Risking the Vine (Romancing the Vine Book 1) (8 page)

Chapter 6

The second Luke checked in with his office, agitation replaced the sensual tug that had erupted when he kissed Jac. Too damn bad he couldn’t take a step back in time and rethink calling his admin assistant for an update.

The news was all bad. The nursing staff took offense over the slow resolution on the grievance with Dr. Dipshit, the intern who’d crossed the imaginary line they’d drawn on the linoleum. Plus the brand-spanking new medical center comptroller had called three times, each time slightly more urgent in her demand for Luke to return her phone calls.

The bean counter had only started three weeks ago and had spent time poring over financial statements like nobody’s business. Apparently she’d found some discrepancies in the books and wanted to discuss them. A quick call to her had confirmed Luke’s growing impression the woman had exaggerated her skill level on her application.

Once he’d listened to her brief but terse demand for his attention, Luke issued an order of his own—she needed to get her facts and suspicions together and they’d meet the instant he returned. After telling her to schedule an appointment, he disconnected the call and dropped his phone to the desk.

He cracked his neck from side to side in hopes of easing the residual tension left by the demands of his job. He loved what he did, but it had become a 24/7 proposition he hadn’t been prepared for. What made it even more wearing, he’d found something . . . someone, who’d created a welcome distraction.

Staring blankly at the oatmeal colored coverlet on the bed, it wasn’t difficult to imagine Jac nestled among the rich brown pillows strewn across it. His body tensed just thinking about having her under him, being inside her.

He blew out a breath. If he continued this line of thought, her close proximity for the rest of the afternoon would be sweet torture. No doubt he would have to start visualizing spreadsheets and board reports to keep his hard-to-tame reaction to her from becoming painfully obvious. His laugh was short and bitter as he finally left to meet her at the cask room.

When he slipped in beside her, Jac’s glance was warm and relieved.

“I wasn’t sure you’d make it on time. Marcus is about to start explaining what we’re doing. Trouble at the office?” she whispered.

“Just like any other day. It will keep until I get back. Did I miss anything important?” he asked.

“No.” Her honey amber hair danced on her shoulders as she shook her head.

Luke glanced around the cavernous space, barely containing the impressed whistle about to leak from his lips. Walking through the door, he’d noticed how the storage facility was built into a hillside. The humidity was constant in caves like this, making them ideal for aging wine. The room seemed endless, stretching away from him, and angling slightly downhill. An intricate series of risers held at least a hundred oak wine barrels.

From where he stood, he could see the way the platforms were constructed to keep everything level. Exposed brick support arches broke the rounded line of the roof of the cave. Pendant lights and wall sconces provided the only illumination.

In the dim light, the deteriorating condition of the whitewash paint on the walls and ceilings became more obvious. This was the project they’d work on next.

Marcus’ instructions caught his attention. “We aren’t going to do the ceiling today. We’re leaving that to the guys who own scaffolding and precision painting equipment. All we’ll focus on is the area behind the barrels. You’ll have about three feet of space to work in, so the conditions aren’t optimal.”

He smiled at the scattered groans. “I know, a colossal understatement. Bumping into, or jarring the barrels in any way is bad. Getting paint on one could affect the flavor and could be catastrophically bad. Knocking one off a stand is grounds for immediate dismissal from the program.”

FIG snorted. “What the—”

Marcus raised his hand to stay FIG’s protest. “Just kidding. But please be careful around the casks. The balance is fragile and unintentional stirring of the contents can change the fermentation schedule.”

Jac held up a finger. “I assume you’re providing coveralls or something to protect our clothing.”

Sweeping his arm to the left, Marcus indicated a row of supply carts Luke hadn’t noticed. “Everything you need is over there. You’ll see there’s tape on the floor designating where your team is painting. The right side tiers of barrels are set a bit farther away from the wall so there is a miniscule amount of more room to work. We took space limitations into account when we assigned spots.”

Steve’s chuckle was harsh as he thumped FIG’s gut. “So, basically you’re saying the heavyweights should look for their area on the right.”

Marcus kept his expression stoic. “All I’m saying is like any good team leader, we tried to accommodate so the task at hand is easier to accomplish. It’s a practice you should get in the habit of considering. Each team member will have a set of skills and strengths to bring to the project. You have to identify and use their talents and abilities in the best way possible.”

Jac nudged his arm. “I’m impressed by how Jules and Marcus always manage to spin any negatives into a teaching opportunity,” she whispered.

Luke leaned down, putting his mouth next to her ear. “It’s a trick we should probably remember.” A hint of cinnamon and cloves drifted from her hair, the scent an intoxicating perfume.

“This is not just a slap-some-color on the wall exercise. The walls are rough and every inch needs to be coated with the whitewash. It might take a little creativity on your part. You have until half past four to finish painting and clean up any mess you make. I’ll be around if you need any help.” Marcus snapped his fingers. “Go on, what are you waiting for? Walls ain’t gonna paint themselves.” His laugh boomed off the rounded ceiling, echoing the length of the room.

Luke followed Jac to the supply cart labeled with their names. She sorted through the contents, bending at the waist to check out the lower shelf. Breath froze in his throat at the sight of her rocking ass outlined in tight denim. He swallowed hard, hoping to curb the urge to sweep his hand over her backside.

Jac grabbed the paint-splattered coveralls, handing him a pair. Warmth flared in his cheeks when she caught him staring at her ass. She flushed a becoming shade of pink and shifted, as if self-conscious.

He accepted the heavy cotton painters’ uniform from her. “Sorry. The view was too awesome not to appreciate.”

The way she pressed her lips together, he was certain she meant to contain a smile, instead of showing anger. “You are incorrigible. We better get busy or we’ll never finish.”

“Right.” Luke toed off his tennis shoes. After shaking out the protective covering, he held the outfit against his body. “Um . . . maybe we could switch.”

Jac had already shoved her legs into hers. She glanced up. “Oh. I didn’t realize they were different sizes. I’m swimming in mine, so they might be yours.”

The idea of Jac wearing his clothes nearly made his eyes cross. Cursing his damned vivid imagination, his mind conjured a vision of her in his white Oxford shirt and nothing else. Hair tousled, a sleep-deprived, sated glow on her face.

Thank heavens he still held the coveralls against his body. Hopefully it hid his solid erection. Watching her strip hers off didn’t help.
The square of the hypotenuse
. . . he began reciting the Pythagorean Theorem.

Jac swapped her pair for the ones he held on to for dear life. Bunching the material at his waist, he released a pent-up breath as the lusty grip on his body eased a little . . .
is equal to the sum . . .
Ah, much better
.

After Jac pulled on the protective covering, she scanned the taped off portions of the floor. Grasping the handle on the cart, she pushed it toward their assigned spot. With a sheepish grin he did his best to hide, Luke pulled on the larger coveralls and quickly zipped up. Although he had the urge to palm the front of his pants to relocate his woody to a less obvious position, he feared someone else catching him in the act. Instead, he wiggled his hips as discreetly as possible to adjust the fit of his jeans, giving himself precious extra seconds before following her.

The teams around them took their places, and work began in earnest.

Across from their section, insurance man DIG, who was the thinnest of all of the four of them, squeezed his frame behind the barrels. “This is going to suck big time. There’s no room to maneuver,” he complained loudly.

“Well, I sure as hell ain’t going to fit. Shut up and let’s get busy.” FIG’s voice resonated against the ceiling, sounding as if he were standing next to Luke, instead of across the wide room.

In the corner, Marcus cleared his throat and scowled toward the insurance dudes. “That’s not how we build a team, Jeff.”

“Glad I’m not partnered with them,” Jac murmured against his ear, her soft breath tickling.

Of the square of the other two sides
. Jesus, it was a good thing there were going to be barrels between them. Luke knew as sure as the sun would rise he wasn’t going to be able to keep his hands to himself.

Jac laid one hand on the top of a cask and her foot on the platform it rested on. “Can you help me?” she asked.

Moving behind her, he gripped her waist, steadying her as she boosted herself upward. “What are you doing?”

“Recon.” Laughter tinged her tone. “I want to figure out our best options before we start. Might as well try to be as smart about the exercise as possible.”

“Spoken like a world-class leader.” Luke dug his fingers into the sleek muscles of her hips and resorted to reciting the infinite numbers associated with pi.

Jac glanced over her shoulder. “I think I have this figured out. Let me down.”

Stepping back, Luke complied, but in the process, Jac’s backside slid against his groin. He sucked in a sharp breath.

She didn’t notice, or at least pretended not to notice, and moved toward the cart with a graceful sway of her hips. Squatting next to it, she pawed her way through the contents of the shelf.

“I knew I saw this here.” She tugged out a folded sheet of canvas. Catching two of the corners, she snapped it open. “I think what will work best is if we split the wall horizontally. I’ll fit behind the platform, so I’ll take the bottom half. You can work on the top.”

Luke eyed their section, evaluating Jac’s suggestion. “It will work if we have the right tools. Is there an extendable roller? One capable of reaching the ceiling?”

The drop cloth fell to the floor when she released it to pluck another tool from the cart. A series of clicks sounded as Jac pressed tiny buttons on a short rod. With each click, she pulled the end further out, until it extended to a full five feet.

A cocky grin on her lips, she screwed the roller handle to one end. Five seconds later she’d slipped a fuzzy roller cover into place and handed the entire contraption to him. “Here you go.” Bending, she picked up the cloth and spread it over the casks in their section.

“What’s up with the cloth?” he asked.

“Did you not hear Marcus say getting paint on the barrels was grounds for dismissal? I’m just trying to make sure I get to stay until the end.”

“Ah. You really know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

She chose another frame from the cart and prepared it as she spoke. “I enjoy painting. It’s like mowing the lawn, or ironing a shirt. You can see your progress as you work. It’s satisfying. My friends know I like it, so I’m always invited to help them whenever they’re redecorating. Here.” She handed him the paint bucket.

Setting two trays on another drop cloth, she motioned for him to pour.

Luke pried the paint lid off as Jac continued to prep their area. Getting down on all fours, she peered under the platform. With deft movements, she slid her roller and a roll of masking tape under the stand. The end of the brush she shoved through clacked woodenly against the opposite wall.

Luke straightened from pouring the paint. With his toe, he nudged one of the pans in her direction. She grasped it, her finger plunging into the white paint. Chuckling, she wiped it off on the front of her coveralls. With a satisfied grunt, she gently manipulated the paint tray under the stand of casks. She stood and dusted her hands on the back of her painter’s overalls.

“Let’s roll,” she said with a little snort of amusement.

Not waiting for his nod, she squeezed between a break in the platforms. Her head disappeared from view as she sat down. Over the top of the barrels, Luke watched as she squirmed to get comfortable, picked up the masking tape, and began taping off edges.

She tipped her head back to look at him, exposing the long column of her neck.
A damn good thing we’re separated by the wine barrels
.

“Luke, get busy,” she chided, saturating her brush in white paint. She drew a bold horizontal line halfway up the wall. “You paint everything above, I’ll do the lower half. And don’t you dare drip on me.”

A mock salute later, Luke soaked his roller in paint and started on the wall above the barrels. They worked silently, quickly, and cohesively as a team. Around them, some teams did the same, while others laughed and joked. The insurance guys took turns painting dirty words and pictures on the walls, washing over them with the paint, hiding their childishness.

Luke found the mindless motion of stroking the roller over the wall soothing. His brain completely disengaged from the clusterfuck going on at the medical center between the nurses and Dr. Dipshit. The idea of any problems the accountant might uncover faded into the background. The only things worth his consideration right now were the continuous motion of his paintbrush, and the occasional blast of Jac’s tangy perfume over the paint fumes.

Jac sang quietly while she worked, her soft, rich alto invading his brain. Luke caught himself humming along as he worked.