would have been ruined. The bench seat of the golf cart became a trampoline as Luke sped to the barn where they’d worked earlier. She bounced with each rut they hit.
“You can slow down,” she said, hanging on to the side handle for dear life. “With the amount of water in the whitewash, this mess should clean up pretty easily.”
“I’m just sick I did that.” Luke’s voice held a note of frustration.
“Well, you did fix it so we got out of the exercise. It might not be the best way to be excused, but we don’t have to finish painting. Or clean up. Bright side, right?”
He snorted. “Damned Pollyanna. Do you always find the good?”
The barn came into view as they crested a small hill. “It’s a rewarding way to live. For example, now I know FIG’s name is really Jeff. Easy enough to remember because fig starts with F and Jeff has a double dose of F in his name. Easy peasy.” She jerked forward in her seat as Luke braked to a stop on the side of the building.
Sure enough, there was a cedar-fenced enclosure at the far corner. She pulled the sides of the drop cloth together before she jumped out of the cart and reached for the gate handle. The bottom scraped over the pavement as she swung it open. Inside were gardening tools, a wheelbarrow, and a green hose coiled on the ground. There was also a drain in the center of the cement pad, and several buckets filled with sand.
Luke bumped into her when he stepped around her. “Sorry.”
Shrugging, Jac peeled the canvas material away and dropped it while he fastened one end of the hose to the barn spigot. Pipes clanked to life when Luke twisted the knob. The hose jerked and jumped, filling with water that gushed from its open end. Jac toed off her shoes and kicked them aside, away from the water, the pavement rough and chilly under her bare feet.
Luke straightened and motioned her to the center. “Unfortunately, your clothes are probably going to get soaked.”
“They’ll dry. Come on, hose me down.” She scrunched up her shoulders and squeezed her eyes shut. Frigid water splattered over her head. “Bloody hell! That’s cold.”
“Sorry. Again. There isn’t any hot water available here.”
Keeping her eyes closed, she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to push the paint out. “Not your fault. You don’t have to keep apologizing. Let’s just get this done.”
At least Luke’s fingers were warm as he massaged her scalp to help. Yeah, they actually felt freaking amazing. A rush of heat seeped from her chest then lower, raising more goose bumps than the icy shower had.
“Can you hold the hose? I could help more if I can use both hands.”
It flashed through her mind, which hose she really wanted to hold. And how much better it would be if his two hands were on her. The heat in her cheeks was at complete odds with the arctic temperature of the water flowing over her head.
“If I hold the hose, you’ll end up getting soaked, too.”
“True.” He dropped the hose to the ground where it promptly spurted over her feet.
Not caring how she looked, she danced a crazy jig to keep her toes from going numb. Luke grabbed a garden rake, flipped it upside down, and shoved the wooden handle into one of the buckets of sand. After he retrieved the hose, he wrapped it around and around the shaft and ended by jamming the brass-fitted end between the tines.
He grinned and pointed to his handiwork. “Ta-da! Instant shower. C’mere.”
Jac accepted the hand he offered and let him pull her forward under the flow of water. It was still cold, but with him helping to scrub the paint away, it wouldn’t last as long.
The cold water sluicing down her spine remained at odds with the heat generated when he massaged her scalp. She tipped her head back and he framed it between his hands. Something flickered in his eyes, a flash of lust, of hunger. Jac bit her lower lip as sensation coursed through her body, lodging in her brain. In spite of the temperature
“You can slow down,” she said, hanging on to the side handle for dear life. “With the amount of water in the whitewash, this mess should clean up pretty easily.”
“I’m just sick I did that.” Luke’s voice held a note of frustration.
“Well, you did fix it so we got out of the exercise. It might not be the best way to be excused, but we don’t have to finish painting. Or clean up. Bright side, right?”
He snorted. “Damned Pollyanna. Do you always find the good?”
The barn came into view as they crested a small hill. “It’s a rewarding way to live. For example, now I know FIG’s name is really Jeff. Easy enough to remember because fig starts with F and Jeff has a double dose of F in his name. Easy peasy.” She jerked forward in her seat as Luke braked to a stop on the side of the building.
Sure enough, there was a cedar-fenced enclosure at the far corner. She pulled the sides of the drop cloth together before she jumped out of the cart and reached for the gate handle. The bottom scraped over the pavement as she swung it open. Inside were gardening tools, a wheelbarrow, and a green hose coiled on the ground. There was also a drain in the center of the cement pad, and several buckets filled with sand.
Luke bumped into her when he stepped around her. “Sorry.”
Shrugging, Jac peeled the canvas material away and dropped it while he fastened one end of the hose to the barn spigot. Pipes clanked to life when Luke twisted the knob. The hose jerked and jumped, filling with water that gushed from its open end. Jac toed off her shoes and kicked them aside, away from the water, the pavement rough and chilly under her bare feet.
Luke straightened and motioned her to the center. “Unfortunately, your clothes are probably going to get soaked.”
“They’ll dry. Come on, hose me down.” She scrunched up her shoulders and squeezed her eyes shut. Frigid water splattered over her head. “Bloody hell! That’s cold.”
“Sorry. Again. There isn’t any hot water available here.”
Keeping her eyes closed, she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to push the paint out. “Not your fault. You don’t have to keep apologizing. Let’s just get this done.”
At least Luke’s fingers were warm as he massaged her scalp to help. Yeah, they actually felt freaking amazing. A rush of heat seeped from her chest then lower, raising more goose bumps than the icy shower had.
“Can you hold the hose? I could help more if I can use both hands.”
It flashed through her mind, which hose she really wanted to hold. And how much better it would be if his two hands were on her. The heat in her cheeks was at complete odds with the arctic temperature of the water flowing over her head.
“If I hold the hose, you’ll end up getting soaked, too.”
“True.” He dropped the hose to the ground where it promptly spurted over her feet.
Not caring how she looked, she danced a crazy jig to keep her toes from going numb. Luke grabbed a garden rake, flipped it upside down, and shoved the wooden handle into one of the buckets of sand. After he retrieved the hose, he wrapped it around and around the shaft and ended by jamming the brass-fitted end between the tines.
He grinned and pointed to his handiwork. “Ta-da! Instant shower. C’mere.”
Jac accepted the hand he offered and let him pull her forward under the flow of water. It was still cold, but with him helping to scrub the paint away, it wouldn’t last as long.
The cold water sluicing down her spine remained at odds with the heat generated when he massaged her scalp. She tipped her head back and he framed it between his hands. Something flickered in his eyes, a flash of lust, of hunger. Jac bit her lower lip as sensation coursed through her body, lodging in her brain. In spite of the temperature
Similar Books
