Thunk.

Luke peeled his eyes open, glancing blearily up at the ceiling as his vision swam. It wasn’t often that he got hammered drunk anymore, but after pizza with Brady and Julian—and their immediate departure afterward—Luke had settled in with Abita for himself and dog treats for Sassy. One beer had turned into two and two into three . . .

Thunk.

Sassy, masculine heavyweight that he was, let out a high-pitched whine and dropped his heavy paws onto Luke’s gut. “Aw, fu—” Luke rolled to his side on the floor, his apparent bed of choice last night, and clutched his stomach.

Thunk.

The door. Someone was knocking at the door.

Another cry, this one sounding eerily similar to a canary’s. Sassy scrambled to his paws, using Luke’s legs as a launching pad as he made a straight shot to the front door.

The dog was going to be the death of him. Finish what Trinket had started.

Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk!

“All right, all right!” Who the hell even came knocking this early in the morning anyway? One glance at the clock on the wall showed that it was eleven. On a Sunday. All right, maybe he’d slept longer than he’d intended.

Luke grappled with his cane, which he found under the sofa, and came to a slow, creaky stand on his feet. Scrubbing a hand along his unshaven jawline, he made his way to the front door. Whoever was there was in for a lovely surprise when they caught a glimpse of—

He froze at the unexpected sight of Blondie. Maybe it should have been expected, considering that he’d hired her son to be his temporary dog walker. Still, the visceral image of Anna Bryce on his doorstep left Luke feeling awkwardly . . . awkward.

Hell. Even his thoughts didn’t make much sense this morning.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice emerging as a husky rasp.

“Dog walking.” She brushed past him, managing to turn her body to the side to avoid any accidental touching. “Julian’s still asleep, so you get me today.”

So you get me today.

A better man wouldn’t take those words and turn them into a sexual innuendo.

Luke wasn’t a better man and he let his mind take him there, proving once and for all that being hung over was just as dangerous as being drunk. If he were sober, he wouldn’t be thinking about loosening her ponytail and letting the blonde silk strands trail over his chest, of sliding down the zipper of her sweater to see what she might be hiding beneath.

He shifted uncomfortably, bringing the cane in front of his hips to hide his morning wood. He wasn’t supposed to be getting it up for Anna Bryce, not when she was seeking out Mr. Right.

Luke wasn’t anyone’s Mr. Right.

What the hell was wrong with him this morning?

“I didn’t hire you,” Luke muttered.

Anna was already reaching for the leash off the entryway table when she said, “You hired Julian. We’re a joint package.”

“Lucky me.”

At his dry tone, she sent him a glare. “In case you’re wondering, it’s not like I want to be walking your dog this morning.”

Sassy perked up at W-A-L-K, promptly trotting over and shoving his snout into Anna’s chest. Luke couldn’t help but think of all the men who would kill to be where his dog had his head right now.

Not me, though.

He coughed into his hand to hide his unease. “If you don’t want to be here, then why are you?”

“La Parisienne is welcoming a major film costume crew in two hours. They’re flying out from L.A., and . . .” She drew in a deep breath and he noticed the tired strain in her gaze. “There’s so much to do. Shaelyn was supposed to be there to help, but her grandmother isn’t feeling well and I just—” Her shoulders slumped, just a little, and she stared resolutely down at Sassy’s leash. “Depending on what time the crew leaves today, I’ll try to get Julian down here. If not, I’ll swing by on my way home to do the honors.”

Damn, but he hated seeing her like this. Worn down, exhausted. It was a reminder that Anna Bryce held the weight of the world on her shoulders every day of the week, every week of the year. And she’d been doing so since the day Julian was born.

Before he even realized what he was doing, he heard himself say, “What can I do to help?”

“What?” The shock that registered on her face had Luke rubbing the back of his neck.

“Help,” he muttered in a low, embarrassed voice, “it’s that thing people do when someone needs a hand with something.”

“I know what help is; I just don’t understand why you’re willing to offer it.”

Neither did he. But now that he’d opened his mouth, it was too late to turn back. Luke was many things, but he’d never been wishy-washy. If he said something, he meant it. If he did something, he refused to regret it. If he offered a beautiful woman help . . . he didn’t pretend that he hadn’t done so.

“You’re walking my dog,” he said gruffly. “It’s the least I can do.”

She cast him a wary glance, studying him for what felt like an eternity before she snapped the length of the lead against her leg in thought. “Shaelyn was supposed to pick up some food for the crew while I arranged the store. Think you can handle that?”

“Not that I wouldn’t rather be organizing lingerie, but . . .” He trailed off, waiting to see if his teasing would bring a smile to her face. Although the exhaustion in her blue eyes lightened somewhat, her mouth remained a firm line of tension. “Yes, Blondie, I’m fully capable of grabbing food for the Hollywood hotshots.”

Her gaze dropped to his cane and damn him if he didn’t try to stand a little taller under the weight of her stare.

“I have arms, Anna,” he said quietly, hating the way she’d unintentionally made him feel like less than a man. “Two of them. I can handle bringing some snacks to your store from the damn local grocery.”

But this was Anna, and of course she would surprise him. “I’m not worried about your arms. You have great arms.”

Luke’s mouth hitched up. “A compliment. Excuse me while I go mark down this momentous day.”

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“I’ll try not to, but if you keep up with the kind words, I’m gonna have trouble fitting through that front door.”

Her voice turned teasing. “And then who will bring food for the Hollywood hotshots?”

“Exactly.”

They stared at each other and Luke could have sworn some level of understanding passed between them. He didn’t pretend to know what it entailed, but whatever it was, it made him feel . . . not as cold. Which he supposed said something, because he’d been feeling different degrees of frozen for thirteen years now.

Maybe a friendship with Anna Bryce was a good thing for him. Except for random, rogue thoughts of them hooking up, he liked her company. He liked her.

“So, game plan,” he prompted, “what’s our timeline?”

“I’ll walk Sassy.” Hearing his name, Sassy the Dane renewed his inappropriate snout-thrusting. “You get a head start on going to the market. We’ll meet at the boutique in . . .” She checked her watch, tilting her head to the side. “An hour? Will that work?”

Luke would ensure that it did. He’d handled covert missions all over the world—he sure as hell could handle a grocery run. Even if he couldn’t run, and even if he figured he’d be cabbing it from the store to La Parisienne. The mere idea of his hip giving out in front of Blondie and her brethren of Hollywood folk left him reeling with slight panic.

“It’ll work.” Leaning down, he grabbed his keys off the entryway table and jiggled them. “I’ve got to shower real fast, make myself look half-human.”

Her nose crinkled. “You do smell a bit . . .”

“Like booze?” Luke ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “Sassy and I had an eventful night of beer and dog treats. Anyway, take the keys and lock up behind you. I can grab them from you later.”

“After you shower.”

Luke cocked his head. “Yeah. Unless you’d rather me show up like this.” He gestured to his second-day old clothes.

“No! No, a shower will work.” She hooked the leash to Sassy’s collar and jerked on the Dane for him to follow. “See you in an hour!”

The sound of the door slamming shut behind her snapped Luke back to reality. He needed a shower. And, hell, he thought as he adjusted his sweats with one hand, he needed to eviscerate the interested look in Anna’s gaze from his mind before his shower turned into something else altogether.

The thought of a naked Luke O’Connor, standing in a steaming hot shower, stayed with Anna throughout Sassy’s walk and her trek to the boutique. It stayed with her as she rearranged the front of the store and put out Shaelyn’s new collection.

Clearly, the visual wasn’t going anywhere.

“You are so in trouble,” Anna muttered to herself as she drew a lacy baby-doll over a mannequin’s head.

She had to get her mind in the game before the costume manager arrived in an hour. In the last few months, La Parisienne had attracted a lot of national attention, but if they were able to secure this deal, the boutique’s high-quality status would really be cemented.

Thick of the Woods was the most popular TV show on the air right now. Just last year, the high fantasy series had swept the Emmy’s—and had also won the award for best costume of the year. Thick of the Woods was the next step for Anna’s boutique, a boutique she had invested every bit of herself in for more than a decade.

She’d bought it when it was nothing more than a cheesy French Quarter shop that sold “I Got Drunk on Bourbon Street Last Night” T-shirts on the sidewalk and alligator heads by the register. The lingerie had been of cheap quality and their only clientele were tourists who wanted to “show off the goods” when they stood on the balconies and threw Mardi Gras beads down into the street below.

One name change, an overhaul of the interior, and many loans later, La Parisienne had finally come into its own. She needed this Hollywood deal, and she couldn’t afford any distractions.

Not today, and certainly not one involving fantasies of a hot-as-hell guy taking a shower.

The sound of the glass doors swinging open drew Anna’s attention from the mannequin to the proud man struggling to carry multiple grocery bags and two bottles of champagne with only one hand.

Luke O’Connor would never admit to needing help, and it was for that reason alone that Anna dropped the garter belt she’d been holding and swiftly moved toward the front. “Let me get that,” she said, plucking the champagne bottles out of his hand.

“I’m good.”

He didn’t sound good, and from the tension bracketing his mouth, he didn’t look that great either. Sexy, though. He still looked very sexy.

“Did you walk here?” She’d hoped he would have hailed a cab. It would have been the smart thing to do—the un-stubborn thing to do—but that was very obviously Luke’s calling card. Gruff. Proud. Stubborn. A modern-day Mr. Darcy at his very worst.

“Thought I could use the fresh air,” was all he said as he set the plastic bags on the closest display table. “Where can all this go?”

Clearly, he wasn’t interested in talking about his injury. Stepping up next to him, Anna used a finger to open one of the bags. Inside were three boxes of little crackers and an assortment of cheeses. Grapes and other fruit were in clear baggies. Absolute gratitude slid through her. “Let me write you a check,” she murmured, unhooking her finger from the bag’s handle.

Just as she turned to go, a strong hand wrapped around her forearm. She stared hard at his tanned fingers against the pale pink of her blouse, then lifted her gaze to his rugged face.

“Not necessary,” he grunted, his green eyes flitting down to where he touched her. “I’m not worried about it.”

Anna hated owing people, perhaps because of how long it had taken her to pay off the boutique’s loans. The fact that she’d often had to take “charity” donations from her parent’s church while raising Julian hadn’t made her any more enamored with the concept of accepting help from anyone.

“It’s a lot of money,” she said softly. “Just let me pay you back.”

Seconds passed where he didn’t say anything, just continued to hold her arm. She had the strangest sensation that he was fighting some inner war within himself. Perhaps . . . did she dare hope that it was over her?

Anna swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat to whisper, “Luke?”

“I’ll add it to your tab.”

“What tab?”

His fingers slid from her arm, and she instantly regretted losing contact. “It’s a running tab.” He tapped his forehead, then offered her a slow grin. “I’ll let you know when payday comes around.”

Anna had a sneaking suspicion that “payday” was synonymous with “never.”

The chiming of the St. Louis Cathedral bells down the street cut off any other argument she might have put up. Time was running out. “Crap, crap, crap,” she muttered with a hint of panic, “they’ll be here in an hour.”

This time when Luke took her arm, he gently pulled her toward him. Large, masculine hands cupped her elbows, his cane resting against the flat plane of his stomach. He dipped his chin; met her gaze head on. “What can I do for you?”

“The appetizers—can you put them out on that table over there?”

He glanced over his shoulder toward the high-topped table Anna kept in storage for events such as this. “Anything else?”

His hands were warm on her elbows and Anna felt the absurd desire to curl up into his chest. No, not his chest, precisely. Any male chest would do.

She bit her lip. “There’s one last table that needs to be pulled out of the back room, but I can do without it.”

“Where is it in the back room?”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Did it really matter if the champagne flutes went on the same table as the food? No big deal. “We’re good.”

“Anna.” His tone brooked no room for argument. “Less time arguing with me, and we’ll have more time to get everything set up properly.”

Did he have to be rational about this? “I don’t want your hip to . . .”

“There’s a reason they call it hip-pinning, Blondie. Trust me when I say that the government shelled out a lot for it.” He dropped his hands back to his sides. “Let’s see how it holds up, yeah?”

She met his green gaze. If there had been any hint of unease there, she would have put her foot down and refused. Instead, he seemed determined to help her, no matter the cost.

“I’ll help bring it out,” she told him, conceding under his no-nonsense attitude. “It’s not heavy, just a bit awkward to hold for one person.”

With a short nod, he looped the grocery bags over his wrists and got to work, leaving Anna no choice but to do the same.

For the next thirty minutes, they didn’t speak aside from a few “put this here” or “no, that looks horrible” issued comments. By the time one p.m. rolled around, La Parisienne looked as close to perfection as it would ever get in such a short amount of time.

Four mannequins were decked out in Shaelyn’s latest designs, two with silk camisoles and panty numbers that had been paired with matching silk robes. The other two mannequins wore more risqué attire, complete with garters, high-hipped thongs, and brassieres with hard lines and a very futuristic feel.

All had been created after Thick of the Woods had reached out to Anna about a possible partnership. Three display tables showcased other options, everything from feminine baby-dolls to gossamer robes to variously styled corsets.

Anna shook out the nervousness with a wiggling of her fingers. It was a tactic she’d adopted sometime around the year La Parisienne had finally become hers.

“Have to say,” said Luke as he approached her from the backroom, “never thought I’d manhandle so much lingerie without a single woman actually in it.”

Anna offered him a sly smile. “It loses its charm after a while. I actually can’t remember the last time I ordered anything this extravagant for myself.” She reached out to finger the soft Dutch lace of a stocking. “By the end of the day, you won’t even realize you’re surrounded by panties and bras.”

Luke chuckled softly. “I somehow doubt that.”

She turned to thank him, mouth opening to profess just how much she appreciated him spending his Sunday helping her, when the front door swung open and a group of four people swarmed in.

Her stomach dropped and her hands turned clammy.

Oh, God, they were here.