She gave me one last sultry look before disappearing down the stairs.
Moments later, Jesse reappeared, still in her dress, her heels replaced by flip flops, a heavy-looking toolbox in her hand. That combo of sexiness and competence was hotter than hell. Her hair had been tamed into a cute pixie for the wedding, but now it was winning the battle against hair spray. I usually liked long-haired women, but I loved Jesse’s short, spiky look. She was a natural redhead. Her dad had the same thick auburn mane. It worked incredibly well with her light, creamy skin, and freckles so adorable she could be a makeup model.
“Okay, let’s see.” She knelt in front of the door, gathering the swishy folds of her dress. The contrast between soft fabric and hard metal tools did something kinky to my brain chemistry.
She started digging into the box. “Where’s Candi?”
“She left. She was tired, so I suggested she take a cab and go home.”
Jesse looked up from under her lashes, a tongue-in-cheek smile on her face. “She ditched you, huh? I’m guessing you two aren’t going to make it to thefor-better-or-worsepart?”
I gave her my driest look. “I believe it’s a little too soon to think about that, Princess.”
“Hey, it’s almost the end of the month. You can get a head start on finding July’s flavor.”
“You’re not only bitchy, but judgmental as hell. That’s not very nice of you, Jenni.”
That earned me a laugh—a rich, feminine sound that caressed all my senses.
I was used to women who lived filtered, polished lives, women who were easy to understand at a glance. Women who liked to take selfies and photos of themselves doing yoga in matching sets.
Jesse was nothing like that. She was a contradiction wrapped in confidence—sharp, self-reliant, unexpectedly graceful even when she was elbow-deep in a toolbox.
I crouched beside her as she pulled out a small can. “What’s that?”
“Lubricant. It’s the first thing to try with a jammed lock.”
I watched her spray the lock, then slide the key in and out a few times with the kind of rhythm that shouldn’t have been sexy, but somehow was.
“Not enough lube?” I couldn’t help myself.
Her expression didn’t shift. “Your mind really enjoys the gutter, doesn’t it?”
“Just making a joke. Why are you always so touchy?”
“I’m not touchy.” Her tone made a solid case to the contrary.
She dug into the toolbox again, taking out something that looked like a set of torture instruments.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s a lockpicking kit.” Her reply was casual, distracted even, as though that was a normal accessory to pair with a bridesmaid dress.
I blinked. “So, the Princess not only owns a hardware store, she knows how to use the stuff. I’m impressed.”
“Nothing impressive about it. Why do you keep calling me Princess?”
“You kind of look like one right now.” I gestured to the dress. “You’re dressed like a girl tonight. That’s a rare treat.”
She smiled wryly. “Don’t let the dress fool you. I’ll be back to normal by midnight.”
“It’s past midnight.”
I didn’t know what I meant by that. Maybe that the magic of the day hadn’t worn off yet. I hoped it wouldn’t.
She focused on the lock again, hands steady, lips pursed. I leaned a little closer to see what she was doing. Her short nails were painted a dark red tonight. She smelled of something subtle, clean and fresh—a light perfume, or maybe just soap, and a trace of wine. It was more inviting than a thousand dollars designereau de parfum.
“So, how did you end up learning to pick locks?” I asked lightly. “Are you Catwoman by night and I’ve just ruined your schedule?”
