alone with Josh.
“Zesty Sesty,” he drawled. “Twice as beautiful and sexier than ever.”
Instantly, Sesty’s cheeks burned hot as a pancake griddle. The old words he used to tease her with. Zesty Sesty .
“You’re back in town,” she said, because she didn’t know what else to say.
“I am.”
“Wh-Wh-What . . .” Oh, for godsakes, spit it out. “What are you doing here?”
“Came home to recover after my accident. Maybe you heard about it?”
There was a note in his tone—part hopeful, part sad, part braggy, part lonely—that yanked at something inside her.
Of course she’d heard about it. The spectacular crash had been on TV and was the talk of the town for a good week. In fact, she’d watched horrified until they pulled him from the wreckage and he jumped to his feet, arms clasped over his head in a victory-over-death gesture that had made her mad. His dangerous antics had been the very thing that broke them up. She’d been unable to tolerate the fear that came with loving a daredevil.
For the first time, she noticed the fresh scar at the hollow of his throat. His injuries had been bad enough to require a tracheotomy? That conflicted with what she’d seen on TV and heard in media reports. Her stomach contracted and a sick feeling spread over her. What had happened?
“It’s not really an accident when you choose to drive a car at two hundred miles an hour,” she popped off, fear taking possession of her tongue, and saying something snarky when more than anything she wanted to wrap her arms around him and tell him how happy she was that he survived. “Death wish might be a better word.”
“Actually.” His grin ribbed her. “That’s two words.”
“It’s still foolhardy any way you slice it. Grown men speeding around a track trying to prove who has the most testosterone.”
“Ten years and you still can’t let it go, can you?”
The men on stage were calling to him, throwing out a hundred questions about NASCAR. Great. Just great. She was swiftly losing control. Which always happened when Josh Langtree was around.
She straightened. “I meant what are you doing here at our dress rehearsal?”
“Judge Blackthorne sent me.”
“Why would Judge Blackthorne send you to me?”
He lowered his eyelids. “Helping you is part of my community service commitment.”
“Community service?” She wet her lips. “What did you do?”
“Long story. The upshot is you’re stuck with me for forty hours. The judge said you’re in need of hands and feet.”
It took a couple of heartbeats for her to absorb this. Josh Langtree was not only back in town, but he was at her service? Just when she was in desperate need of a sexy bachelor. It seemed perfect, but it felt like a trap.
He held his palms out wide. “So here I am. Hands and feet. What can I do for you?”
She hesitated only a second and then blurted, “Strip off your shirt.”
Chapter Two
S TRIP OFF YOUR SHIRT.
If they had been all alone in the conference center, Sesty’s words would have sounded like Ravel’s Bolero to Josh’s ears and he would have popped the buttons off his shirt in a mad rush to get naked for her.
Under the circumstances, however . . .
He used his hand as a stop sign. “Oh no. I’m here to help tote and carry, not star in this little dog and pony show.”
“We’re short a bachelor. You’ve got community service to work out. Looks like you don’t have much of a choice. Or maybe I should call Judge Blackthorne.” Her grin made a clean threat. Not a tolerant grin; not a teasing grin; not even a pissed off grin, just taking a stand and meaning it.
Damn but she looked so damn sexy with those Queen-of-the-Nile cheekbones and lush full lips. Not overtly, like she was trying too hard, but an innate inner sexiness that she wasn’t even aware of. Girl-next-door stuff. On the strength of that grin, he had an urge to sell his home in Houston and move back to
“Zesty Sesty,” he drawled. “Twice as beautiful and sexier than ever.”
Instantly, Sesty’s cheeks burned hot as a pancake griddle. The old words he used to tease her with. Zesty Sesty .
“You’re back in town,” she said, because she didn’t know what else to say.
“I am.”
“Wh-Wh-What . . .” Oh, for godsakes, spit it out. “What are you doing here?”
“Came home to recover after my accident. Maybe you heard about it?”
There was a note in his tone—part hopeful, part sad, part braggy, part lonely—that yanked at something inside her.
Of course she’d heard about it. The spectacular crash had been on TV and was the talk of the town for a good week. In fact, she’d watched horrified until they pulled him from the wreckage and he jumped to his feet, arms clasped over his head in a victory-over-death gesture that had made her mad. His dangerous antics had been the very thing that broke them up. She’d been unable to tolerate the fear that came with loving a daredevil.
For the first time, she noticed the fresh scar at the hollow of his throat. His injuries had been bad enough to require a tracheotomy? That conflicted with what she’d seen on TV and heard in media reports. Her stomach contracted and a sick feeling spread over her. What had happened?
“It’s not really an accident when you choose to drive a car at two hundred miles an hour,” she popped off, fear taking possession of her tongue, and saying something snarky when more than anything she wanted to wrap her arms around him and tell him how happy she was that he survived. “Death wish might be a better word.”
“Actually.” His grin ribbed her. “That’s two words.”
“It’s still foolhardy any way you slice it. Grown men speeding around a track trying to prove who has the most testosterone.”
“Ten years and you still can’t let it go, can you?”
The men on stage were calling to him, throwing out a hundred questions about NASCAR. Great. Just great. She was swiftly losing control. Which always happened when Josh Langtree was around.
She straightened. “I meant what are you doing here at our dress rehearsal?”
“Judge Blackthorne sent me.”
“Why would Judge Blackthorne send you to me?”
He lowered his eyelids. “Helping you is part of my community service commitment.”
“Community service?” She wet her lips. “What did you do?”
“Long story. The upshot is you’re stuck with me for forty hours. The judge said you’re in need of hands and feet.”
It took a couple of heartbeats for her to absorb this. Josh Langtree was not only back in town, but he was at her service? Just when she was in desperate need of a sexy bachelor. It seemed perfect, but it felt like a trap.
He held his palms out wide. “So here I am. Hands and feet. What can I do for you?”
She hesitated only a second and then blurted, “Strip off your shirt.”
Chapter Two
S TRIP OFF YOUR SHIRT.
If they had been all alone in the conference center, Sesty’s words would have sounded like Ravel’s Bolero to Josh’s ears and he would have popped the buttons off his shirt in a mad rush to get naked for her.
Under the circumstances, however . . .
He used his hand as a stop sign. “Oh no. I’m here to help tote and carry, not star in this little dog and pony show.”
“We’re short a bachelor. You’ve got community service to work out. Looks like you don’t have much of a choice. Or maybe I should call Judge Blackthorne.” Her grin made a clean threat. Not a tolerant grin; not a teasing grin; not even a pissed off grin, just taking a stand and meaning it.
Damn but she looked so damn sexy with those Queen-of-the-Nile cheekbones and lush full lips. Not overtly, like she was trying too hard, but an innate inner sexiness that she wasn’t even aware of. Girl-next-door stuff. On the strength of that grin, he had an urge to sell his home in Houston and move back to
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