Debbi Rawlins - Slow Hand Luke

He took the seat across from her and leaned both elbows on the table. “He can help us figure out where the repairs are most needed and what kind of supplies are stored before we buy anything.”

She’d just paid off a chunk of her credit card so she was good in that department. Of course, she had no idea how much wood and paint and fencing and those sorts of things cost. If she maxed out her credit card, she didn’t care. Even that wouldn’t erase the guilt she felt for accepting the tuition money.

Annie shifted positions trying to get comfortable and bumped his leg. “Sorry.”

They both moved to get out of the way at the same time and bumped legs again.

Luke gave her a lopsided smile. “You keep flirting with me like this, I’ll start calling you darlin’ again.”

“I have a gun and I know how to use it.”

“Now you’re getting me excited.”

She laughed. “You’re one sick puppy.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“Deservedly?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said matter-of-factly, and tipped the beer to his lips. Setting the bottle back on the table, he jerked and winced. His sharp intake of breath ended with a mild oath.

“What’s wrong?”

He gingerly rolled his shoulder. “Got a bad bruise.”

“A bruise?”

“From a fall.”

She didn’t say anything, just watched him probe his shoulder. A bruise wouldn’t cause that much pain. Maybe he didn’t want to tell her what had happened. Maybe she should start worrying.

He sighed. “You know what a rodeo is?”

“Of course.”

He started to unbutton his shirt. “Let’s say I met a bull more ornery than me.”

Each unfastened button exposed more smooth golden brown skin. “What are you doing?”

He undid the last button and shrugged the shirt off his left shoulder. “The doc gave me some ointment that helps with the stiffness.” He got a small tube out of the duffel bag beside the cooler and uncapped it. “I’ve dislocated it twice now and tore some ligaments last year, so now it acts up every once in a while.”

“Should you have been carrying all that stuff?” she asked, nudging her chin toward the cooler, but unable to drag her gaze away from his chest.

“It didn’t hurt then.”

“Are you twelve?” Her gaze stalled on his belly where the hair arrowed downward, and then slid to the bulk behind his fly. Definitely not twelve.

Smiling, he squeezed the white goop onto his palm. When he stretched his arm across his chest to reach the back of his shoulder, he grimaced, the pain tightening his features.

“Here.” She scooped the ointment from his palm onto hers and stood behind him. After rubbing her palms together to warm them, she gently slid them across his back.

He tensed.

She withdrew.

“Don’t stop.”

“Tell me if I hurt you.”

“I promise to cry like a baby.”

She smiled and slid her palms over hard muscle and smooth skin. Wow, he was perfect. Too perfect. Her nipples tightened. She bit her lower lip, and slowly worked her fingers around his shoulder blades.

He moaned. Not like he was hurt. More like how she felt: damp between the thighs, her mouth dry as cotton. When her hands started to shake, she stepped back until he was out of reach.

Luke looked over his shoulder at her.

“Good night,” she murmured, and took off down the hall.

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