Josie Day Is Coming Home (22 page)

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.

“So…” Force of habit made her strive for
casualness as she raised her face to his. “I’ve been wondering…. What
are your plans for the future?”

He looked as if she’d asked him to try on a tutu.

“The future?”

“Yes, the future. You know, what are your plans for
next week? What will you be doing next month? What are your plans for after
Blue Moon’s finished? That sort of thing.”

She waited expectantly.

Nada. Maybe more explanation was needed. After all, Luke
might not be attached to her yet. She’d only just realized their connection
herself.

“Pretty soon my dance school will be up and running.
There won’t be as much work to be done around here.” It occurred to Josie
that this conversation was veering dangerously into lady of the manor versus
handyman territory. She gentled her voice. “I know we haven’t talked about
it. But you must have plans for the future, right? Hopes? Dreams?
Fantasies?”

She gave him an encouraging nudge. Just as she’d hoped, her
mention of
fantasies
made a fraction of the tutu-terror leave Luke’s
eyes. Feeling more sure of things, Josie snuggled up to him. She looped her arm
around his taut middle, enjoying the warmth and chiseled feel of his body. This
was one of those moments, she realized—one of those “couple” moments
when two people really bonded while discussing their future.

“I want to know,” she coaxed. “It’s
important.”

Luke cleared his throat.

“I don’t talk about the future.”

Then, obliterating all possibility of further discussion, he
disentangled himself from her arms and walked away.

Chapter Thirteen

On-board the good ship
S.S. Extravaganza
, Tallulah
straightened her vintage Pucci headscarf and gazed up at the sunshine. Being on
vacation was good for her, she decided. Even a working vacation.

“About this cruise line.” She transferred her
attention to Ambrose, making sure he was listening. “I’ve decided to
invest. So get that deal cooking, because I’m ready to sign.”

Her attorney blinked at her from the shade of his
ever-present sun umbrella. He gave no sign of what he thought of her decision.
He had his laptop computer open in front of him, a bottle of disgustingly
healthy V-8 vegetable juice beside him, and a stack of
Wall Street Journal
issues at his elbow.

“Don’t sit there gawking at me like a pig in deep
mud!” she groused. “Get cracking with the paperwork, why don’t
you?”

Ambrose raised his dignified hand to his aristocratic face.
He thumbed his nose at her, fingers waggling.

Tallulah laughed. There was a reason she and the old geezer
got along. Unlike most people—her beloved, departed Ernest being the other
exception—Ambrose wasn’t afraid of her. He was persnickety, tightfisted, and as
ticklish as a trout, but he wasn’t afraid of her.

“If you’d quit blabbing, I would,” he said with
asperity. “A person can’t work with you motor-mouthing over there.”

“You can’t work anyway. You went senile ages ago.”

“I’m surprised you realize it. You did, too.”

With another laugh, Tallulah reclined on her deck chair.
Maybe they were both a little less than razor sharp. But today she didn’t care.
Today she felt almost like her old self again.