All of Me (17 page)

Her cheeks were flushed pink from the hot water of her shower, contrasting sharply with her otherwise creamy white complexion.
With that dramatic dark hair and her pale skin, she would have made a hell of a Goth girl if she’d wanted.

He expected her to duck into her bedroom for cover—Aimee would have under similar circumstances—but Jillian just stood there,
appraising him with her best prosecuting attorney gaze. He forgot every word that had been in his head just minutes earlier.

“Your mouth is hanging open,” she said coolly, rubbing her hair between the terry cloth fold of her towel.

“Um …” He grunted, unable to push anything resembling civilized conversation over his tongue.

“Is there something you wanted?”

You, I want you.

The thought raced through his mind and took him completely aback. “Um …”

“Yes?” She fluttered those dynamite lashes.

He cleared his throat.
Remember, you were going to lay down the law, tell her she had to hit the road.

She waited.

Dammit, he couldn’t help himself; his gaze dropped to where her towel was knotted just above her breasts. “Um …”

Droplets of water spattered the hardwood floor at her feet. His eyes tracked downward to her bare toes painted fire-engine
red. He’d never seen anything more erotic.

“Tuck?”

His gaze shot back to her face. “Huh?”

“You were trying to say something to me?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He nodded, trying to shake off the mental fog that had befallen him. “There’s only one way this arrangement
is going to work.”

“If you move out?” Jillian asked with a hopeful tone in her voice.

“You wish,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Well, neither am I. So if you want me gone, you better find that deed.”

“Believe me, I’m on it. But in the meantime, since you’re so determined to hang around where you’re not wanted—”

Jillian tossed her head. Wet strands of hair slapped lightly at her cheeks. “I’m determined to take possession of what’s mine.”

The hot look in Tuck’s eyes sent a shiver of ice straight down her spine. “That’s still in question.”

“So until it’s settled, we need to find a way to live together.” Her heart was pounding. She was trying so hard to look cool,
calm, and collected. She didn’t want him guessing just how much courage she’d had to summon to stay here rooted to the spot
in nothing but a beach towel when she wanted nothing more than to dart upstairs to the guest bedroom where she’d spent the
previous night.

“Agreed.”

Was it her imagination or did he sound as off center as she felt? “I could live upstairs; you take the downstairs.”

It was official. She’d lost her marbles. She should either leave or throw him out, but here she was proposing a live-in relationship.

He eyed her. “You sure?”

“We’re both adults. We can make this roommate thing work.”

“Roommates, huh?”

He smiled and she saw he had a cosmically cute dimple in his right cheek. She could see why he’d been christened the Magic
Man. There was something very compelling about that grin.

Mutt trotted over and sniffed at Tuck’s shoes. The traitor.

Tuck leaned down to scratch the dog behind the ears, and Mutt sighed like he was in heaven. He’d won over her dog.

She didn’t like that. “Let’s get the ground rules straight.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Smart-ass.”

“You started it.”

“I hate getting up early in the morning,” she said, ignoring his quip.

“That’s good, because I’m an early bird. We can avoid each other.”

“No bringing women back here. You want to make out, go to her place.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Okay, then no bringing guys back here. You want to make out, go to his place.”

“I’m not gay.”

She could tell that, but she hadn’t wanted to assume anything. “So you’re what? Celibate?”

“Something like that. But the same goes for you. No bringing guys over.”

“Agreed.”

A dark look crossed his face. Abruptly, he turned. “I gotta go. I just remembered I have another job.”

“After working on Sutter’s place all day?”

“Carpentry never sleeps.” He was shrugging into his coat, avoiding looking at her.

“What does that mean?”

“A man’s work is never done?”

“Okay, so I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Yeah.” He moved toward the door with purposeful strides, leaving her wondering exactly what she’d said to send him scurrying
for freedom.

B
Y
F
RIDAY
, the tension between Tuck and Jillian was so thick it would have given a chainsaw a run for its money.

She spent as much time as possible in the office, going through Sutter’s files and pending cases, trying to make order out
of chaos. It wasn’t easy in the midst of Tuck’s construction. She’d gotten the bulk of it tamed to manageable tasks, but she
hadn’t stumbled across the deed to the house on Enchantment Lane. Which was both a blessing and a curse.

Added to this, whenever she got home, Tuck would leave and come back long after she went to bed. He got up before she did,
and he was out the door before her feet hit the floor.

It was more difficult avoiding him during office hours, although as long as he was patching the roof, she only saw him when
he came down for lunch or to go to his truck for supplies. However, yesterday, he’d finished the roof and today he would move
on to repairing the office ceiling.

Jillian realized she simply couldn’t take it anymore. Not when she kept having fevered dreams about him. Not when she kept
entertaining inappropriate sexual thoughts about a man who was emotionally unavailable. Today, she’d tell him that he had
to go.

She walked into the office to find him on the ladder again, impressive butt on display as it was the first day. She tried
to ignore him, but it was like ignoring a persistent toothache.

Apparently he was trying to ignore her as well, because he didn’t say a word. Not even “good morning.” Neither did she.

The room was deadly quiet.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly. Jillian cleared her throat.

“I’m going up into the attic,” Tuck said. “Looks like Sutter’s got termite infestation, and they’re eating up the support
beams.”

“Thanks for the update but don’t feel obligated to keep me apprised of your comings and goings.”

“Just trying to be courteous,” he said tightly.

“No need.” She kept her gaze focused on her laptop even though she wasn’t seeing a word of the codicil she was drawing up
for Tom Red Deer’s will.

He left the room, his boots clomping loudly, letting her know she irritated the hell out of him. Well, it cut both ways. He
got on her nerves as much as she got on his.

T
UCK CLIMBED INTO THE ATTIC
, his thoughts in turmoil over Jillian. Living with the woman for the past several days had been tough. He’d never lived with
anyone other than Aimee, and it felt strange, unnatural.

He shone the flashlight through the attic and shook his head. It would take him forever to replace all the damaged timber.
After he assessed the damage and started to work on the water-damaged Sheetrock, he poked his head through the hole in the
ceiling and stared down at Jillian below.

Sitting there in her chair, attention honed on the computer screen, she looked the epitome of an accomplished businesswoman.
But he’d seen another side to her. Knew she wasn’t near as tough as she wanted everyone to think. Jillian Samuel’s had a soft
underbelly she struggled hard to hide. But Tuck wasn’t fooled.

“How ’bout some tunes?” he said after a long minute of watching her.

“Huh?” Jillian raised her head and met his eyes, but immediately her gaze skittered off his like striking marbles. He fully
understood her reluctance to make eye contact. He wasn’t exactly thrilled with the jolt of awareness that passed through him
every time their gazes met.

“Music,” he said.

“Music?” she echoed.

He nodded toward the radio perched on the top of the bookshelf behind her.

“Oh, okay.” She got up and turned on the radio. She played with the dial. Classical music poured from the speakers. She sat
back down.

“You gotta be kidding me.”

Jillian heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Something wrong?”

“You’re seriously going to listen to that?”

“Mozart. It’ll boost your IQ.”

“Maybe I don’t want my IQ boosted. Maybe I like being dumb.”

“Clearly. What would you like to hear?”

“Country and western.”

Jillian made gagging noises.

“What? You’re from Texas. Aren’t you required by law to like country and western?”

“Precisely why I don’t like country-and-western music. Force-fed Merle Haggard and George Jones and Dolly Parton as a kid.
Scarred me for life.”

“All right, then. I’ll settle for rock or pop or hip-hop. Anything but that mind-numbing Mozart.”

“I can’t listen to music with lyrics while I work. It messes with my concentration.”

“Okay, so forget the tunes.”

She snapped the radio off. “Go ahead, be culturally bereft. See if I care.”

Tuck watched her go back to her laptop, his gaze trailing over the gentle slope of her ass.

Tell her the real reason you don’t want to listen to Mozart. Tell her about all the times you took Aimee to the symphony.
How she loved classical music and the sound of it reminds you too much of her.

“Jillian, I …”

“Yes?” She looked at him expectantly.

“Nothing,” he mumbled. He didn’t even know her. He couldn’t tell her this private stuff.

She went back to her laptop.

Tuck tried to return to his work, but time and again, he found his eyes drawn to her. In spite of himself, he kept thinking
about the vision he’d had of her in the sweat lodge. The temptress. It was damned eerie and unsettling.

She got up and made her way over to Sutter’s filing cabinets. He couldn’t help admiring the way her hips swayed when she moved.

After riffling through the top drawer a moment, she bent lower, going for the bottom drawer. Tuck canted his head, appreciating
how the conservative gray wool skirt tightened over the curve of her ass.

Very nice.

He shifted for a better look.

His knee slipped off the support beam. He tried to right himself, but it was too late; his balance was compromised, and the
Sheetrock was weakened from water damage. Tuck heard the ceiling crack ominously beneath his weight at the same time he felt
it give away.

Next thing he knew, gravity had hold of him and it was all over.

T
uck fell through the hole in the attic, slamming onto Sutter’s office floor with a resounding
bang
.

Jillian let out a startled scream, sucked in a deep breath, and tasted Sheetrock dust. She spun around to find Tuck lying
on his back at her feet.

“Tuck, Tuck, are you okay?” She squatted beside him.

His eyes were closed and his breathing shallow. He moaned softly when she touched him.

“Tuck, look at me.”

He opened his eyes, peered up at her, and blinked.

Jillian raised her palm. “Tell me, how many fingers am I holding up?”

Groggily, he shook his head, grunted.

Oh dear, this wasn’t good. “Speak to me.”

He grinned up at her. “Hi.”

“Hi? That’s all you have to say? Hi?”

“You look worried. Why are you worried? You get the cutest little wrinkle line between your eyebrows when you frown.”

Jillian pressed the pad of her thumb between her eyes and stopped frowning. “Of course I look worried—you just came crashing
through the ceiling.”

“I did?”

“You don’t remember?”

He reached up to finger her hair.

“What are you doing?”

“You have such pretty hair,” he murmured. “Black like a raven’s wing.”

Alarm spread through her; his eyes looked glassy. Should she move him? Should she call an ambulance? Did they even have an
ambulance in Salvation? She was unprepared.

Jillian wrung her hands. She might be a killer in the courtroom, but when it came to medical stuff, she was useless. She fainted
at the sight of blood. Thank God he wasn’t bleeding.

She plucked his hand from her hair. “Tuck, try to concentrate. Do you know what day it is?”

“You’re a pretty temptress.”

“Temptress?”

“Ridley says you’re a jinx, but I don’t believe it.”

“Ridley? Who’s Ridley?”

“Evie’s husband and my best friend.”

“Ridley’s your brother-in-law?”

Tuck nodded. “That’s it.”

“Why does Ridley think I’m a jinx? He doesn’t even know me.”

“Shh.” Tuck placed an index finger to his lips. “It’s a secret.”

“What’s a secret?”

“You’re the vision.”

“Huh?”

“I know.” Tuck winked and his voice took on a suggestive tone.

Startled, Jillian pulled back. “Know what?”

He grinned. “What you look like naked.”

All at once, Jillian
felt
naked. Clearly the man was addled, and he had no idea what he was saying. Actually, neither did she. “You must have a concussion.
We need to get you to a doctor. Can you stand?”

“And lips. The color of raspberries. Beautiful, beautiful lips.”

“Tuck,” she said sharply. “Listen to me. You’ve got to concentrate. You fell through the ceiling and hit your head. We have
to get you to the doctor. Can you get to your feet?”

“Okay. Can do.” He smiled at her like someone who’d had one drink too many.

“Here.” She pulled his arm around her neck. “We’re just going to stand you up.”

“Hey,” he said.

“What now?”

“You smell pretty too.”

“Okay, I have pretty hair and lips, and I smell good too; we’ve established that,” she said. “Can we please move on?”

“Absolutely.” His jovialness scared her. He seemed far too happy under the circumstances.

“On the count of three. One, two, three …” She leveled him off the floor.