by Maria Luis
He shifted uncomfortably, bringing the cane in front of his hips to hide his morning wood. He wasn’t supposed to be getting it up for Anna Bryce, not when she was seeking out Mr. Right.
Luke wasn’t anyone’s Mr. Right.
What the hell was wrong with him this morning?
“I didn’t hire you,” Luke muttered.
Anna was already reaching for the leash off the entryway table when she said, “You hired Julian. We’re a joint package.”
“Lucky me.”
At his dry tone, she sent him a glare. “In case you’re wondering, it’s not like I want to be walking your dog this morning.”
Sassy perked up at W-A-L-K, promptly trotting over and shoving his snout into Anna’s chest. Luke couldn’t help but think of all the men who would kill to be where his dog had his head right now.
Not me, though.
He coughed into his hand to hide his unease. “If you don’t want to be here, then why are you?”
“La Parisienne is welcoming a major film costume crew in two hours. They’re flying out from L.A., and . . .” She drew in a deep breath and he noticed the tired strain in her gaze. “There’s so much to do. Shaelyn was supposed to be there to help, but her grandmother isn’t feeling well and I just—” Her shoulders slumped, just a little, and she stared resolutely down at Sassy’s leash. “Depending on what time the crew leaves today, I’ll try to get Julian down here. If not, I’ll swing by on my way home to do the honors.”
Damn, but he hated seeing her like this. Worn down, exhausted. It was a reminder that Anna Bryce held the weight of the world on her shoulders every day of the week, every week of the year. And she’d been doing so since the day Julian was born.
Before he even realized what he was doing, he heard himself say, “What can I do to help?”
“What?” The shock that registered on her face had Luke rubbing the back of his neck.
“Help,” he muttered in a low, embarrassed voice, “it’s that thing people do when someone needs a hand with something.”
“I know what help is; I just don’t understand why you’re willing to offer it.”
Neither did he. But now that he’d opened his mouth, it was too late to turn back. Luke was many things, but he’d never been wishy-washy. If he said something, he meant it. If he did something, he refused to regret it. If he offered a beautiful woman help . . . he didn’t pretend that he hadn’t done so.
“You’re walking my dog,” he said gruffly. “It’s the least I can do.”
She cast him a wary glance, studying him for what felt like an eternity before she snapped the length of the lead against her leg in thought. “Shaelyn was supposed to pick up some food for the crew while I arranged the store. Think you can handle that?”
“Not that I wouldn’t rather be organizing lingerie, but . . .” He trailed off, waiting to see if his teasing would bring a smile to her face. Although the exhaustion in her blue eyes lightened somewhat, her mouth remained a firm line of tension. “Yes, Blondie, I’m fully capable of grabbing food for the Hollywood hotshots.”
Her gaze dropped to his cane and damn him if he didn’t try to stand a little taller under the weight of her stare.
“I have arms, Anna,” he said quietly, hating the way she’d unintentionally made him feel like less than a man. “Two of them. I can handle bringing some snacks to your store from the damn local grocery.”
But this was Anna, and of course she would surprise him. “I’m not worried about your arms. You have great arms.”
Luke’s mouth hitched up. “A compliment. Excuse me while I go mark down this momentous day.”
“Don’t let it get to your head.”
“I’ll try not to, but if you keep up with the kind words, I’m gonna have trouble fitting through that front door.”
Her voice turned teasing. “And then who will bring food for the Hollywood hotshots?”
“Exactly.”
They stared at each other and Luke could have sworn some level of understanding passed between them. He didn’t pretend to know what it entailed, but whatever it was, it made him feel . . . not as cold. Which he supposed said something, because he’d been feeling different degrees of frozen for thirteen years now.
Maybe a friendship with Anna Bryce was a good thing for him. Except for random, rogue thoughts of them hooking up, he liked her company. He liked her.
“So, game plan,” he prompted, “what’s our timeline?”
“I’ll walk Sassy.” Hearing his name, Sassy the Dane renewed his inappropriate snout-thrusting. “You get a head start on going to the market. We’ll meet at the boutique in . . .” She checked her watch, tilting her head to the side. “An hour? Will that work?”
Luke would ensure that it did. He’d handled covert missions all over the world—he sure as hell could handle a grocery run. Even if he couldn’t run, and even if he figured he’d be cabbing it from the store to La Parisienne. The mere idea of his hip giving out in front of Blondie and her brethren of Hollywood folk left him reeling with slight panic.
“It’ll work.” Leaning down, he grabbed his keys off the entryway table and jiggled them. “I’ve got to shower real fast, make myself look half-human.”
Her nose crinkled. “You do smell a bit . . .”
“Like booze?” Luke ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “Sassy and I had an eventful night of beer and dog treats. Anyway, take the keys and lock up behind you. I can grab them from you later.”
“After you shower.”
Luke cocked his head. “Yeah. Unless you’d rather me show up like this.” He gestured to his second-day old clothes.
“No! No, a shower will work.” She hooked the leash to Sassy’s collar and jerked on the Dane for him to follow. “See you in an hour!”
The sound of the door slamming shut behind her snapped Luke back to reality. He needed a shower. And, hell, he thought as he adjusted his sweats with one hand, he needed to eviscerate the interested look in Anna’s gaze from his mind before his shower turned into something else altogether.
The thought of a naked Luke O’Connor, standing in a steaming hot shower, stayed with Anna throughout Sassy’s walk and her trek to the boutique. It stayed with her as she rearranged the front of the store and put out Shaelyn’s new collection.
Clearly, the visual wasn’t going anywhere.
“You are so in trouble,” Anna muttered to herself as she drew a lacy baby-doll over a mannequin’s head.
She had to get her mind in the game before the costume manager arrived in an hour. In the last few months, La Parisienne had attracted a lot of national attention, but if they were able to secure this deal, the boutique’s high-quality status would really be cemented.
Thick of the Woods was the most popular TV show on the air right now. Just last year, the high fantasy series had swept the Emmy’s—and had also won the award for best costume of the year. Thick of the Woods was the next step for Anna’s boutique, a boutique she had invested every bit of herself in for more than a decade.
She’d bought it when it was nothing more than a cheesy French Quarter shop that sold “I Got Drunk on Bourbon Street Last Night” T-shirts on the sidewalk and alligator heads by the register. The lingerie had been of cheap quality and their only clientele were tourists who wanted to “show off the goods” when they stood on the balconies and threw Mardi Gras beads down into the street below.
One name change, an overhaul of the interior, and many loans later, La Parisienne had finally come into its own. She needed this Hollywood deal, and she couldn’t afford any distractions.
Not today, and certainly not one involving fantasies of a hot-as-hell guy taking a shower.
The sound of the glass doors swinging open drew Anna’s attention from the mannequin to the proud man struggling to carry multiple grocery bags and two bottles of champagne with only one hand.
Luke O’Connor would never admit to needing help, and it was for that reason alone that Anna dropped the garter
belt she’d been holding and swiftly moved toward the front. “Let me get that,” she said, plucking the champagne bottles out of his hand.
“I’m good.”
He didn’t sound good, and from the tension bracketing his mouth, he didn’t look that great either. Sexy, though. He still looked very sexy.
“Did you walk here?” She’d hoped he would have hailed a cab. It would have been the smart thing to do—the un-stubborn thing to do—but that was very obviously Luke’s calling card. Gruff. Proud. Stubborn. A modern-day Mr. Darcy at his very worst.
“Thought I could use the fresh air,” was all he said as he set the plastic bags on the closest display table. “Where can all this go?”
Clearly, he wasn’t interested in talking about his injury. Stepping up next to him, Anna used a finger to open one of the bags. Inside were three boxes of little crackers and an assortment of cheeses. Grapes and other fruit were in clear baggies. Absolute gratitude slid through her. “Let me write you a check,” she murmured, unhooking her finger from the bag’s handle.
Just as she turned to go, a strong hand wrapped around her forearm. She stared hard at his tanned fingers against the pale pink of her blouse, then lifted her gaze to his rugged face.
“Not necessary,” he grunted, his green eyes flitting down to where he touched her. “I’m not worried about it.”
Anna hated owing people, perhaps because of how long it had taken her to pay off the boutique’s loans. The fact that she’d often had to take “charity” donations from her parent’s church while raising Julian hadn’t made her any more enamored with the concept of accepting help from anyone.
“It’s a lot of money,” she said softly. “Just let me pay you back.”
Seconds passed where he didn’t say anything, just continued to hold her arm. She had the strangest sensation that he was fighting some inner war within himself. Perhaps . . . did she dare hope that it was over her?
Anna swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat to whisper, “Luke?”
“I’ll add it to your tab.”
“What tab?”
His fingers slid from her arm, and she instantly regretted losing contact. “It’s a running tab.” He tapped his forehead, then offered her a slow grin. “I’ll let you know when payday comes around.”
Anna had a sneaking suspicion that “payday” was synonymous with “never.”
The chiming of the St. Louis Cathedral bells down the street cut off any other argument she might have put up. Time was running out. “Crap, crap, crap,” she muttered with a hint of panic, “they’ll be here in an hour.”
This time when Luke took her arm, he gently pulled her toward him. Large, masculine hands cupped her elbows, his cane resting against the flat plane of his stomach. He dipped his chin; met her gaze head on. “What can I do for you?”
“The appetizers—can you put them out on that table over there?”
He glanced over his shoulder toward the high-topped table Anna kept in storage for events such as this. “Anything else?”
His hands were warm on her elbows and Anna felt the absurd desire to curl up into his chest. No, not his chest, precisely. Any male chest would do.
She bit her lip. “There’s one last table that needs to be pulled out of the back room, but I can do without it.”
“Where is it in the back room?”
“No, no, it’s fine.” Did it really matter if the champagne flutes went on the same table as the food? No big deal. “We’re good.”
“Anna.” His tone brooked no room for argument. “Less time arguing with me, and we’ll have more time to get everything set up properly.”
Did he have to be rational about this? “I don’t want your hip to . . .”
“There’s a reason they call it hip-pinning, Blondie. Trust me when I say that the government shelled out a lot for it.” He dropped his hands back to his sides. “Let’s see how it holds up, yeah?”
She met his green gaze. If there had been any hint of unease there, she would have put her foot down and refused. Instead, he seemed determined to help her, no matter the cost.
“I’ll help bring it out,” she told him, conceding under his no-nonsense attitude. “It’s not heavy, just a bit awkward to hold for one person.”
With a short nod, he looped the grocery bags over his wrists and got to work, leaving Anna no choice but to do the same.
For the next thirty minutes, they didn’t speak aside from a few “put this here” or “no, that looks horrible” issued comments. By the time one p.m. rolled around, La Parisienne looked as close to perfection as it would ever get in such a short amount of time.
Four mannequins were decked out in Shaelyn’s latest designs, two with silk camisoles and panty numbers that had been paired with matching silk robes. The other two mannequins wore more risqué attire, complete with garters, high-hipped thongs, and brassieres with hard lines and a very futuristic feel.
All had been created after Thick of the Woods had reached out to Anna about a possible partnership. Three display tables showcased other options, everything from feminine baby-dolls to gossamer robes to variously styled corsets.
Anna shook out the nervousness with a wiggling of her fingers. It was a tactic she’d adopted sometime around the year La Parisienne had finally become hers.
“Have to say,” said Luke as he approached her from the backroom, “never thought I’d manhandle so much lingerie without a single woman actually in it.”
Anna offered him a sly smile. “It loses its charm after a while. I actually can’t remember the last time I ordered anything this extravagant for myself.” She reached out to finger the soft Dutch lace of a stocking. “By the end of the day, you won’t even realize you’re surrounded by panties and bras.”
Luke chuckled softly. “I somehow doubt that.”
She turned to thank him, mouth opening to profess just how much she appreciated him spending his Sunday helping her, when the front door swung open and a group of four people swarmed in.
Her stomach dropped and her hands turned clammy.
Oh, God, they were here.
15
Luke hung back as Anna visibly threw her shoulders back and marched forward to greet her guests.
“I’m so glad y’all found La Parisienne easily,” she said smoothly, holding out her hands to a woman with shocking red hair and a thin frame. “I’m Anna Bryce.”
The redhead’s mouth didn’t even twitch. “It’s a pleasure,” she said, not sounding at all like it was. “I’m the head costume manager, Jas.” She pointed to her colleagues, naming them off so quickly that Luke barely had time to put face to name. Then, she looked Luke’s way. “And he is?”
Anna’s head turned, her blue eyes round with panic. “He is . . . He is . . .”
Not one to usually play the knight and damsel-in-distress card, it was obvious that Anna’s nerves were getting the better of her. She needed him, and who was he to leave her hanging? Gripping the cane in his left hand, Luke approached the group with strides as even as he could manage. “I’m her boyfriend.”
“He’s my—” Blondie’s gaze jumped to his as the words sank in. She gave a minute shake of her head, to which he only grinned and brushed past her to stick his hand out to the crew.
“Luke O’Connor,” he said, finding a strange delight in having shocked Anna Bryce for a second time today. Ignoring the heat of her stare on his back, he added, “Nice to meet, y’all. Anna has been very . . . excited about this day for quite some time now.”
Jas, their head honcho, gave him a considering glance, starting at his head and inching her way down his body. If a man had been the one behind that once-over, there would have been call for sexual harassment. As it was, Jas paused at his crotch, not even bothering to hide the hunger in her gaze. It was almost enough for Luke to move his hand over his dick, in the hopes she’d get the hint. “Ms. Bryce obviously has good taste,” she finally drawled, offering her hand for Luke to take.
“
I tell her that all the time. Maybe hearing it from someone else will convince her to keep me around.” He winked at Anna, mentally rewarding himself with a pat on the back when she flushed.
“Don’t inflate his ego, Jas.” Anna rolled her eyes and the group laughed. “His ego is big enough already.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said a man from the back of the pack. “If his ego is as big as the rest of him, I’d say he’s . . . proportionally well-matched.”
Now it was Luke feeling the heat of embarrassment. He hooked a finger along the collar of his T-shirt and tugged the cotton away from his skin.
“No complaints here,” Anna replied, obviously getting into character. She linked her arm with his and peered up at his face. “Right, honey?”
“You got it, baby cakes.”
She subtly pinched the skin near his funny bone, a warning for him to heel.
Luke never had been good at remembering his place. He unhooked their arms, placing his free hand on the center of her back. As the conversation continued without him, he let his hand trail down her spine. Down, down, down until the base of his palm rested centimeters from the crest of her perky ass. He paused there, waiting for her reaction.
The one she gave him was more than he could have ever hoped for: her shoulders quivered and, if he wasn’t mistaken, she shifted her weight closer to him. Closer to his touch.
Jesus. Anna Bryce was fire and Luke had no intention of burning anytime soon.
He tore his hand away from her back, feeling the loss acutely as he caught only the last bit of the conversation.
“Your boutique has gained much notoriety recently,” Jas was saying, going to the high-topped tables for the champagne. “It’s one of the main reasons we’re here.”
Tossing him a beseeching look that he read as “please behave,” Anna left his side. Her stilettos clipped against the glossy floors, an instant reminder that this woman was very much in her element. “We’re happy to have you, and I’m such a big fan of your show. Your costume designs are pure artistry.”
