The Voodoo That You Do


Silent tension filled the truck cab as Luke drove the half-mile to the house and parked in the alley. There was no way to open a discussion of what they’d witnessed without bringing sex into the conversation.

Hell. The damn subject already loomed between them like a big, rock-hard elephant in the room. He shifted in his seat. Hell. He’d never been out of control like that just from touching a woman. If he didn’t know how inept they were, he’d think Mabel Ruth and the girls had cast a spell on him.

It had to be abstinence. Abstinence with a little chemistry thrown in. Okay, a lot of chemistry.

Jessie reached for the door handle. He cursed, quietly. The cab was too high. She’d lose her footing.

“Hang on. I’ll Wait til I come around.”

“No thanks.” She pushed open the door. “I’m tired of being treated like a backpack.”

He clamped fingers around her wrist. Her hair had started to dry and it formed little “C’s” around her head. She looked like an annoyed poodle.

“What’re you talking about?”

“The way you keep slinging me around like a sack of potatoes. I have perfectly good legs.”

“They’re good,” he agreed, “they’re just too short.”

She gaped at him and he thrust his fingers through his hair.

“That wasn’t a criticism. I don’t find you unattractive.” Obviously.

Color stained her cheeks.

“If you’re talking about what happened in the costume closet there were extenuating circumstances. Anybody’d be turned on in the middle of a live porn show.”

He studied the small battalion of freckles that marched across her nose. He wondered why they fascinated him. He’d never been a fan of freckles.

“I see you’ve got it all worked out.”

She nodded. “D’you think they knew we were hiding behind the stable?” He recalled faintly hearing Prendergast’s groans as the feel of Jessie’s sweet butt bumping against his groin blocked out the rest of his senses. His zipper tightened again. He swore silently.

“Not a chance.”