Slow Hand Luke. Debbi Rawlins
certainly, but really surprising at his age and the way he looked.
He had to be in his early thirties, and had to receive oodles of female attention. Probably got by on charm more than anything else. He certainly wasn’t lacking in that department. Even though Annie hated gratuitous endearments, she knew enough women who ate them up.
Tomorrow she’d have to ask Aunt Marjorie about him, or even ask Chester for that matter. She’d left the barn door wide-open already, as they’d say around here. She knew well enough she wouldn’t sleep soundly with this guy in the next room. She trusted her instinct but she’d be foolish not to be a bit apprehensive.
He turned back toward the house, and she ducked away from the window, grabbed their glasses and rinsed them out. She waited until she heard him set something on the table before she turned around. He’d brought in the entire cooler, which made sense, but it was still a little weird. She’d just met him and he was practically moving in.
“I figured I ought to put this food in the refrigerator. Can’t let it go bad. We might have to live on ham sandwiches for a while.”
“With white bread, I bet.”
“Is there any other kind?” He winked at her, and then pulled packages of cold cuts out of the cooler and deposited them into the refrigerator.
She watched him stack everything neatly on the second shelf, leaving room for the beer and a quart of milk. She thought about offering to help, but it was much more fun watching the way his shirt stretched across his back as he moved and how the soft faded denim molded his perfect ass.
His legs were long and, even without the inch heels on his cowboy boots, he was tall. Well over six feet for sure, since she was five-seven and only came up to his shoulders.
He kept out two beers. After opening them both, he handed one to her. She took it, even though she wasn’t crazy about beer. Rarely did she drink alcohol, and when she did it was some sweet frothy concoction that the guys at the precinct called a girly drink.
“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Luke asked after taking a long pull.
“Get my car out.”
“Right. First thing.”
“Talk to Chester about repairs.”
Luke pulled out a kitchen chair for her. “Don’t count on him being much help. He’s always had a bum leg and, at his age—” he shook his head “—the guy shouldn’t be doing too much.”
“Yeah, I know.” She sat down, exhaustion suddenly saturating her limbs. Not only was it late, but her body was still on East Coast time.
He took the seat across from her and leaned both elbows on the table. “He can help us figure out where the repairs are most needed and what kind of supplies are stored before we buy anything.”
She’d just paid off a chunk of her credit card so she was good in that department. Of course, she had no idea how much wood and paint and fencing and those sorts of things cost. If she maxed out her credit card, she didn’t care. Even that wouldn’t erase the guilt she felt for accepting the tuition money.
Annie shifted positions trying to get comfortable and bumped his leg. “Sorry.”
They both moved to get out of the way at the same time and bumped legs again.
Luke gave her a lopsided smile. “You keep flirting with me like this, I’ll start calling you darlin’ again.”
“I have a gun and I know how to use it.”
“Now you’re getting me excited.”
She laughed. “You’re one sick puppy.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“Deservedly?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said matter-of-factly, and tipped the beer to his lips. Setting the bottle back on the table, he jerked and winced. His sharp intake of breath ended with a mild oath.
“What’s wrong?”
He gingerly rolled his shoulder. “Got a bad bruise.”
“A bruise?”
“From a fall.”
She didn’t say anything, just watched him probe his shoulder. A bruise wouldn’t cause that much pain. Maybe he didn’t want to tell her what had happened. Maybe she should start worrying.
He sighed. “You know what a rodeo is?”
“Of course.”
He started to unbutton his shirt. “Let’s say I met a bull more ornery than me.”
Each unfastened button exposed more smooth golden brown skin. “What are you doing?”
He undid the last button and shrugged the shirt off his left shoulder. “The doc gave me some ointment that helps with the stiffness.” He got a small tube out of the duffel bag beside the cooler and uncapped it. “I’ve dislocated it twice now and tore some ligaments last year, so now it acts up every once in a while.”
“Should you have been carrying all that stuff?” she asked, nudging her chin toward the cooler, but unable to drag her gaze away from his chest.
“It didn’t hurt then.”
“Are you twelve?” Her gaze stalled on his belly where the hair arrowed downward, and then slid to the bulk behind his fly. Definitely not twelve.
Smiling, he squeezed the white goop onto his palm. When he stretched his arm across his chest to reach the back of his shoulder, he grimaced, the pain tightening his features.
“Here.” She scooped the ointment from his palm onto hers and stood behind him. After rubbing her palms together to warm them, she gently slid them across his back.
He tensed.
She withdrew.
“Don’t stop.”
“Tell me if I hurt you.”
“I promise to cry like a baby.”
She smiled and slid her palms over hard muscle and smooth skin. Wow, he was perfect. Too perfect. Her nipples tightened. She bit her lower lip, and slowly worked her fingers around his shoulder blades.
He moaned. Not like he was hurt. More like how she felt: damp between the thighs, her mouth dry as cotton. When her hands started to shake, she stepped back until he was out of reach.
Luke looked over his shoulder at her.
“Good night,” she murmured, and took off down the hall.
4
L UKE WOKE UP with a hard on. Not the usual morning kind. This one was much more specific. Caused by one Annie Corrigan of the Brooklyn police department. Sergeant Annie Corrigan. Some luck he had.
Still, the woman was easy on the eyes and, man, those hands of hers. She might have eased the pain in his shoulder, but she’d stirred up a world of hurt in other areas. His cock twitched at the thought of her soft palms exploring his back, tracing his backbone lower than she’d needed. She had great hair, too. Long and slightly wild, its softness had brushed his bare shoulder and, for a moment, the pain was gone.
So she was a cop. She didn’t have any jurisdiction or interest in what was happening way out here and, since he didn’t dare go to Granddad’s place, staying here was perfect. Who’d poke around way out here? From what he recalled, Marjorie Walker had been a loner since her husband passed. She didn’t care for the local grapevine, so mostly stuck to herself, and Chester only went to town for supplies. Luke was pretty sure, if he asked him, the old guy wouldn’t mention Luke was back.
Poor Annie had her hands full enough. She’d be too busy fixing the place up to be dawdling around town, inviting questions. Anything they needed in the way of food or paint or wood, he’d go