The Lottery Winner (15 page)

“Thanks. I'm...worried.” Again, her concern sounded genuine.

“When did you say you were leaving Florida?”

She averted her face to look out the window. “I didn't. But my lease expires January twenty-second. I'm not renewing it.”

She was telling the truth—or at least part of it. He'd asked the agent when the house would be available and had been told the twenty-third.

“Does Miri know you're leaving?”

“Our agreement was for me to work two weeks. That ends Monday.”

Tuesday she wouldn't be an employee...and soon she'd be leaving the state. That meant anything physical between them would be temporary. Exactly what he needed—a quick fix. Until he had his life straightened out, he had nothing to offer a woman. And given the way she'd returned his kiss, Jessie might be receptive to something fast, intense and temporary. His pulse kicked up a notch as he headed down her street. All he had to do was wait a few days, then he'd ask her out and pick up where they left off in the parking lot.

He'd get over his fascination with Jessie, date another woman or two and finally get Miri to start taking days off. Mission accomplished.

He barely heard the crunch of the crushed shells in her driveway over the anticipation drumming in his ears. He stopped by the keypad and put down his window then looked at her. “Code?”

Her lips parted as if to tell him, then she shook her head, shrugged out of his jacket and thrust open her door. Her nipples weren't hard anymore. He caught himself checking and jerked his gaze back to hers.

“I'll get out here. Thanks for coming tonight and for the ride. I appreciate it.”

He recalled the kiss and couldn't stop the grin tweaking his lips. “I could tell.”

She inhaled sharply and ducked her head. Her cheeks pinked in the dome light. “Sorry about that.”

“Don't be. I'm attracted to you, Jessie. I won't deny that. Want me to come in and check things out?”

She shot a quick glance toward the house. “No. Thanks. I've got it from here.”

“I'll pick you up at two tomorrow and we'll jump-start your car before your shift.”

“Are you sure you don't want me to take a cab and meet you there?”

“No. Be ready.”

“Thank you.” She exited the car, shut the door and rounded the hood, slipping between him and the keypad. Her hips blocked his view of the digits. With her curves only inches away, he had to fight the urge to trace his palms over them. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and resisted temptation. Then the strawberry scent drifted through his open window. His knuckles turned white. The gate opened.

She hurried through, waved once more, flashed a nervous smile, then walked up the driveway. Each hip-swinging step made him ache to follow her and pick up where they'd left off. Then she pushed a button under the house, and the gate blocked his path.

He tried to tell himself that he wasn't disappointed she hadn't invited him in. But who was he kidding? He was disappointed as hell. And if he'd stayed, he wouldn't have been a Boy Scout—employee or not.

* * *

M
IRI
GREETED
I
GNATIUS
with the same enthusiasm as she would a colonoscopy. “You're early.”

Despite her sour welcome, he smiled. “Bad habit.”

“The sooner we get started, the sooner you can get me to work. Do not make me late.”

“I'll do my best.”

She noted that the goon had actually cleaned up. His mug was freshly shaven and even his thick hair had been trimmed and tamed. He wore all black: jean jacket, pressed jeans and a designerish V-neck T-shirt that revealed a tuft of salt-and-pepper hair above a broad chest and flat belly. He'd even polished his boots.

Her stomach fluttered. Hunger. She'd forgotten breakfast again. Her reaction had nothing to do with him. “Are you channeling Johnny Cash today?”

“Why? Want me to sing to you? ‘Ring of Fire,' perhaps?”

A song about desire. “No. This isn't a date.”

“Course not. You don't date.” Green eyes roved her from head to toe, making her a little self-conscious that she'd made no effort at all to impress him. She hadn't even bothered with makeup. His grin widened into the smug variety. “I knew you wouldn't let me down.”

“Because I didn't leave town to avoid you?”

His low chuckle surprised her—mainly because it rumbled along her nerves in an unsettling way. “Because you didn't dress up. Grab your sunglasses and a jacket.”

“It's seventy-six degrees. I don't need a jacket.”

“If you don't bring one of yours, you'll have to wear mine.” He started to shrug out of the denim.

“I'm not wearing your jacket. It would swallow me. I'll get mine, but I'm telling you, it's unnecessary.”

“If you still feel that way after lunch, you can tuck it in my bag.”

His what? She didn't care enough to ask. She wanted Nell's recipe, and if suffering an hour of his company was the only way to get it, then so be it. It wouldn't kill her. With a lack of grace that would have earned her a paddling from her mama, she retrieved a windbreaker and joined him on the porch.

He took it from her and held it for her to put her arms in. Bonus points. The man was a gentleman. Not that she was taking notes. If he was trying to impress her, he was wasting his time.

He gestured for her to precede him down the stairs and sidewalk and around the garage to the driveway. A big, shiny motorcycle was parked where his car should be. She stopped in her tracks. He bumped into her, then grabbed her waist to keep from knocking her over. She registered the heat and strength of his big hands, but the black and red Harley held her attention. The bags he mentioned were black leather saddlebags with silver studs.

“You aren't scared of a bike, are you?”

She'd die before admitting she'd never ridden one. But she'd been on every kind of watercraft imaginable. How different could straddling this thing be from riding a Jet Ski? She and Jack had done that a bunch of times. “No.”

“Good.” He offered her a helmet—one of those beanie kinds that sat on top of your head and didn't cover your ears. “Isn't that called a brain bucket?”

“It's DOT certified. I wouldn't put you in anything less.”

When she hesitated, he settled it on her. The scrape of his callused fingers along her jawbones made her shiver. She gritted her teeth and pretended it hadn't happened. And she definitely didn't look at him to see if he'd noticed.

“Chin up. I don't want to pinch your tender skin.” After she complied, he snapped the buckle. His knuckle dragged downward with irritating slowness, stopping just above her collar. Her nipples tightened.

“Pinches in this skin hurt like a mother.”

She jumped back. What was wrong with her? Thank heaven the jacket hid her body's betrayal.

“I'll get on first. You climb on behind me.” He donned a matching helmet, swung his leg over the bike, grabbed both handlebars then looked at her.

He looked hot. The thought shot through her head like a meteor, so quick and unexpected it momentarily paralyzed her. She'd never looked twice at any of the bikers who flocked to Key West. Why him? Why now? Surely at fifty-seven she was too old for a midlife crisis.

“C'mon, Miri. Throw a leg over. Put your feet on the floorboards and wrap your arms around me.”

She snorted. “You wish.”

She didn't want to hold him. But falling off held even less appeal. Short of refusing and making him think she was a coward, she couldn't see any way to avoid it.

Think of the recipe.

Gingerly, she did as instructed, settling behind him with her knees bracketing his hips. She kept as much distance between them as the backrest allowed. But still, she was surprised to find herself shaking.

Fear of the unknown. That's all it was.

A big paw covered her knee and squeezed. She felt the heat of his grip a good ten inches north of the point of contact. He turned to speak over his shoulder. “Relax, Miri. I wouldn't hurt you for nothing.”

Her breath shuddered in then out again. The tingle working through her forced her to admit she wasn't scared. She was...excited. Dear Lord. She must be losing her mind. “How long have you been riding this thing?”

“Long enough, and I've taken every safety course the dealership offers.”

He shifted and pushed a button. The engine growled to life. The bike vibrated beneath her. She felt it in places that had been happily dormant for years. The stimulation reminded her of the sex toy Jack had brought home for their tenth anniversary. “In case you miss me while I'm away,” he'd said. She'd only used it once to see how it worked. Afterward, she'd stuffed it in a drawer, preferring a relationship with a man to one with a machine.

The bike rolled forward. Startled, she grabbed Ignatius's waist and held on for dear life as he coasted down her driveway. The leaning turn onto the street made her squeal.

She smelled lime and fresh linens and searched for the source, then she realized it was him—his aftershave. He accelerated. Wind whistled in her ears and stirred the hair of her nape. The road and houses raced past. He eased into traffic, but he was going the wrong way.

“This isn't the way to Nell's.” She leaned forward to shout into his ear. The action flattened her breasts against his back. She instantly regretted the move and quickly restored the gap. But it was too late. Her breasts seemed magnetized by the contact. Hormonal. Definitely hormonal.

He turned his head. His helmet straps accentuated the strong line of his jaw. “Taking the scenic route. Relax. Enjoy.”

He held her captive on the moving bike. She fumed and debated giving him an earful. But that would mean more front-to-back contact, and her traitorous body hadn't yet decided to behave.

He headed north and soon approached Seven-Mile Bridge. She gulped. The idea of riding a motorcycle over the often windy bridge made her heart race. Traffic was light. The weather was perfect. Every biker they passed, and even their passengers when they had them, stuck a hand out, an action Ignatius mirrored. The biker wave. She'd seen the gesture too many times to count. But she'd never been on the receiving end of it.

Ignatius, though irritating in the extreme, didn't weave in and out of traffic, and he didn't speed. Slowly, tension eased from her muscles. She relaxed against the backrest with her hands lightly anchored on his waist. She took in the boats and birds and caught herself smiling. Riding a Harley wasn't the same as riding in a boat—it was smoother and dryer—but it was similar in many ways.

When he reached Marathon, slowed and made a wide U-turn, she was almost disappointed. No. She couldn't be. Her only purpose today was to get that recipe. He was a necessary evil.

They met another bike, this one with a shaggy, goggle-wearing and obviously happy dog in the sidecar. She laughed and waved. As much as she hated to admit it, she was enjoying the outing. Then she looked up and caught Ignatius watching her in the side mirror. His wraparound sunglasses shielded his eyes, but his approving smile and nod were impossible to miss. Her cheeks warmed—from the sun, not because she was embarrassed by her earlier ungracious behavior.

They arrived at their destination too quickly. He pulled into a parking spot by the deli and put his big, booted feet on the ground. “Jump off, babe.”

“Babe? Don't you ‘babe' me.”

He shrugged. “Hard not to when you sit back there looking adorable with that big grin on your face. You have a beautiful smile, Miri. Wish I saw it more often.”

The compliment hit her with a jolt of pleasure—and she experienced an immediate sense of disloyalty to Jack. Holding on to Ignatius's shoulders for balance, she hustled to get her feet on the ground and distance between them. Terra firma felt...odd. “If you weren't such an interfering pain in the butt, you might see it more often.”

He laughed and stood beside her. “Give yourself a second to find your land legs. You okay?”

“Of course.”

He winked. “Knew you'd say that.”

Before she could digest her stomach's swooping reaction to that wink, his fingers were beneath her chin, working the buckle. Each rasp tickled something low in her abdomen. Then he was done and not one squawk of protest had passed her lips. He hung both helmets on the handlebars, grasped her elbow and guided her inside.

Nell took one look at his hand on Miri and her eyebrows hit her hairline. She pointed to a table—one with a small bouquet of flowers on it. None of the other tables had flowers. Ignatius steered Miri to it. She sat because she didn't know what else to do—and because her shaky legs still hadn't recovered from the ride.

Nell joined them. Curiosity sparkled in her eyes. “How was the ride?”

Miri glared at Ignatius. “You told her you were bringing me on the bike?”

Nell put a hand on her shoulder. “No, hon, I saw you drive up. So...?”

Everybody in Nell's family rode, and Nell knew Miri never had. But Miri wouldn't admit she'd enjoyed herself in front of the man who'd forced her into this dat—

“She loved it,” the goon answered for her. “She even learned the biker salute.”

“Attagirl.”

“What's with the flowers?” Miri asked.

Nell's gaze swung to Ignatius. “Ask him.”

Miri's chest hurt. She narrowed her eyes on Ignatius. “This isn't a—”

“Date. I know. What're we having, Nell?”

“The menu's a surprise. I'm testing new dishes on you today. And yes, Miri, I'll give you the lemon custard recipe when we're done. If you behave.” Her gaze swung to Ignatius. “Think she can?”

“I hope not.”

Chuckling, Nell sashayed back to the kitchen, leaving Miri fuming and alone with the man she didn't want to be with—the one wearing what Logan called a shit-eating-grin. These two had been cooking up something—and it wasn't lunch. And she was
not
touched that he'd made an effort. She refused to acknowledge the bouquet.