Jeanie London - Going All Out

Very nice indeed.

Everything about this man was attractive, she decided, exhaling a sigh that had nothing to do with her bumps and bruises. She wasn’t hurt, not really, just achy and sore from the fall and jittery from too much adrenaline.

Slipping off her coat, Bree hiked up her dress to rig broken threads of sequins so she wouldn’t trash the town house. She’d been inside once before, and even with the huge windows shuttered against the night, Josie’s place managed to be as warm and welcoming as Josie herself.

The spacious rooms were filled with stylish wicker and sunny colors and woodwork painted bright white. Bree thought the look contrasted nicely with the weathered exteriors and ornate ironwork that made up all the centuries-old town houses in historic Court du Chaud.

As she and her sister had only moved into the court last year, Bree didn’t know Josie all that well. They both worked a lot. Bree divided her time between Toujacques and her moonlighting for a local fashion designer, so get-togethers generally happened at homeowners’ association and Krewe du Chaud meetings or brush-bys for coffee in Café Eros, the bistro where her sister worked.

But Bree liked Josie and wished her well in married life. Many of the court’s residents seemed to be getting on with their futures lately. Even Tally had gotten engaged to Christien and bought the nightclub she’d been longing for. Claire and Randy had hooked up. Perry and Jack, too. And after learning about her shot at the head hostess job tonight, Bree had thought she’d been moving on with her life, too.

Until her past had followed her home.

“Found it,” Lucas said when he returned from upstairs.

He’d thrown on sweatpants, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d have been so affected by this man if she hadn’t met him when he’d been half-naked.

Probably. The man was gorgeous, all touchable and male. Not at all like Jude, who was almost too pretty to be real. Up close Lucas had the same sable-colored hair as his sister and eyes as bright green. The combination tempered his chiseled features. Otherwise that strong face and drop-dead gorgeous body combined made him almost too male. If such a thing was possible.

Setting the first-aid kit on the table, Lucas sank to his knees in front of her. He hesitated with his hands poised over her ankle and asked, “Do you mind?”

“Have at it.” Lifting aside her destroyed dress, she gave him a bird’s-eye view of the carnage.

Both knees were a mess. Scratches streaked her skin, and blood had congealed on the torn edges of her hose. One particularly nasty branch had carved a crevasse up her thigh.

Lucas frowned and stood again, giving her a tour of that magnificent chest as he grabbed the kit again and said, “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the sink.”

Okay, there was no arguing she needed soap and water. She’d come out on the bad end of the dirt and mulch in Josie’s flower bed, so she followed him into the kitchen without comment.

Lucas flipped on a light, deposited the kit on the counter and ran the water. “Take off your stockings.”

“We only met ten minutes ago.”

He laughed. “We need to clean those cuts well or you’ll wind up wishing you did. Trust me.”

“Another lesson learned in law-enforcement training?”

“From my mother.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me? I’m sure she tended lots of boo-boos while you were growing up.”

His expression morphed into a full-fledged smile that softened his features and brightened his eyes and coaxed a reaction low in her belly. A crazy sort of swooping feeling that distracted her from her aches and pains.

“I’d be lying if I said no. Now lose the stockings.”

“I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.” She made a little humph sound and couldn’t resist giving him a show while slithering her hose out from underneath her dress.

She could feel his gaze on her when she bent over to unfasten her sandals and wondered if he noticed the way her neckline drooped, if he watched her cleavage plump forward. Did he think she was taunting him? Or flirting?

She wasn’t entirely sure which it was herself.

There was something about this man that made Bree want a reaction. Probably nothing more than a need to flex her control muscles after the shock of seeing Jude again.

And she got one.

Lucas grabbed her, strong hands circling her waist. He lifted her up to a seat on the counter and without preamble he brushed aside her torn dress and got to business.

She braced back on her arms, feeling a bit breathless as he cleansed her skin with soapy gauze.

“That feel okay?” he asked.

“I’ll live.”

“So why’d you drop by tonight?”

Questions were inevitable, but she had to give Lucas credit for not starting the interrogation the minute he found her.

“I noticed someone following me while I was walking home from work. It was late, and I’m not exactly dressed to defend myself. I decided to beat a hasty retreat.”

He peered at her from beneath the silky fringe of thick lashes. “So you scaled a wall in a formal gown and high heels? I’m impressed. What kind of work do you do?”

This was another question she’d expected, and Bree wondered what type of work he thought she did.

Evening formal wear. Three in the morning. Dark street. Hmm.

“I work at Toujacques. I’m a VIP hostess.”

“Do you always walk home from work?”

“Not when it’s so late. I normally drive.”

“But not tonight.”

“Not tonight.” She knew he was waiting for some further explanation, but she wasn’t volunteering any. He didn’t need to know that her brother had flown home for the weekend from college and had borrowed her Jeep.

But to her surprise, Lucas didn’t push. He just tossed the filthy gauze in the trash and lathered a new batch with soap under running water. He started working on her other knee and went back to his original line of questioning.

“Did this someone threaten you?” he asked.

“Didn’t give him a chance. Didn’t want to lead him to my front door, either, so here I am.”

Bree expected a lecture on the perils of walking through the French Quarter alone at night. Men like Lucas were invariably throwbacks from the feudal days when the rich and powerful protected the weak and defenseless.

But instead of a warning, Bree got strong hands on her thighs. It was a casual touch—if any stranger’s touch in such an intimate place could really be casual. Perfunctory might be a better description. The thing was…his touch didn’t feel perfunctory.

Even though he only tended her cut, she felt him everywhere. Heat melted through her, and she was so very aware of her parted thighs. Probably because she didn’t wear panties beneath her panty hose, which put this man’s strong hands in very close proximity to some oh-so-bare private places.

“So are you enjoying your stay in New Orleans?” she asked to distract herself from the feel of his hands and to end the discussion about why she’d dropped in for a visit.

“I always enjoy coming home.”

“Josie told me she bought this place from your parents after they retired to Florida. You were reared here?”

“Court du Chaud homegrown.”

Ironic that he’d take off for California when she and Tally had always thought the court would be the best place in the world to live. “Is that why you’re hanging around while Josie and Max are on their honeymoon? Visiting friends?”

“One of the reasons. My parents stayed after the wedding, too. I wanted to see them off. And my sister has me doing some work around here.”

“What sort of work?”

“Cleaning out the attic. My mom’s a pack rat. She stashed memorabilia the whole time we were growing up, then left it all when she moved. Josie’s afraid the fire marshal will condemn the place. Now that she and Max are married, they’re making some decisions about living arrangements, and she wants to make sure I take everything I want in case they decide to sell the place.”