The last words came through the waffle weave of his shirt. In the second before his head emerged, she realized that the thing about short-term flings was that she had to take what was on offer right now, before he worked out whatever rattled him and went back to his work. Which he would. The thought of Jack Powell staying in Lancaster was laughable. And the temporary nature of what they had made her daring. “So,” she said, clearing her throat and sitting up. “The weather’s going to clear up tonight. We’ve got a nice stretch of sunny days coming up. Perfect bike-buying weather.”
“And skydiving weather,” he added. “I’ve got some experience jumping out of planes. I could do your tandem jump.”
“Some experience?”
“Some,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
“You’d do that with me?”
“Yeah,” he said. “No big deal. I’ll call my friend, set up a date for a jump.”
“Great,” she said. “That’d be great.”
He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss that turned deep, hot, when she gripped his nape.
“You’ve got a mouth made for sin,” she murmured when they broke apart. She trailed the backs of her fingers along his jaw, then let her hand drop when he straightened.
“So do you,” he said. “See you later.”
Chapter Five
Jack loped up the stairs to his grandmother’s big Victorian, knocked twice on the screen door, then hauled it open. “Hello?” he called as he set his helmet on the table in the foyer.
Grannie’s bright-eyed, lined face appeared at the end of the hall, a wooden spoon in one hand. “Where’s your sister?”
“On her way.” Jack walked down the hall. “The tulips look great,” he said as he gave her a kiss on the cheek. The kitchen smelled of roast pork and apple pie, and a quick glance out the back windows showed the beds in the backyard were coming up daffodils and tulips, yellow, red, pink, and purple swaying in the breeze.
“Thanks. I could use your help this fall. I want to plant more bulbs.”
“In which beds?” he asked, swiping a couple of cherry tomatoes from the salad.
“All the beds, Jack,” she said in the tone of voice she used when he was being incorrigible. The oven timer went off. “Take the roast out, would you?”
He pulled on the oven mitts and opened the door. “Who else is coming?” The table was set with four places.
“Keenan,” Grannie said as she set the salad and covered vegetable dishes on the table. “I thought we’d look through pictures from Turkey.”
“How did that go?” Jack said absently as he plucked an apple ring from the roast and got his knuckles rapped for it.
“How did what go?”
“Keenan guiding. Rose said it was a very well-executed itinerary—”
“That’s high praise from Rose,” Grannie interjected.
“Yeah, but there’s more to a trip like that than a well-executed itinerary. Did you have a good time?”
“I had a wonderful time,” Grannie said, and took off her apron. “So did Rose. Keenan was a perfect gentleman. Help me find the horseradish,” she said as she opened the pantry door.
Joining her, Jack spared five seconds to remember what he could of a particularly debauched forty-eight hours in Munich with Keenan. Highlights included a strip club and waking up in an apartment with a woman who spoke not a lick of English, but apparently Keenan had taken Jack’s warning to heart and stayed away from Rose. “Good,” he said, relieved.
“I’m here,” Rose’s voice caroled from the end of the hallway.
Jack peered over Grannie’s shorter head, catching Rose in the act of pushing her sunglasses up on her forehead. His sister wore a floral sundress, a tiny sweater that showed off more than it covered, and a pair of strappy sandals. “What are you all dressed up for?” he asked, suspicious. Of course Keenan had seen her in Turkey, but jet-lagged and tired and worn out from hauling ass all over a country roughly the size of Texas, not sweet and fresh and pretty.
“I’m dressed up for spring, and a sunny Sunday afternoon, and dinner with you and Grannie,” Rose said as she walked down the hall. She surveyed the table and the roast, covered in tin foil and resting on the carving block, then reached into the pantry and produced the horseradish. “Looking for this?”
“Thank you, dear.”
A knock at the front door. All three of them turned to look down the hallway, Rose peering over Grannie’s head, Jack looking over Rose’s. Keenan stood on the porch, wearing a pair of khakis, a button-down shirt, and a blazer. His eyes widened slightly, then he waved.
“Come in,” Grannie called. “Rose, go let him in.”
“I’ll go,” Jack said.
“We should both go,” Rose said. “Jack, we need—”
“I’ll go,” Jack said firmly. “You sit over there, behind the table or something. Here. Put on Grannie’s apron.”
“What?” Rose said.
“Someone let that poor man in this instant,” Grannie said.
That poor man had the worst reputation on the team, and he was standing on Grannie’s front porch, carrying flowers and a bottle of wine, dressed like he was going on a date. Jack strode down the hall, tripped over one of Grannie’s rag rugs, and caught himself just before he pitched through the screen into Keenan’s arms.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“Hello to you, too,” Keenan said.
“What the hell?” Jack said, mostly to cover his embarrassment at tripping over a damn rug. He hauled the door open.
Keenan stepped inside, then looked at the offerings in his hands. “What?”