesswoman instead of a lovesick teenager and put together a proposal much like the one she’d pitched to Esteban the year before. Sample paint chips, landscape design, staging details, current market trends—everything she had to offer was bound in a clear plastic sleeve. She intended to storm the Jenkins place, deliver her presentation, and if necessary, refuse to leave until Luke agreed.

She wasn’t above showing a little cleavage, either. Not exactly professional, but she didn’t care. When Luke had returned to fix her car, he’d looked like hell. The dark circles and bags under his lifeless, green eyes had told her what she’d already suspected: he’d been choosing work over sleep. You couldn’t get blood from a turnip, just like you couldn’t work two full-time jobs and stay healthy. June knew she could lighten the load on his shoulders. She just needed to make the stubborn fool see it.

“Mae-June and Lucas together again,” the judge said with laughter in his voice. “I dunno if Sultry Springs is ready for that.” He shook his head and heaved a sigh. “I never could get that smell outta my barn after you two—”

“Sorry,” June said, wincing at the memory. “You
do
know that fire was an accident, right?” Who knew three gallons of pig lard could be so flammable?

“Yep. Unlike the time y’all killed every trout in my pond.”

“Oh, god. I forgot about that.” June hung her head and tried not to giggle. The judge had built an Olympic-sized swimming pool in his backyard, but she and Luke had preferred his pond, so they’d decided to do Bea a “favor” and chlorinate it with the chemicals in his shed. “All those poor fish.”

“Mother of pearl,” the judge murmured. “It’s a wonder either of you survived to adulthood.” He shook his head again, probably remembering another June-n-Luke calamity, and then said, “Okay. You can help him. Y’all just stay away from my place, y’hear?”

***

Luke tipped back another Mountain Dew and prayed the caffeine would last until lunchtime. Maybe then he could catch a few winks in the shade when his crew left for the local diner. He tossed the empty soda can into the recycling bin and winced in pain. Damn it, his shoulder hurt like the devil. He’d strained it last night lifting a door off its hinges, and no amount of aspirin helped.

He wedged a crowbar between two wood planks and levered it back with a grunt, which sent invisible flames lapping at his muscles. “Sonofabitch!” Grasping his shoulder, he tossed the crowbar aside and hollered at Pauly. “Bring two guys and finish up here.”

Pauly nodded and got right on it. The crew seemed to sense Luke’s foul mood, and they worked twice as hard because of it. Even that jackass Karl stayed on task and kept his head down. Maybe he should hurt himself more often.

Luke used his good arm to lift his shirt and wipe the sweat from his eyes. The sun beat down like a sledgehammer against the back of his neck, and he wondered when this damn heat would let up. Then all of a sudden the crack and creak of boards being pried off the deck was replaced by cat calls and wolf whistles.

From somewhere to Luke’s right, Karl yelled, “
Mamacita!
”

“Stop screwing around and get back to—” Whoa. When Luke turned, he saw what had brought his workers to a dead halt. It was June, and she looked better than a chocolate ice cream cone in hell. A double scoop.

She wore a long, flowing tan skirt with some flowers or paisleys or whatever all over it—he couldn’t tell because he was too focused on the ivory swell of breasts heaving out of the top of her low-cut, sleeveless shirt. Her curly hair blew softly behind her shoulders as she drifted forward, just like an actress in some slow-motion television commercial.

“Hey, Luke,” she drawled, bending down to adjust the strap on her high-heeled sandal. If she leaned just a little further, those gorgeous breasts would fall right out, and by the look of his slack-jawed crew, every one of those bastards was wishing for it to happen. “Can we talk?”

“Um, yeah.” But not around all these salivating jackals. He told the men to get back to work and led June through the side door into the house. “There’re a few chairs in the kitchen.”

Luke watched her sway those voluptuous hips across the room to a wooden chair, which she dragged over next to his. Then she sank extra slow into the seat and gave him a look that oozed sex. She was up to something.

“Out with it, Junebug.” He rotated his stiff, aching shoulder. “What do you want?”

She reached into her purse and pulled out one of those plastic book report covers, the kind he only used for really important assignments back in school, then handed it to him. It was full of paint colors, pictures of model homes and flower beds, and information on girly stuff like furniture and interior design.

“What’s this?”

“It’s everything I can offer, if you let me help. Despite what you might think, I’m not a dolt. I know a lot about the real estate market from selling my condo and buying Luqu—”

“Stop right there.” Luke held out a hand, the wrong one, and sucked in a sharp breath. “I told you—”

“I can’t do heavy things, but what about cleaning and painting? And lawn care and landscaping? All that takes time, which you don’t have.”

He couldn’t deny she had a point. She must’ve taken his silence as encouragement because she smiled and kept talking.

“And I can help you with staging.”

“Staging?” Luke leaned forward and rolled his head to the side. Now his neck was feeling stiff.

“Yeah, using the right paint, furniture, and accessories to get the most money out of…” She paused and wrinkled her forehead. “What’s wrong with your shoulder?”

“Nothing. Just pulled it last night.”

“Take off your shirt.” She slipped off her sandals and stood up.

Luke laughed dryly and gave her a teasing grin before she disappeared behind him. “So you can violate me with your eyes again?”

“Look who’s talking.” June reached down and grabbed the bottom of his shirt and peeled it gently over his head. She moved a little too slowly, sweeping her fingertips over his ribs, and his pulse quickened a beat or two. Or fifty.

Her palm skimmed lightly across the skin on his shoulder. “Doesn’t feel swollen,” she mumbled to herself. “I think this’ll help.” And she began kneading his stiff muscles like a pro.

“Oh, god,” Luke groaned, closing his eyes and tipping his head back to rest against her belly. He couldn’t remember the last time something felt so good. Actually, he could. When he’d held her soft little body in Pru’s garden. But this was a close second. Though still tender, the pain in his shoulder nearly evaporated.

“One of my exes was a massage therapist. First guy I ever lived with. He taught me all his tricks.”

“My little Junebug shacking up? Tsk, tsk.” He tried not to think about another man’s hands sliding all over her body. Or warming her bed at night. It was none of his business, and he shouldn’t care anyway.

She laughed and leaned down to use her elbow for more pressure. “I’d rather live in sin with a dozen men than suffer through one divor—” Then she froze for a moment.

“Say it. Divorce. You won’t hurt my delicate sensibilities. You’re right. Nothing’s worse than being stuck in a bad marriage.”

June straightened again and guided his head back to rest on her stomach. Then she used her thumbs on his neck and Luke thought he’d melt with pleasure. “Was it
really
bad?” Her voice was thick with pity, which would’ve pissed him off, if he hadn’t been so relaxed.

Yes, it was really bad. He’d met Ada when he was barely nineteen, lonely, and stupid—a dangerous trifecta. She’d picked him up in a bar outside Dusseldorf and taken him into the parking lot to have drunken sex in the backseat of her Volkswagen. It was the first and last time he’d ever neglected to wrap his johnson. Big mistake.

Two months later, she’d tracked him down and announced she was pregnant. He did the right thing, of course, but a month after the honeymoon he’d noticed a package of tampons in the cabinet beneath the bathroom sink. That’s when she’d confessed there was no baby. There never had been. Like an idiot, he’d let himself get wrangled into a green card wedding. He’d considered getting an annulment, but in the end, shame and embarrassment had won over. How would Pru have reacted to learn his marriage was over in four weeks? So he’d stayed and tried to make it work. Bigger mistake.

Almost overnight, Ada had changed. She’d awoken each morning with poison in her gaze. When he’d asked what her problem was, she’d screamed, “I know about June, your whore!” Apparently, he’d been calling June’s name in his sleep, and Ada had assumed he’d cheated. Highly ironic, since she’d
already
been sleeping with an officer on post. And not just any officer—Luke’s boss.

“Sorry. It’s none of my business,” June said softly. Those magical fingers curled over his shoulders to massage the top of his chest in small circles. He wanted her to keep going lower, to feel her firm touch all over. And when she did go lower, ghosting her palms over his nipples, he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s over, and I’m glad.” He inhaled deeply and leaned back harder against her belly. “If you’re trying to butter me up, it’s working.”

“Oh, I don’t need to.” June ran her fingernails from his neck up through his hair, and chills danced across his whole body. Then she leaned down until he felt the soft cushion of her breasts against his shoulders, and she pressed her lips to his ear. His blood turned hot and rushed right between his legs. “I’m coming out there,” she whispered, “whether you like it or not.”

Luke forced his eyes shut and tried to will away his erection, but it throbbed in time with his quickened pulse. “God damn, Junebug,” he hissed.

As she stepped slowly around to face him, she let her fingernails trail along the side of his neck and down the front of his chest. When Luke opened his eyes, she was bent over, gazing right into his face. He glanced down at her soft, red mouth as she added, “If you want to get rid of me, you’ll have to call the sheriff to take me away.” She licked her lips and came closer, like she might kiss him, and he gripped his thighs to stop from reaching out and pulling her into his lap. Would the guys outside see if he laid her on the table and pushed up her skirt? Would she let him? “You don’t want to see me in handcuffs, do you?”

The mental image made him twitch. “I’ll pick you up tonight at Pru’s.”

“Excellent,” she chirped, all traces of seduction gone. June sprang away and grabbed her sandals and handbag, calling over her shoulder, “You won’t regret this.” Then she practically skipped out of the kitchen.

Damn, that just wasn’t right.