“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Jackson grinned and slid into the driver’s seat. At six foot four, fitting his large frame behind the wheel wasn’t an easy job. “Tell old man Logan his deck is in good hands. Or what’s left of it, anyhow. I’m on my way.”
One of the beautiful things about living in a small town was that it was just that, and the trip out to Rural Route Four took less than ten minutes. Jackson pulled up to the tasteful little bungalow and got out, inhaling the fresh summer air as he sauntered to the front of the house to ring the bell.
The strains of some old R&B song were clear from the porch, even through the firmly closed front door. Jackson rang the bell anyway, but after the second try, he gave up. Clearly, someone was home and having the Tuesday morning of a lifetime. He chuckled, picturing some hard-of-hearing old lady getting her Motown groove on inside the house. Far be it for him to interrupt a good time, he thought as he ambled around toward the backyard. All he needed to do was take a look at the damage outside, anyway. Five minutes, maybe ten, no problem.
“Huh,” Jackson murmured, realizing that the muffled music was decidedly clearer back here. He recognized the song blaring through the open windows as an oldie his sisters used to sing along with on the ancient radio in their bedroom. Right, yeah. Some song about being a natural woman. He whistled along as he approached the deck, most of which was thankfully still attached to the house.
“Well, at least it’s ground level.” He shrugged and examined what was left of the thing with a practiced eye. Although much of it was still intact, the tree had taken out the entire far row of railings and pickets, along with a good couple feet of floorboards, clipping what had once been a square into a rectangle with one hell of a rough edge.
The three stairs leading from the yard to what remained of the deck were still anchored in place, and Jackson mounted them easily even though the far side of the deck had sustained enough damage to make it a bad idea. But it was the only way he was going to get a good enough look at the point of impact; plus, if the boards ended up giving way, it wasn’t as if he’d fall more than a foot or two.
He was crouched down low to examine the missing boards and busted railing when the most horrific sound he’d ever heard filtered loudly through the screen door.
“Ouch.” Jackson winced, biting back a laugh as he realized that whoever was in the house was attempting to sing along to the music. It was absolutely wrong to eavesdrop on a client belting out oldies in the privacy of her own home, even if she was doing it with nothing but the rolling screen that accompanied her sliding glass door between them. The woman’s voice was an audio train wreck, and his curiosity jumped like a trout at daybreak. One peek wouldn’t hurt, would it?
As soon as he caught sight of the woman through the screen door, all bets for a quick look-see were off. The image of an old lady went up in smoke, replaced by a curvy, dark-haired woman in a skimpy bathrobe. Her eyes were shut tight, pretty face turned up to the living room ceiling as she wailed out the song with all her might. Common decency dictated he step back from the house and pretend he hadn’t seen her. He needed to walk away, and he needed to do it pronto.
Nope. Not happening. This woman was fucking beautiful. Even if she did sound like a bag full of pissed off kittens.
Jackson stood, mesmerized, as she moved in place to the slow beat of the music. Muscular calves tapered gracefully into slim ankles, nearly covered by a pair of fuzzy yellow socks. A handful of dark tendrils came loose from the knot on top of her head, perfectly framing her heart-shaped face. She stood in the middle of the living room, eyes squeezed shut to serenade God knows who, and propriety be damned, he couldn’t rip his eyes from her.
Every time she swayed to the sultry rhythm of the song, the belt on her bathrobe slipped lower over her hips, loosening it just enough to reveal the thin tank top beneath. The cotton stretched over her chest as she moved, and she crooned again to the climbing music.
“You make me feel, you make me feel, you make me feel like a natural womaaaaaaan!” With each breath, her breasts pressed against the fabric, clearly outlining the woman’s tight, shadowy nipples.
For a split second, all Jackson could think was oh, hell yes.
But then his decency kicked in, hard and fast. He averted his heated face, raising one hand to knock on the metal door frame of the screen. In that same instant, a blood curdling scream ripped through the air over the music, followed by a string of curse words that made Jackson wonder if he should cower in fear or be hugely impressed.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on!” Jackson hollered, holding his hands up. He opened his mouth to tell her who he was and why he was there, but before he could form the words, she snatched something up from the side table and flung it at him with freakish accuracy.
“Wait!”
Too late.