kitchen without comment.
Lucas flipped on a light, deposited the kit on the counter and ran the water. “Take off your stockings.”
“We only met ten minutes ago.”
He laughed. “We need to clean those cuts well or you’ll wind up wishing you did. Trust me.”
“Another lesson learned in law-enforcement training?”
“From my mother.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me? I’m sure she tended lots of boo-boos while you were growing up.”
His expression morphed into a full-fledged smile that softened his features and brightened his eyes and coaxed a reaction low in her belly. A crazy sort of swooping feeling that distracted her from her aches and pains.
“I’d be lying if I said no. Now lose the stockings.”
“I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.” She made a little humph sound and couldn’t resist giving him a show while slithering her hose out from underneath her dress.
She could feel his gaze on her when she bent over to unfasten her sandals and wondered if he noticed the way her neckline drooped, if he watched her cleavage plump forward. Did he think she was taunting him? Or flirting?
She wasn’t entirely sure which it was herself.
There was something about this man that made Bree want a reaction. Probably nothing more than a need to flex her control muscles after the shock of seeing Jude again.
And she got one.
Lucas grabbed her, strong hands circling her waist. He lifted her up to a seat on the counter and without preamble he brushed aside her torn dress and got to business.
She braced back on her arms, feeling a bit breathless as he cleansed her skin with soapy gauze.
“That feel okay?” he asked.
“I’ll live.”
“So why’d you drop by tonight?”
Questions were inevitable, but she had to give Lucas credit for not starting the interrogation the minute he found her.
“I noticed someone following me while I was walking home from work. It was late, and I’m not exactly dressed to defend myself. I decided to beat a hasty retreat.”
He peered at her from beneath the silky fringe of thick lashes. “So you scaled a wall in a formal gown and high heels? I’m impressed. What kind of work do you do?”
This was another question she’d expected, and Bree wondered what type of work he thought she did.
Evening formal wear. Three in the morning. Dark street. Hmm.
“I work at Toujacques. I’m a VIP hostess.”
“Do you always walk home from work?”
“Not when it’s so late. I normally drive.”
“But not tonight.”
“Not tonight.” She knew he was waiting for some further explanation, but she wasn’t volunteering any. He didn’t need to know that her brother had flown home for the weekend from college and had borrowed her Jeep.
But to her surprise, Lucas didn’t push. He just tossed the filthy gauze in the trash and lathered a new batch with soap under running water. He started working on her other knee and went back to his original line of questioning.
“Did this someone threaten you?” he asked.
“Didn’t give him a chance. Didn’t want to lead him to my front door, either, so here I am.”
Bree expected a lecture on the perils of walking through the French Quarter alone at night. Men like Lucas were invariably throwbacks from the feudal days when the rich and powerful protected the weak and defenseless.
But instead of a warning, Bree got strong hands on her thighs. It was a casual touch—if any stranger’s touch in such an intimate place could really be casual. Perfunctory might be a better description. The thing was…his touch didn’t feel perfunctory.
Even though he only tended her cut, she felt him everywhere. Heat melted through her, and she was so very aware of her parted thighs. Probably because she didn’t wear panties beneath her panty hose, which put this man’s strong hands in very close proximity to some oh-so-bare private places.
“So are you enjoying your stay in New Orleans?” she asked to distract herself from the feel of his hands and to end the discussion about why she’d dropped in for a visit.
“I always enjoy coming home.”
“Josie told me she bought this place from your parents after they retired to Florida. You were reared here?”
“Court du Chaud homegrown.”
Ironic that he’d take off for California when she and Tally had always thought the court would be the best place in the world to live. “Is that why you’re hanging around while Josie and Max are on their honeymoon? Visiting friends?”
“One of the reasons. My parents stayed after the wedding, too. I wanted to see them off. And my sister has me doing some work around here.”
“What sort of work?”
“Cleaning out the attic. My mom’s a pack rat. She stashed memorabilia the whole time we were growing up, then left it all when she moved. Josie’s afraid the fire marshal will condemn the place. Now that she and Max are married, they’re making some decisions about living arrangements, and she wants to make sure I take everything I want in case they decide to sell the place.”
“Couldn’t live without your baseball trophies, hmm?”
“Or the sculpture of Cupid I made Mom in third grade.”
“It’s still around?”
“Give or take a few limbs.”
“I can see why you’d want to save it.”
“Absolutely. Some superglue and I’ve got the perfect Mother’s Day gift.”
Bree smiled. Oddly she had no trouble imagining Lucas as a young boy making sculptures for his mother. Maybe the way he tended her injuries with such a gentle touch made such a caring gesture seem to fit this strong man.
“So tell me, are you the twin I’ve heard singing?” After tossing the gauze into the trash, Lucas fished through the first-aid kit.
“’Fraid I’m going to disappoint you again. My sister’s the singer in the family.”
“Just you and her?”
“Got a musically inclined brother, too. I’m the untalented one of our illustrious bunch. No treasure hunts. No musical talent. The younger twin, wouldn’t you know? Something to do with the gene
