All Shook Up (13 page)

He transferred his attention to its mate, then raised his head and stared at the wet fabric that clung to the hard thrust of her nipples. Flattening his hands against her breasts’ fullness, he massaged the resilient globes, his clever fingers curving to capture the overflow. He seemed to have difficulty dragging his attention away from the erotic contrast that thin pink cotton and her lightly tanned flesh made against the weathered darkness of his hands. But when he did look up, he apparently saw something in her face he liked equally as well, and his hands flexed. One corner of his mouth curved up. “Ah, you like that, don’t you?”

Oh, God, yes
. But he sounded so cocky and looked so sure of himself, while she could barely function and felt completely out of her league. It took every ounce of discipline she had to manage a casual shrug. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

He laughed, a genuine, teeth-flashing, head-thrown-back belly laugh. “You don’t give an inch, do you?” He lowered his head and kissed her, hard and thoroughly. His hands slid away from her breasts and started tugging at her top, pulling it from her waistband. The next thing Dru knew, the thin cotton jersey had been shoved up under her arms and her breasts were bared to the evening breeze.

Before she could decide if she was embarrassed or too turned on to care, J.D. had ripped his own shirt free from his shorts and yanked it up to pull his arms out. He couldn’t take it off over his head without breaking their kiss, so it dangled down his back as he hauled her against him. Her breasts flattened against his hard chest, and where bare skin pressed against bare skin, heat spread.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and reveled in the rub and glide of her smooth breasts against the hairy solidness of his chest as she undulated in little clockwise circles. J.D. made a rough noise deep in his throat and kissed her harder, his hands sliding around her back to press her closer.

Seconds, moments, eons later, one of his hands eased around her rib cage to insinuate itself between their bodies. He pulled back enough to cup her breast and they both stilled for an instant while the feel of his callused hand on her bare skin registered. Their lips
drew apart, and hazel eyes met blue as they absorbed the powerful effect.

Then J.D.’s mouth clamped back down on hers, and the few coherent thoughts still left in Dru’s mind dissolved. Her only awareness was his mouth, all hot suction and assertiveness, and his hands, rough-skinned but oh-so-gentle as they coaxed sensation after sensation from her body.

The feelings kept escalating, and he began to kiss his way over to her ear. His breath blasted hot and ragged down the whorls, and goose bumps rose in its wake.

“It’s not enough,” he said hoarsely. “Why isn’t it enough?” He pressed a fierce kiss to the side of her neck. “I want to be inside you.” He slid his hand between her legs in a devastating demonstration of where, fingers stroking. “God, Drucilla, I want to make lo—”

It took her a moment to realize he’d gone completely still. By the time it began to sink in that he was no longer kissing her with desperate urgency, his hands had slid from her body and he was withdrawing. Cool air rushed in where a second ago she’d been warmed by his skin, and she blinked up at him in confusion. “J.D.?”

He stared down at her naked breasts beneath the pushed-up tank top, and his hands clenched into fists at his side. “Pull it down.”

“Excuse me?” She followed his gaze and saw herself, pearlescent in the twilight, her nipples damp and militantly erect. Flushing, she jerked her tank top into
place. She looked up to see him wrestling his own shirt on.

Mortification set in as her blood slowly cooled. My God. It wasn’t even fully dark, and they’d been going at it right outside the restaurant door, where anyone could have caught them. “Lucky no one decided to step out for a smoke break or needed to toss something in the Dumpster,” she said shakily while she tucked her top into her jeans. “I’m glad one of us has some sense.”
And wouldn’t you know it had to be him.

He paused with his hand down the front of his shorts as he adjusted his shirt. “You think I stopped because we’re outside the restaurant?” His laugh was short and harsh. “That’s good. I stopped, sweetheart, because I realized I was about to stick it to a good girl…and that never leads to anything but trouble.”

A trickle of cold rolled down her spine. All that heat, those hints of tenderness she’d felt in his touch, had been…merely generic for him? Not only would anyone have served his purpose, but certain types would have suited him
better
?

“Good girl,” she repeated slowly. “Let me get this straight: you didn’t care about getting caught. You would have—how did you so eloquently put it?—‘stuck it to me’ had I not been a
good
girl?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“And you stopped because you suddenly remembered I’m not your usual type.”

He shrugged. “I’ve made it a practice never to mess with your kind. You always have expectations I’m not prepared to fill.”

“My
kind
? What, you think if you get in my pants I’ll expect you to marry me?” She laughed harshly. “Well, I hate to disappoint you, J.D., but I’m not as good as you seem to think. Tate’s daddy never bothered to marry me and I thought I
loved
him. What makes you think I’d demand more of you?”

“I never thought you’d expect marriage,” he said stiffly.

“What, then? You afraid I’ll follow you around, panting for more? Or do you imagine you have some magical ability to ruin me for anyone else?”

“There’s no ‘imagine’ about it.” He suddenly leaned very close, his dark-eyed gaze burning into her. “One session with the Natural Wonder, sweetheart, and you’ll never be the same.”

She thought she caught a glimpse of something almost vulnerable in his eyes. But even suspecting that his boast was a smoke screen for another emotion, she couldn’t help but react to it. She subjected him to a cool up-and-down. “Don’t flatter yourself,
sweetheart
. That so-called Natural Wonder you’re so proud of? They’re a dime a dozen, and I can get the use of one anytime, anywhere. In fact, maybe,” she said, pushing past him, “I’ll go do that right now. Thanks for priming the pump—I’m sure whoever benefits will want to thank you, too.” She stormed away.

It was a bluff, of course, and she knew she ought to go straight home. But she was too wired to be confined to her apartment, so she headed away from the lodge to the trail that led down to the lake. Of all the arrogant, conceited,
fat
headed braggarts—God, he was full of himself! As if one lousy roll in the hay would
have her trailing after him like some pathetic puppy. She’d been fooling herself to think he had a redeemable, more vulnerable side.

Well, it would be a cold day in hell before he got another shot at her.

As she approached the boat dock, she heard soft, drunken singing. Greg, the sous-chef, sat with his back against one of the smooth pilings at the end of the pier, singing some country lament about love gone wrong and cradling a half-empty bottle of bourbon to his chest. She started to walk by, but then thought of what could happen when drunkenness and a lake were combined. She stepped onto the dock.

It swayed slightly beneath her feet as she made her way to where he slumped against the end piling. “Greg? You okay?”

The song broke off and he peered up at her. “Dru? Hey, girl.” He blinked several times. “I’m kinda hammered.”

“I can see that. Let me help you back to the lodge.”

“Nah. Wanna shtay here.”

“Sorry, I can’t let you do that. You’re in no condition to be on your own around the water. Take my hand; I’ll help you up.”

He gave her a loose, sad smile. “You’re such a good girl.”

“Yeah, I’ve been hearing a lot of that tonight. Come on. We’ll find you a room or call you a cab.”

“Call me deshtroyed,” he said with great tragedy, and hiccuped. “Cathy broke my heart.”

“Then she doesn’t deserve you,” Dru assured him, even though she’d never met the woman. She helped
him to his feet, staggering under his weight when he suddenly threw an arm around her shoulder and stumbled for shore. His shambling gait sent them careening toward the edge of the narrow dock, and she threw her entire weight into getting them back to the safety of the center. Their zigzags caused the amber liquid in his bottle to slosh from side to side. “I’m sure she’s an idiot and you’re far too good for her.”

“Don’ know about that,” he said sadly and brought the bottle to his lips, knocking back a belt. Lowering it a moment later, he swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “But I’ll tell you thish. Man-woman lay…shunships really bite.”

“They do indeed,” Dru said with heartfelt agreement. “I’ll drink to that.”

A
couple of days later Sophie knocked on the door of J.D.’s cabin. There was no answer and she tried again. When it, too, went unanswered, she transferred the arrangement of flowers she carried in her right hand to her left, which required a bit of juggling since it already held the set of bar clamps J.D. had requested. She tried the knob with her freed hand. It turned, and she eased the door open. “J.D.?” she leaned in to call. “Are you home?”

Obviously he wasn’t, but she was here and didn’t feel like making this trip twice, so she stepped inside, leaving the door ajar. She crossed to the dining table and shook her head at the dead flowers that still graced it. Men.

She set the bar clamps on the table and picked up the vase. A bright postcard that had been propped against it skittered to the floor and she stooped to pick it up.
Usually she considered postcards fair game, but because she already felt guilty about invading his privacy, she tossed it unread next to the clamps and carried the vase and fresh flowers into the kitchen. Remembering the other arrangement she’d put in the bedroom, she went to fetch that, too.

J.D. had refused the maid service that was available for the cabin, and looking around, Sophie could see why. The man was neat as a pin. Not one article of his clothing was tossed around and everything was exactly where she and Ben had arranged it the day J.D. had moved in.
Nothing
was out of place, in fact. It was kind of sad, how lacking in personal touches the place was. Except for a couple of books on canoes on the nightstand and that postcard, she could hardly tell anyone lived here. One would think J.D. had lived his entire life in a barracks.

She walked back to the kitchen, where she emptied the dead flowers, washed the two vases, and filled them with fresh water. She’d listened to enough of Edwina’s stories to be familiar with J.D.’s background, but although she suspected emotional deprivation as a child, she didn’t have a clue how his adult life had progressed. She’d go out on a limb, though, and bet it hadn’t been one big, cozy blanket wrapping him up in warmth.

She knew she should keep out of whatever relationship he and Dru were forging, but she hadn’t been kidding when she’d told Ben she admired the man J.D. had fashioned out of his less than ideal beginnings. Her eyebrows drew together as she divided her flowers between the vases. More than that, she knew Dru had
strong feelings for him. Whether they were positive or negative was a tough one to determine, but ever since J.D. had entered their life, there’d been a spark about her that Sophie hadn’t seen for a long, long time.

She’d give a bundle to know what had gone on between them the other night. The restaurant manager had confided they’d both disappeared for a while after the fiasco with the chefs…and only J.D. had returned. He’d added ruefully that J.D. had been touchier than a dog-bit tomcat—and his mood hadn’t improved appreciably, for Sophie had heard reports of him snarling at people yesterday, too. Drucilla, bless her reticent little soul, was keeping her own counsel. But
something
had happened, because she tightened up every time J.D.’s name was mentioned. No doubt the two of them were putting extra effort into avoiding each other.

Sophie sighed as she stood back to admire her finished work. There. J.D. could stand a few homey touches to brighten up his life.

She knew in her heart that what would probably brighten it the most was her niece. The same went for Dru. Sophie had good instincts about these things, and if those two weren’t so blessed relationship-shy, not to mention just plain stubborn, she’d bet they’d discover something pretty darn special together. Their obstinacy sparked her temper.

But then, most things made her short-tempered these days, she acknowledged ruefully as she put one of the fresh arrangements on J.D.’s bureau in the bedroom. The homeopathic stuff the doctor was having her try seemed to be helping, but not nearly quickly enough to suit her.

She carried the other arrangement into the dining room and set it in the middle of the table. Standing back, she eyed it critically, then reached out to tweak a few of the blooms until she found the right aesthetic balance. She spotted the postcard that had been propped against the dead bouquet and picked it up, restoring it to the way she’d found it.

She realized it was a generic Star Lake card, one that advertised the entire region. Well, for heaven’s sake! This wasn’t a card he’d received, after all—it looked like one he was getting ready to mail. She turned it over and read the back, her lips lifting in a slight smile at its brief, pithy sentiments. Good. He did have a friend.

He probably didn’t realize he could ask for stamps at the front desk, and in typical male fashion would no doubt leave the card right here in the middle of the table until it turned yellow with age before he’d ever remember to buy the correct postage in town.

What the heck—she’d slap a stamp on it herself and take it to the registration desk to go out with the daily pickup.

She hesitated at the front door, glancing back at the table. She tapped the edge of J.D.’s postcard against her teeth as she considered her options. Okay, Dru and J.D. weren’t children, and she ought not to butt into their love lives. But really, they acted as if they
were
kids sometimes.

So she was going to give them one more nudge. Then, she swore, if they failed to get their act together, she’d stay out of it for good.

She went back and picked up the bar clamps. J.D. was still welcome to them.

But she had a different delivery girl in mind.

J.D. noticed the flowers first thing when he came through the door following his stint with the ground crew that afternoon. Sophie had obviously been here to exchange them for the dead ones he’d been meaning to toss, and a little jolt of pleasure shot through him that she’d gone to the effort.

Then his eyebrows drew together. Because as nice a gesture as it was, she was pretty free about coming into his place uninvited. And, dammit, while he had a nice bunch of flowers, she still hadn’t brought the clamps he’d requested. If that wasn’t just typical of the entire Lawrence family. They were quick to give him things he never asked for, or even knew he wanted—but could they give him just one damn thing he specifically requested? Hell, no, they left him twisting in the wind every time.

He took a deep breath and expelled it. Okay, that was pretty much bull, and he was working himself into a fine lather over basically nothing. His nerves were a little raw, was all. So sue him.

Without the clamps, though, work on the canoe was out, since he needed to glue a few pieces together before he could proceed. Maybe he’d occupy himself by planing down the threshold to the front door. It had a tendency to stick in the mornings, when the heavy mountain dew caused anything made of wood to swell.

Dark clouds rolled in while he squatted on his heels in the open doorway to analyze the problem. It looked like rain, and hearing distant thunder over the Cascades, he rolled to his feet and went out into the yard. Gently, he lifted his canoe off the sawhorses and carried it up to the porch, where he carefully laid it down well under the cover of the roof. Then he walked back to the doorway and stared blindly down at the threshold.

Eventually he shook himself out of his reverie, swore, and went to get his wood plane. He hated to admit it, but he’d had a tough time concentrating on anything since the other night. He couldn’t seem to get all those images and sensations out of his mind.

He brought the tool back and knelt in front of the doorway, leaning forward to apply the plane to the warped threshold. As shavings of wood curled up over the blade, his mind went right back to Dru, where it had been ever since she’d made that threat and stomped off.

She was driving him crazy. He couldn’t concentrate, his sleep was all dicked up, and he’d been losing his temper right and left. And while he might never be a contender for Mr. Congeniality, he didn’t usually snap people’s heads off at the least provocation, either. But ever since she’d thanked him for priming the pump and told him she’d find someone else to put out the fire he’d started, he’d been tied up in one huge knot.

Jealous. Jesus Jake, he could hardly credit it, but he was so jealous he could chew nails. It was an emotion he’d never experienced in his life and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one damn bit.

Though he’d denied it at the time, he realized he was
jealous even before Dru had accused him of it after the incident with the chef. She’d raised her arms to lift all that shiny hair atop her head, and when he’d seen the sleek hollows of her underarms and the sides of her breasts exposed by the low-cut armholes in her tank top, it had hit him like a freight train, knowing that ass Carlos was seeing her like that, too. Worse, knowing Carlos was seeing her full-frontal, and that she’d done it deliberately to psych the guy into going back to work. The only saving grace was that she hadn’t realized
why
he was jealous—she’d actually believed it was because she’d handled that self-satisfied jerk better than he’d been able to.

His problems should be so simple. It had eaten holes in his gut when she’d pushed past him and stomped off, saying cocks were a dime a dozen and maybe she’d just go find another one to finish the job. He’d started after her in a red-hot lather, only to be brought up short by the realization that he was still working. He’d never cheated an employer of an honest day’s work in his life, and it wasn’t until it was much too late to matter that he’d remembered he
was
the employer. By then, of course, she was long gone.

He was an idiot. A freaking idiot. He could have had her, and he sure as hell hadn’t stopped because of any lousy scruples about her being some Goody Two-Shoes. He’d stopped because he’d almost blurted how much he’d wanted to make love to her. To make
love
. Jesus Jake. Two lousy weeks in this place and he was turning into someone he didn’t even recognize.

The fact was, he was nursing a bad case of blue balls and had no one to blame for it but himself. Forget
semantics—call what they’d been about to do fucking or call it making love, but what it boiled down to was one fact: they
had
been about to do it, and he’d let the opportunity pass him by. If he hadn’t gotten all shook up over a stupid word, he would’ve finally satisfied this burning need to know what it felt like to be deep inside her. By now everything could have been back to normal. But oh, no, he’d had to…

The threshold he’d been planing faster and faster suddenly swam into focus, and he saw that he’d reduced it to about the depth of a toothpick. “Son of a bitch!” In a rare, unchecked fit of temper, he flung the wood plane out into the yard. If that wasn’t just frigging great! Now he’d have to find a piece of wood to rebuild it, or he’d have the wind whistling through here like a goddam Kansas prairie. Of all the stupid, rank amateur, dumb-ass mistakes—

“That’s what I like about you, Carver,” commented a cool voice. “Your unquenchable cheer.”

J.D.’s head snapped up and his heart began to thud against his rib cage. Dru walked toward him across the clearing. She was dressed in her usual work uniform of sleeveless polo shirt and walking shorts, but just for a second he got a flash of the image he feared was seared on his retinas for all time: hair tumbled, mouth red and swollen from his kisses, bare breasts thrusting up at him while a flush suffused her from chest to forehead.

His dick started to twitch to life, and swearing beneath his breath, he surged to his feet. He wasn’t
even
going to go there. He’d burned that bridge and it was probably a damn good thing. It was time he got
his ass back to a businesslike neutrality when it came to her. From now on, he was Switzerland.

And damned if he’d let himself wonder if she’d gone out and found another man after she’d left him the other night, either.

He surreptitiously adjusted himself before he crossed the porch and ambled down the stairs. He bent over to pick up the plane, then straightened to watch her traverse the final few yards. She had a pair of quik-grips in her right hand.

She held the bar clamps out to him. “Here. Aunt Soph said you’d asked for these and she’d neglected to bring them when she stopped by earlier.”

“Thanks.” She looked as though she were ready to turn right around and leave, and he heard himself explain, “I’ve got to glue some pieces back together on my canoe, so I needed these to hold it together until it dries.”

“Hmmm.” She couldn’t have looked more disinterested, and once again she made as if to leave. But then she hesitated and glanced toward the canoe, which rested upside down on the porch, and at the pile of wood shavings where the threshold used to be. She gave the latter an unsmiling nod. “What are you doing there?”

“The door sticks when it gets damp, and my original plan was to shave a little off the threshold so it’ll open and close more smoothly.”

“Looks like you shaved off more than a little.”

He shrugged. “I got carried away. Now I have to rebuild the damn thing.”

“Is that why you threw your thingamajig?”

“It’s a wood plane. And yeah.” He rubbed his hand against the back of his neck. “Not very mature of me.”

She simply stared at him.

“I was frustrated.” And he was getting more frustrated by the minute. Dammit, did she have to be so damned distant? She talked to him as if he were one of the guests—so freaking polite, you’d never suspect they’d been all over each other the other night.

The thought hauled him up short.
Jesus, Carver, can you possibly be a bigger ass?
He acted as if she’d been the one to cut things off instead of him. No doubt she was behaving exactly the way she thought he’d prefer.

The way he
should
prefer…yet somehow didn’t.

The truth was, he didn’t have a clue to how to talk to her today. Yet he didn’t want her to leave.

He made another attempt at conversation. “I notice the sous-chef is back at work. Did you decide to give him another chance, then?”

“Yes. I ran into him shortly after I left…um.” Her gaze shifted away in her obvious discomfort at bringing up a reminder of their encounter; then she squared her shoulders and gave him a level look. “He was down by the lake and in no shape to be near the water or on the road, so I manhandled him up to the lodge and got him settled for the night in a spare room.” Her shoulders hitched delicately. “He assured me yesterday that if he had any further problems, he wouldn’t handle them by trying to drown them in a bottle, so I’ve put him on probation.”