Read Online The Sweetheart Bargain (A Sweetheart Sisters Novel) by Shirley Jump - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Shirley Jump
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. . okay.” She smiled, then patted Olivia on the arm. “Nice to meet you. And let me tell you, this man here is a bona fide hero, so you’re smart to latch onto him.”
Before Olivia could protest that she wasn’t doing latching of any kind with Luke Winslow, Lois had returned to her pansies. Luke started off down the driveway again, and Olivia hurried to catch up with his long strides. “Lois seems nice.”
“She’s actually a serial killer,” Luke teased. “Why do you think she does all that gardening?” Across the way, Lois had returned to rooting in the soil. She noticed them looking and sent over another wave. “A word to the wise—don’t let your dog dig in her tomato patch.”
Olivia bit back a chuckle. “You’re terrible. I think the people in Rescue Bay are wonderful. I love that coffee shop downtown. You know, the Java Hut? Everyone there is so friendly.”
“We’re a tourist destination. Being friendly is a town law.”
She glanced over at him. “So what was that about you being a hero?”
“Nothing.” He scowled, and a shade dropped over his features. “Nothing at all.”
They had reached the front walk, but Luke kept going, heading for the back door. He lived in a typical Florida bungalow, low, squat, painted a soft gray with white trim. A few shrubs ringed the front and offset a lawn that had long since turned brown. Citrus trees lined the eastern property line, their branches laden with bright orange and yellow fruit. Ripe oranges and lemons peppered the ground.
Luke stepped onto the back porch, shaded by a simple aluminum awning, then opened the door and held it for her. She stepped into the darkened space. Before she processed the room, her gaze swept the kitchen. Over the checkered tile, under the maple table, past the oak cabinets. “Where’s the dog?”
“I left it here and unless it can open the back door, it’s got to be around somewhere.” Luke came in behind her, and she stepped to the side to make room for him.
He was a tall man, broad in the shoulders, and even though the kitchen was spacious, with Luke standing beside her the space seemed small, tight. She shifted closer to the sink. Dirty dishes sat in soapy water, waiting to be washed. A tower of pizza boxes propped up a stack of white take-out boxes and empty soda and beer cans. Budweiser paired with Coke, in a long straight line of white-and-red aluminum.
Despite the mess on the counter, the chairs and table sat square against each other, and no knickknacks cluttered the shelves or counters. A tidy and at the same time almost neglected space. There was an air of emptiness about the house that she couldn’t put a finger on. Then she thought of the disaster she lived in and decided the pot had no business calling the kettle anything at all.
“You didn’t lure me over here with the ruse of a dog, did you?” she asked, the words a tease, meant to break the tension between them. Instead, Luke turned to her, his thoughts unreadable, hidden behind those sunglasses.
“If I were going to lure you, Olivia,” he said, the syllables sliding off his tongue like a long, slow caress, “I’d use something a little more inventive than a stray dog.”
The darkened space wrapped around them. Cozy, intimate. Tempting. For a second, she entertained a few non-neighborly thoughts about Luke Winslow. The same thoughts of him in her house, in her bed, in her . . . Yeah, those thoughts that had spiced her last several nights. “I’ll . . . uh, keep that in mind.”
Things had shifted from a tentative détente to sexy innuendo. Her nerve endings stood on alert, hyperaware of Luke’s presence. Of the deep timbre of his voice, the dark notes of his words. Of the careless sexiness of his unshaven face, his wayward hair. And of all he had hidden behind those sunglasses.
Yeah, she needed to get involved with him like she needed to start a home improvement business. Then why had she looked for him every time she’d been in
Before Olivia could protest that she wasn’t doing latching of any kind with Luke Winslow, Lois had returned to her pansies. Luke started off down the driveway again, and Olivia hurried to catch up with his long strides. “Lois seems nice.”
“She’s actually a serial killer,” Luke teased. “Why do you think she does all that gardening?” Across the way, Lois had returned to rooting in the soil. She noticed them looking and sent over another wave. “A word to the wise—don’t let your dog dig in her tomato patch.”
Olivia bit back a chuckle. “You’re terrible. I think the people in Rescue Bay are wonderful. I love that coffee shop downtown. You know, the Java Hut? Everyone there is so friendly.”
“We’re a tourist destination. Being friendly is a town law.”
She glanced over at him. “So what was that about you being a hero?”
“Nothing.” He scowled, and a shade dropped over his features. “Nothing at all.”
They had reached the front walk, but Luke kept going, heading for the back door. He lived in a typical Florida bungalow, low, squat, painted a soft gray with white trim. A few shrubs ringed the front and offset a lawn that had long since turned brown. Citrus trees lined the eastern property line, their branches laden with bright orange and yellow fruit. Ripe oranges and lemons peppered the ground.
Luke stepped onto the back porch, shaded by a simple aluminum awning, then opened the door and held it for her. She stepped into the darkened space. Before she processed the room, her gaze swept the kitchen. Over the checkered tile, under the maple table, past the oak cabinets. “Where’s the dog?”
“I left it here and unless it can open the back door, it’s got to be around somewhere.” Luke came in behind her, and she stepped to the side to make room for him.
He was a tall man, broad in the shoulders, and even though the kitchen was spacious, with Luke standing beside her the space seemed small, tight. She shifted closer to the sink. Dirty dishes sat in soapy water, waiting to be washed. A tower of pizza boxes propped up a stack of white take-out boxes and empty soda and beer cans. Budweiser paired with Coke, in a long straight line of white-and-red aluminum.
Despite the mess on the counter, the chairs and table sat square against each other, and no knickknacks cluttered the shelves or counters. A tidy and at the same time almost neglected space. There was an air of emptiness about the house that she couldn’t put a finger on. Then she thought of the disaster she lived in and decided the pot had no business calling the kettle anything at all.
“You didn’t lure me over here with the ruse of a dog, did you?” she asked, the words a tease, meant to break the tension between them. Instead, Luke turned to her, his thoughts unreadable, hidden behind those sunglasses.
“If I were going to lure you, Olivia,” he said, the syllables sliding off his tongue like a long, slow caress, “I’d use something a little more inventive than a stray dog.”
The darkened space wrapped around them. Cozy, intimate. Tempting. For a second, she entertained a few non-neighborly thoughts about Luke Winslow. The same thoughts of him in her house, in her bed, in her . . . Yeah, those thoughts that had spiced her last several nights. “I’ll . . . uh, keep that in mind.”
Things had shifted from a tentative détente to sexy innuendo. Her nerve endings stood on alert, hyperaware of Luke’s presence. Of the deep timbre of his voice, the dark notes of his words. Of the careless sexiness of his unshaven face, his wayward hair. And of all he had hidden behind those sunglasses.
Yeah, she needed to get involved with him like she needed to start a home improvement business. Then why had she looked for him every time she’d been in
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