by Lisa Plumley
Improvising. Refusing to say so, Luke hooked his thumbs near the top button of his jeans. He gave Josie a smile as he went on gyrating. And winning.
“I’m dancing naked,” he said. Shit, mountain towns were cold in May, even in Arizona. Was that snow in the air? “And not naked. Half-naked dancing. Just like you wanted.”
Her eyes widened. “I….”
“You…?” He raised his brows.
“Uhhh. I forgot.”
He had her. Leisurely, Luke moved his hand lower, as though preparing to drop trou right there on the Main Street sidewalk. Hell, there was a decent landscaped shrub cover. No one was around. He was wearing boxer shorts. So what if he showed a little skin? A little beefcake?
At least he’d win this damned nonsense argument.
Grinning, he swiveled his hips again.
At the same time, Josie lunged forward. “Stop it!”
Her hand clapped over his, right on his fly. Her shocked gaze traveled the same path. Just for an instant, her expression went from shock to…curiosity. Heat flared in his groin. Luke quit worrying about snow.
“What are you, crazy?” Her warm breath tickled his icy chest hair. She sounded scandalized. “You’ll get arrested!”
“If you keep your hand there, we might both get arrested.” He looked down. “That feels pretty good. Just a little to the left—”
Flustered, she whisked her hand away. Her cheeks turned pink.
I win, he thought. Triumph filled him. Luke took a minute to savor the sensation, then scooped up his T-shirt. He pulled it over his goose bump-covered flesh, feeling a grin tug at his lips.
“Want me all to yourself, huh? No sharing with downtown Donovan’s Corner?” He winked. “I knew you were bluffing. You do want to see me naked.”
Josie rolled her eyes. He had to admit, she gave a good show of indifference. It almost beat his toe-cramp impression.
“It’s not your nakedness I’m objecting to.” She thrust his helmet at his midsection, making him release a gust of breath. “I like that. It’s your dancing. You need lessons, pal. And I’m just the woman to give them to you. Come on.”
Josie was officially in over her head.
Standing in the middle of Blue Moon’s ballroom-turned-dance-studio, she reconsidered how she’d gotten to this point. Something about naked dancing…Luke performing a beefcake burlesque across the street from Crazy Harry’s Used Car Lot…her copping a feel like a tipsy, lust-crazed bachelorette.
That had been an accident, of course. Her grabbing him had been completely unintentional. She’d been going for his, uh, motorcycle keys. His crotch had interfered. She’d only wanted—altruistically, she reminded herself—to stop Luke from dropping his pants on Main Street and making a fool of himself.
But somehow, the only fool was her. For leaping before she looked—again. For acting on impulse—as usual. For not moving her hand away fast enough and for almost, kinda-sorta wondering about what kinds of intriguing personal details waited only a few inches beneath her palm.
At the memory of her hand on Luke’s fly, Josie felt flustered all over again. She closed her eyes in mid dance turn, struggling for composure. He’d been right, of course. She had wanted to see him naked. Dancing or otherwise. Preferably in her arms. Now that she had an opportunity for both those things, though, she couldn’t bring herself under control long enough to take advantage of it.
When she tried to mambo, her knees went weak. When she stepped in Luke’s arms to waltz, her palms sweated. When she resorted to a less-affecting tango, her heart beat so hard every time he came near, she thought she was having a panic attack.
What was the matter with her? A person would think Josie had never flirted via dancing, had never seduced with a hip sway or bedazzled with a twirl. But with Luke nearby, she seemed to forget everything she’d ever learned about keeping things casual, about keeping things light, about not getting her heart—or her feet—too entangled.
She giggled like a goofball. She blushed and stammered and lost her rhythm. She felt her breath catch in her throat whenever Luke smiled…and felt her defenses fall straight away whenever he said her name in that husky, sexy, all-too-knowing voice of his.
It wasn’t just a physical thing, either. That was what worried Josie the most. The weirdest qualities in Luke affected her. His endearing way of humming—not that he’d have admitted it—when he concentrated on the dance steps she’d been teaching him. His sweet way of letting her choose the music, the dances, the knock-knock jokes. His macho way of pretending his toe cramp didn’t bother him in the least.
In fact, he was so convincing about that, it seemed the injury had never happened at all.
Fortunately for Josie, it had. And it was her only saving grace. Because of Luke’s painful kindergarten cramp earlier, she was forced to be mindful. She couldn’t push him too hard. Couldn’t let him take all her weight in the dips. Couldn’t shove him to the floor, straddle him, and kiss him senseless while stripping off his T-shirt and—
Whew. Mountain towns were hot in May, especially in Arizona. Was that a heat wave in the air?
“You’re doing pretty well,” she told Luke, lying through her teeth. He was doing fabulously. “That mambo was an improvement over our first attempt. Just loosen up a little more and you’ll be there. Like this.”
She demonstrated by rolling her shoulders. Luke followed the motion, his arresting blue eyes admiring every detail—just as though she’d staged a hot-to-trot burlesque show of her own.
Maybe, Josie realized belatedly, a body-centric activity like dancing wasn’t the most brilliant idea. But it was too late for second thoughts now. And she’d always been an “if it feels good, do it,” kind of girl. Besides, she’d already started. So she just let go and allowed the sinuous motion to work its way down her body.
After all, she was a professional. Right? This didn’t have to mean a thing.
Halfway through, she dared to glance up at Luke. He looked as though he wanted to touch her. And boy, oh, boy, did Josie want him to do it. She wanted him to caress her shoulder, to trace the slope of her breast. To hold her hips in his hands, to absorb some of those practiced warm-up motions…to demonstrate a few warm-ups of his own.
“Most people are too stiff for dancing,” she explained breathlessly, trying to keep up her lessons-only façade. “But this warm-up routine really helps, even if you’ve worked through a few songs already. See?”
Luke nodded. His Adam’s apple bobbed, drawing her attention to his bristly jawline, his rugged masculine features, his thick dark brows. Wow, he was gorgeous. Even better, he was good at the whole rapt-attention routine, too. Most men didn’t realize how crucial that was, but Luke’s gaze never left her.
If Josie hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn that he was affected by her warm-up routine. That he felt almost as revved-up by all this as she did. But since she was still wearing her god-awful lentil soup-colored dress—which faithfully obliterated all signs of feminine curves—she knew that wasn’t the case. No man got turned on by two oranges in a potato sack.
“Now you try,” she encouraged. “Go ahead. Give it a go.”
Luke did. His version of the warm-up move should have looked like most men’s did—like Frankenstein’s monster getting his groove on. Head bolts and all. But it didn’t. It looked unselfconscious and, because of that, sexy as hell.
“That’s pretty good,” she said, attempting to sound doubtful as she circled him. Shamelessly, she added, “But you’d better try it again.”
He did. Oh, God. It was even better this time. Powerful, loose, and hot-hot-hot. Luke kept going, apparently getting into it. Then suddenly, he stopped.
She felt bereft. “What’s wrong?”
“Warmed up enough yet?” he asked.
“Uhhh—”
He nudged her chin upward with his fingertips. The gesture effectively closed her gaping mouth.
“I thought so.” He grinned. “That looks like a ‘yes’ to
me.”
Yes, yes, yes! echoed stupidly through her head, just like in those orgasmic shampoo commercials. Josie fanned herself.
This would never do. Not only was she out of control, Luke knew she was out of control. She’d practically drooled on the man. If they ever progressed to flamenco, she’d need a bib.
“Well. I think I’ve proved my point,” she announced, striding barefoot toward the boom box. She jabbed the power switch, cutting off the Spanish instrumental music she’d chosen. The resulting silence resonated in the empty ballroom. “You did need dancing lessons and now you’ve had them.”
“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”
“What do you mean?”
In answer, Luke spread his arms, showing off his wide shoulders and muscular chest. His biceps tattoo peeked from beneath one sleeve, its cryptic black symbolism reminding her of her first interpretation of it. Think twice.
“You’ve got me all warmed up with no place to go.”
She lifted her gaze to the sexy-as-sin smile on his face. The knowing sexy-as-sin smile on his face. All warmed up with no place to go. Uh-huh. There was no way Josie was taking that bait.
“You know,” she observed instead, “if I didn’t know better, I’d swear you’ve had dance training before.”
“Only those ballroom dancing lessons.” He shrugged. “At that private school in Switzerland.”
“Har, har. Did your pony cha-cha with you?”
He ignored that, looking thoughtful. “But I’m not sure the lessons took. My tango’s a little rusty.”
Rusty. Yeah. So “rusty” it made her forget her own name. Feeling vaguely disgruntled and completely vulnerable—neither of which were welcome emotions—Josie stepped around the pair of lace-up oxfords she’d borrowed from Jenna and had since discarded for the dance lessons. She stood in the patch of sunlight streaming through the mullioned window, her back to Luke. Somehow, it felt safer that way.
“That’s enough lessons for today.”
He murmured noncommittally.
“I know I told you I needed to experiment with a dance routine for Jenna to perform for David,” Josie went on. “In addition to teaching you a few things, of course. But I think I’ve got that nailed now.”
“Mmmm.”
“I mean, I know Jenna told me she’d been feeling kind of ‘housewifey’ lately—”
“So you said.”
“—kind of out of sorts ever since Emily was born. But like I told her—and you—I really think a night on the town, dancing, will do the trick. If that samba doesn’t put some zing in their yabba-dabba-do, nothing will.”
“Mmmm-hmmm. Yabba-dabba-do.”
“You can help me demonstrate it for her when she comes out here to whip up practice cupcakes for the bake sale next week,” Josie rambled on, wondering if he was even listening. All those “mmms” and “hmmms” didn’t sound very convincing. “You can be David in the dance demonstration, and I’ll be, ummm….”
“Jenna.”
“Right. Jenna. My sister.” Geez, even her cover story was falling apart. One little touch from Luke, one minor accidental crotch grope, one harmless warm-up move, and suddenly she couldn’t think straight. “So. Good night, then.”
Determinedly, Josie headed for the ballroom’s double doors. She needed to get rid of this horrific, scratchy dress. To finish filling out the dreaded chamber of commerce paperwork. To figure out why Luke could scramble her best intentions while she…just couldn’t seem to resist him.
“Josie.”
She stopped. “What?”
“It’s only four o’clock in the afternoon. ‘Good night’ might be a little premature.”
She glanced at the traitorous sunlit window. Damn it. “I’m planning ahead. It’s my new motto. ‘Always plan ahead.’”
“Hmmm. Good motto.”
Not looking as if he believed her—and justifiably so, to be honest, because come on…Josie was the least planned-ahead person on the planet—Luke stepped nearer.
“Want to hear mine?”
She wasn’t sure. Judging by the look on his face, it might be dangerous somehow.
Her stupid impulsive side—which apparently lived for danger—had other ideas. It was already nodding her head.
“What’s your motto?”
“Don’t waste a minute,” Luke told her, his gaze dropping to her mouth. “Don’t waste a minute, because you never know when your time’s running out.”
“Mmmm.” She pondered that, trying not to stare at his lips in return. “That’s kind of a depressing motto, don’t you think so? I mean, my motto’s got years’ worth of Girl Scout troops behind it—or maybe that’s Boy Scout troops. Who says ‘be prepared,’ anyway?” He had nice lips, she noticed. Sensual, perfectly shaped…ahem. She regrouped. “But then ‘be prepared’ isn’t quite the same as ‘always plan ahead,’ is it? So I guess what I’m saying is—”
But by then he was already pulling her in his arms, and next he was kissing her, and Josie forgot her entire argument altogether. She forgot her argument, her name, her birthday, her reasons for coming to Blue Moon. She forgot what Twinkies tasted like, how heavy a feathered headdress was, how many principal dancers were in Enchanté‘s afternoon matinee. All she could remember was Luke, and how wonderful it felt to be in his arms.
His strength surrounded her. He cradled her face in his palms, and Josie felt the warmth of his touch all the way to her toes. He kissed her until she’d swear her eyes crossed from the sheer pleasure of feeling their mouths and hearts and needs combine, and she felt…just as though she’d never get enough.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered.
“Never,” Luke answered and lifted her higher against him.
She felt her toes leave the floor, felt her breasts crush against his chest, felt his hands brazenly cup her backside as he held her against him. The sensation left her dizzy. For a tall girl like Josie, being held like this—being held as though she were weightless, as though her man needed her closer, closer—was a rare treat. Only the showboys at Enchanté had ever lifted her before—and that was strictly professional. This…was strictly pleasurable. Strictly an occasion to wrap her legs around Luke for leverage and just hang on.
He twirled them both, and she screamed with laughter. He kissed her again, and she clutched at him with raw need, kissing him back. She touched him everywhere she could reach. His shoulders bunched beneath her hands; the lean muscles in his back fascinated her. He felt more solid than any man she’d ever known, any man she’d ever imagined. He felt solid enough to withstand anything—even the shakiest of futures.
Josie buried her fingers in his clean-scented hair, raked her nails over his T-shirt-covered skin, inhaled the essence of a man who wanted her so much that he’d braved the Frankenstein’s monster warm-up routine before making his move.
Blissfully, she kissed him again. When he lowered her to her feet, she explored the muscular terrain of his chest. From this vantage point, he smelled like soap and fresh laundry—two things she’d never expected to find so incredibly arousing. Now, with Luke, she did. She buried her face in his shirt and sucked in a big lungful of air.
All of a sudden, it hit her.
“Bounce Mountain Spring scent!” Josie blurted, identifying that intoxicating fragrance. She wanted a whole box of it to remind her of Luke. A whole case. Economy size.
“Tide with Bleach!” he yelled back.
“Huh?”
“Spray ‘N Wash. Soft Scrub Lemon. Windex.”
Wrinkling her nose in confusion, Josie interrupted him before he could recite the contents of aisle three at Safeway. “What are you talking about?”
“Just helping you out with your cleaning products fetish.” His smile dazzled her. “I can be a pretty cooperative guy. If that’s what makes you happy.”
Oh, God. Bounce Mountain Spring.
A flood of embarrassment rushed through her. Josie grabbed two fistfuls of Luke’s T-shirt and hid her face
in the fabric, waiting for her cheeks to quit burning. She couldn’t bear to look at him. He had to think she was some kind of kook.
“Hey.” His gruff voice intruded. He stroked her hair, trying to encourage her to quit snuffling his T-shirt. “Cut it out. I never knew about any of that stuff before you came along. This is a first for me, too.” He hesitated. In a low, seductive voice, he added, “Mop ‘N Glo.”
Awww. If anybody could make aisle three sound drop-dead sexy, it was Luke. Josie melted.
“You’re willing to sweet talk me with cleaning supplies? Even though it’s completely crazy? Even though it’s not even what I meant?”
With a serious, macho expression, he nodded.
“Oh, Luke.” Her hands trembled as she raised them to his cheeks, feeling the faint scritch of his beard shadow beneath her palms. Even though his five-o’clock shadow was a four-o’clock overachiever, he’d never looked better to her than he did at this moment. “No man’s ever done anything that nice for me before.”
He smiled at her. That was when Josie knew. She was in over her head—and not just from the dancing lessons, either. From being with Luke. She couldn’t imagine a future without him in it, couldn’t remember a past when she hadn’t wanted him. She cared about him. Needed him.
Loved him. It was as simple as that.
Suddenly her sister’s words popped into her head. You form attachments. You like to pretend you don’t, but you do.
Jenna was right. She was attached to Luke!
For an instant, Josie panicked. She didn’t know what this meant, what this might lead to, what she was going to do. But then, somehow, all her worries whooshed away.
So what? So what if she was in love with Luke? Maybe things would work out. Maybe they could have something special together. Something unique and lasting and real. After all, Josie planned to stay in Donovan’s Corner. She was committed now, having appeared in public dressed in burlap and ugly shoes. As far as she knew, Luke planned to stay here, too.
She was the woman who loved him. Even if he didn’t realize it yet. She needed to know for sure what the future held.
