“Fifteen minutes, Branna, and you better eat them.” Buster shut the oven and threw down the oven mitt. “And, no, you can’t have the recipe.”
“You ever thought of hiring a cleaner?” Annabelle stepped over a pile of what appeared to be aprons.
“It’s my home. If you don’t like it, leave.”
Jake pulled out a barstool for Branna and took the one beside her. Together, they listened to Buster and Annabelle bicker, with Jake tossing in the occasional comment, and all the while, he knew she was thinking. That sharp little brain of hers was working out how she could avoid all contact with her father.
Jake wokethe following morning and reached for Branna. It was something he did instinctively before opening his eyes. Feeling her body still soft from sleep, running his hands over it and hearing her sigh was a thing of wonder. However, this morning the space beside him was cold and empty.
Climbing out of bed, he found a pair of shorts, pulled them on, and then made for the bathroom, where he washed and brushed his teeth. The kitchen, which incidentally was empty of women, smelled of coffee. Filling a mug, he walked through the rooms, and still there was no sign of her. Opening the door, he headed outside and around the house toward the barn. If she’d gone for a run without him, he’d throw around a few weights before fixing breakfast.
He heard the radio as he entered and found her under the hood of Geraldine. She wore one of his T-shirts, which had ridden up, and a pair of panties, and he wished he had a camera, because he’d make a shitload of money with that one single shot—not that he’d sell it; it’d be for his eyes only.
“Rosebud, you know how most mornings I wake ready for anything?”
She straightened at his words. Her hair was a mess, she had a smudge of grease on her chin, a wrench in one hand, and he was sure he’d never seen any woman look as sexy as she did right at that moment.
“What?”
“Seeing you like that is not helping my condition.”
Her eyes went to his crotch, then shot back up to the smile he now had on his face. Very slowly, she put the wrench down and lowered the hood of the car.
“I was just checking her over. Dan, Georgie’s husband, taught me to do a service on her, so I was—” She licked her lips as he started toward her. “—doing the service.”
“Need any help with that… service?”
“Ha, that was cheesy, even from you.” She started backing away, moving around the car as he stalked her.
“Hot woman dressed in nothing but a T-shirt and panties, with a wrench in her hand and grease on her chin. Tell me any man who hasn’t fantasized about that?”
She kept walking around the car and he followed every step.
“I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake you, so I came out here. I-I like tinkering with Geraldine, always did.”
“How about tinkering with me instead?”
“Will you stop that? You sound like you’re making a bad porn movie.”
She was backing herself into a corner between the workbench and the back wall of the barn, but hadn’t worked that out yet.
“Now, how does a good little Irish girl know about that kind of thing?”
It was good to see the worry gone from her eyes, if only for a while. The green depths were definitely heating as he drew closer, and Jake was so hard, each step was uncomfortable. She bumped into the workbench and turned to see what she’d hit, and he made his move, caging her in with his arms and body.
“What are you doing, Jake?”
The pulse in her neck was racing, so he put his lips there.
“Well now, sweetheart, I’d hoped after all the practice we’ve had, you’d know what it was.”
Jake slipped his hands under the shirt and eased them upward, taking the shirt with him.
“S-someone might come in.”
“I’m hoping they won’t stay long.” Pulling it over her head, he gripped her waist and boosted her onto the bench.
“Don’t suppose you’d stay there while I got my camera?”
