"It's not like you to be difficult, Olivia." A faint frown marred Adam's brow.
She bit back a laugh. Difficult? He thought she was being difficult? It's also not like me to sleep with Luke. She gritted her teeth over his patronizing air. She wouldn't have been surprised if Adam had patted her on the head and commanded her to stay, like a good dog. She opened her mouth to say so. Adam stepped back. "I see Charlie Moncrief across the room and I really need to talk to him. Luke'll take care of you and I'll call you later."
Adam slipped away before she could bark her obedience. Luckily, Uncle Jack showed up with two large glasses of punch. "Here you go. One more glass for medicinal purposes." He looked at Luke in surprise. "I see you found a girl with class for a change."
"I'm not his girlfriend," Olivia muttered before drinking some of the delicious brew, much less upset by being mistaken for Luke's girlfriend than she normally might've been. In fact, she smirked into her punch glass that she had more class than his other women. Although the idea of other women vexed her.
"Uncle Jack, you've been plying Olivia with punch?" A frown bisected Luke's forehead.
Olivia turned to Luke. "You know Uncle Jack?"
"He's my father's brother."
Ah, that's why Uncle Jack looked familiar. Those brilliant blue eyes belonged in the family.
Luke turned to Uncle Jack. "Is this your special punch?"
Olivia drank the last drop and peered from Luke to "Uncle Jack" and back again.
Uncle Jack looked a bit sheepish. "She said she wanted a drink from the silver bowl. Oops. Your grandma's waving me over with her cane. Gotta run." Uncle Jack disappeared faster than a dollar at a dog track.
She felt positively giddy. And more than a little unsteady on her feet. She clutched Luke's forearm, the hair-roughened, hard sinews beneath her fingertips sending a dizzying spiral of heat through her. "Mmm. You have very sexy arms."
"Olivia, can you do something for me?"
Any number of truly wicked thoughts came to mind. "Uh, hmm." She pushed her glasses up.
Luke led her to a chair and seated her. "Wait here for me. Don't try to get up. I'll be right back." He started to leave, but hurried back. He leaned in close, his breath stirring the hair above her ear, her senses lapping up his maleness. "Don't talk to anyone. Not a word. No one." And then he was gone.
She pursed her lips in a pout. Sitting in a chair wasn't what she'd had in mind, but she'd promised. She watched Luke make his way across the room, mesmerized by the play of cotton snugged over his broad shoulders and black denim over his tight— She lost sight of him behind a group gathered in front of the food table. She wasn't hungry at all, but she sure wouldn't mind some more punch.
Amy materialized like a bad blast from the past. "Olivia Cooper? It is you. I wasn't sure. Marvin and I made a special trip for the party. You know, we're living in Atlanta now. I didn't expect to see you here. How are you? Staying out of trouble?" She winked conspiratorially.
I'm fine. My ass isn't the size of Rhode Island these days. Luke had said she shouldn't talk. Maybe he was on to something. Olivia pointed to her throat.
"Is there a problem with your throat? You can't talk?" Amy quizzed her.
Luke reappeared over her shoulder. "Flu. Might be a bad strain."
Amy jumped back like a scalded cat. "Bye then." And headed for the food table, towing her own small state behind her.
Luke pulled Olivia to her feet. She surged forward unsteadily. Reaching out, she braced herself against the hard wall of Luke's chest. The strong, solid beat of his heart thudded against her palm. "Easy, Lady Olivia. Let's go out this door right over here."
Olivia started to protest, but she hadn't wanted to stay for long in the first place. Leaving with Luke hadn't been part of her plan. However, it suddenly seemed like a good idea. Actually, Luke was hustling her out of the party so fast, her head was spinning. Literally.
His hand warm and firm on her arm, he led her down a back passage. Somewhere between the ballroom and the hallway, he'd morphed from dark and dangerous to solid strength. She had the oddest sense of being taken care of.
She stumbled to a halt. "Are you taking care of me?" She sounded as puzzled as she felt. "You can't, you know. That's my job. Pops. The family. The library. The literacy program. I'm the caretaker."
He resumed walking, tugging her along after him. "I don't take care of anyone. Just call this a friendly hand."
"But we're not friends. I don't like you." Just because her body went into meltdown mode when he was around didn't mean she liked him.
"That's old news. Right now, sugar, you need help from whatever quarter you can get it. Even if you consider me the enemy."
They stepped out onto a terrace overlooking a rolling meadow and the river beyond. Olivia blinked in the weak, yet sudden, sunlight.
"Why do I need help?" Outside of working very hard to pronounce all of her words.
"Because you, Lady Olivia, are snockered. Tanked. Buzzed. Plastered. Plowed. Take your pick."
"Nah." She waved a dismissing hand in the air. "Never touch the stuff." She leaned closer to his ear, her cheek brushing against the hard line of his jaw. "My family's too fond of the stuff and it makes us crazy. A wine cooler's never even passed these lips."
She presented her lips for his inspection. Luke brushed the pad of his thumb against her mouth. Longing welled inside her to the point of aching.
"These lovely lips never had some of Uncle Jack's rum punch before either. Sugar, I figure you've had the equivalent of about four stiff drinks." He nudged her in the direction of the distant garage. "And now it's time to get you home. I'll drive you and find a way back. Do you have your keys?"
They rounded the corner and Luke swore under his breath. "Your car's blocked in." He hesitated for a few seconds. "Think you can stay on the back of my bike?"
Driving herself was out of the question. She must be drunk. She felt far too light-headed and carefree to be sober. She was never either light-headed or carefree. And especially never both light-headed and carefree.
He wanted her on that huge black and chrome beast? She didn't doubt for a minute that Luke would be in absolute control of the monster, and if she held on to him, she'd be fine. A foreign sense of excitement shot through her.
"All I have to do is sit there?"
Luke nodded. "You just have to hold on to me and lean with the turns. Do you think you can do that?"
Did a chicken have lips? Well, actually she didn't think it did, but she felt absolutely capable of wrapping her arms around his firm middle and pressing her open thighs against the tight muscles of his fine butt. 'Cause a girl in need had to do what a girl in need had to do. And she had some serious needs at the moment and she'd think about them just as soon as her head cleared. "Uh-huh."
He picked up a black leather jacket from the seat and held it up. "This'll keep you from getting cold."
Olivia shrugged into it, absorbing the sensation of the supple leather against her neck. The thing swallowed her. She inhaled the heady mixture of Luke's scent mingled with the leather and drew it deep into her body, filling herself with his smell. She knew now why women liked to wear their lover's clothes. It was the next best thing to having them inside you. "But what about you? Won't you get cold?"
Luke's eyes darkened. She recognized that look. Even though she hadn't been able to see last night, she'd felt the same response.
"No. There's no danger of me getting cold. Here. Put on the helmet."
Olivia put on the helmet.
Luke eyed the long length of her straight, navy skirt. "Damn. That skirt's going to be a problem."
She'd spent a lifetime toeing some invisible line. Now she hovered on the brink of fulfilling some bad-girl-on-a-bike fantasy she hadn't even realized she owned. Nothing was going to stop her. Olivia bent down, grasping the left seams in each of her hands. She rent the material to midthigh. She did the same on the right side. She straightened. "No problem here."
Olivia smiled her satisfaction. Mr. Luke "Bad Boy" Rutledge looked a little shocked and a whole lot turned on.
"Climb on, sugar, and I'll take you for a ride."
* * *
6
« ^ »
"Around the waist. Hold on around the waist," Luke shouted over the motorcycle's roar. Most of the chicks who rode bikes went in for the black leather halter tops and tight jeans and it usually looked good. But when Olivia, wearing pearls and his jacket, had ripped her skirt to reveal those luscious legs so recently wrapped around him, he'd damn near lost it. And now her hands kept drifting south. Between her fleeting touches against his crotch and the throb of the engine, he was rock-hard. He reminded himself she needed a glass of water, a couple of aspirin and a bed—alone.
He was a far cry from Dudley Do-Right, but even he couldn't leave her to stumble around his grandmother's party drunk. Hell, knowing her, she'd have blamed him afterwards. Adam thought she had a fever and didn't want to come near her in case he caught something. Which had left him.
Several curtains twitched in front windows as he cruised down Olivia's street. He laughed. For a good girl, she was getting into all kinds of trouble. He downshifted and pulled into Olivia's driveway for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.
He killed the engine, stilling the throb of sixty horsepower. Unfortunately, it wasn't quite so easy to turn himself off. Olivia didn't move, her arms wrapped around his waist, her open thighs cradling him from behind, her cheek pressing against his back, separated only by the thin cotton of his T-shirt. He pulled off his helmet and spoke over his shoulder.
"Olivia? You can get off now."
"I am." Her breath was warm against the chilled skin of his neck. Instead of following his directive, she nuzzled behind his ear, her breath warm and moist against his neck. "That was so much fun. We should do it again, sometime. All that power and the way the motor throbs beneath you…"
She'd felt it too. The sexual energy flowing between them, intensified by the ride on the bike. Her fingers strummed against his belly, her knuckles teasing against the thick ridge of his erection. Want swamped him. Luke closed his eyes, bit back a curse, and dredged up his last remaining measure of self-control and decency.
What he wanted to do was stay right where he was and enjoy the feel of her behind him, around him, while she murmured low in his ear and stroked him until he came. He craved her touch so badly, it wouldn't take long. But putting on a show for her neighbors wouldn't exactly endear him to her.
Instead, he moved her hands from his belly and swung awkwardly off the front of the bike, hindered by his hard-on and her on the back. "Glad you liked the ride." He wrapped his hands around her waist and plucked her from the bike, standing her in the driveway. "But now it's time to go inside."
While he spoke he unfastened and removed her helmet, loosening several fine, dark strands of hair in the process, entrapping his fingers in a web of silk. She rubbed her cheek against his hand. Twilight wrapped around them, intensifying the want between them. Behind her glasses, Olivia's eyes smoldered. She teased her tongue against the full line of her lips, wetting them with the tip.
Luke could barely breathe. His Liv had a mouth made for loving. He ached to explore the fullness of her lips and plumb the moistness of her mouth with his tongue until her lips were swollen and slick from his kisses. The wildness inside him stirred to a fever pitch. This abandon had always belonged to him, been a part of him alone. Never had another human being served as a catalyst the way Olivia did. There was a dark intimacy in sharing ownership with this woman.
"Do you want to come inside?" Her voice, husky and low, vibrated through him, stroking him.
"Yes." In the worst way.
"I don't have the new keys, we'll have to go in through the back." She tilted her head toward the front door. "Had to get a new door. You contaminated the old one."
Contaminated? She could buy a hundred new doors and it wouldn't change the course of passion flowing between them.
She slipped her hand into his, her fingers curling around his palm and led him to a gate in the high fence that screened her backyard from the street. Luke closed the gate behind them. Somewhere outside the fence, a dog barked and a car backfired. It all seemed remote. A flagstone patio ran three-quarters of the length of the back of the house. Neat flower beds bordered an immaculate, lush green lawn. Lush and green and immaculate except for the large, irregular charred spot in the middle, approximately the size of a door.
Olivia gave an exaggerated nod. "Burned the sucker. And my pima cotton sheets."
A grin spread over his face. One minute she had him so notched up he could barely breathe and the next minute she made him laugh. Luke would bet his bike she'd never used the word "sucker" before in her life. A little rum punch and Olivia let her hair down with a vengeance.
"What?" She questioned his amusement.
"Hope you didn't burn the mattress too."
"Nah. Gave the mattress and the sofa to Goodwill. That'da been a real waste."
She'd gone to great lengths to erase his presence. Which led him to believe that this particular lady did protest too much.
She opened the back door and they stepped into a small kitchen where bold black-and-red tile flooring complemented red walls. Luke settled her onto one of two stools fronting an island, the ripped seams of her skirt providing a distracting view of smooth, shapely leg. He made the mistake of glancing into her smokey gray eyes. Her want and need mirrored his own. She didn't have to invite him to this party twice. He stepped into the V of her legs.
Olivia twisted the front of his T-shirt in her hand and pulled him closer yet, her eyes smoldering with a sultry heat. "It's just not fair," she complained with a pretty pout as his jacket slipped off her shoulder.
He slid his hands around to unclasp her barrette, freeing the rest of her hair. He buried his hands in the silky strands, molding his fingers against her scalp. "What's not fair, Lady Olivia?"
"How can I ache for you to kiss me—" her tongue traced against his lips "—touch me—" she cupped him through his jeans "—when I just burned my door this morning because of you?"
He didn't have an answer and he wasn't too damn sure of the question because all he could think of was the heat of her hand against him, the scent of her surrounding him. The only thing he knew for sure was she seemed to want him as much as he wanted her. And he was more than happy to oblige.
Luke claimed her mouth. Her mouth opened eagerly, her tongue parrying his thrusts. She tasted of cherries and spiced rum, a potent combination.
She moaned deep in her throat and hooked one foot behind his leg to pull him nearer, even as she tugged his shirt free from his waistband. Luke crushed her to him, the hard points of her nipples branding his chest despite the layers of clothes between them. He ran one hand along the rip in her skirt, drowning in the sweet sensation of her mouth, the hot velvet skin of her thigh, the pressure of her palm against him. His fingers brushed the satin of her panties and she arched against him, the damp material telling him all he needed to know. She was ready.
He pulled his mouth away, his chest heaving with the desperate urge to breathe. Her eyes glittered with the fire he'd stoked deep within. Her lips, swollen from their kiss, glistened, moist and ready for more. He wanted her so badly, he not only strained his fly but the limits of his self-control. The butcher block counter beside them offered a quick and ready spot. In mere seconds, he could be buried deep inside the hot, slick folds of her body.
She saw his glance cut to the counter and read his intent. Her breath came in a sharp rasp of approval. "Yes."
He reached for her and something inside him snapped. "No." He shook his head and forced himself to take one step away. Luke wasn't sure which one of them was more surprised by his decision.
"It's the glasses isn't it?" Her lower lip trembled with his rejection.
Hell, he'd feel better if it was the glasses.
He already wanted her to the point
he felt as if he might explode. Damnation, now she was going to cry because she thought he didn't want her.
With a muttered oath, he took her hand and placed it against the ridge straining the confines of his jeans. It wasn't subtle. In fact the gesture bordered on crude, but he was beyond subtleties and niceties and desperate to make a point and keep his sanity. "It's not the glasses."
Her hand kneaded him through the worn denim. "It doesn't feel as if there's a problem at all."
For one glorious instant, he surged against her hand and then he summoned every ounce of restraint and a few he didn't know he possessed and stepped out of her grasp.
Still sitting on the stool, she draped herself over the edge of the counter, propped on one arm, visibly confounded.
"Baby, there's almost nothing I'd like to do more than put you up on that counter and make love to you."
Her lips parted and her breath came in short pants. He'd better finish this train of thought before her obvious turn-on derailed him and blew his misguided good intentions to hell.
"But, I'm not going to. Today. One day, I want you right there." His voice was as strained as his control. "Wearing nothing but those pearls."
He had to turn his back on her or he wouldn't manage to get past the picture. He opened a cabinet but found only spices. "Aspirin?"
She pointed to the right. "Next to the sink."
He closed the door and followed her directions. He found the bottle and shook out two before he continued. "But when that day comes—" and it was only a matter of when, not if"—it won't be because rum punch has killed your inhibitions."
He ran some water into a glass and placed the glass and aspirin on the counter before her. "Take this."
Mutely she complied.
"The next time there won't be any mask, no mistaken identity, no alcohol to hide behind."
"I'm not hiding behind alcohol. You make it sound as if I meant to drink too much."
"No. It was a mistake. But I'm not going to hand you one more reason to hate me. And tomorrow morning you would."
He tugged her to her feet, his resolve tested as she swayed against him, the soft mound of her belly rubbing against his hard-on. He turned her in the direction of the hallway and her bedroom.
BARELY MISTAKEN Page 8
