Bonus - We Mow Lawns - Magic of the Lost AU

[Edit May 28, 2025: Because of everything else that's...coming...I've decided to make this free for now. Enjoy. 😏]

Guess who's back with another AU! This one of a decidedly different and very NSFW nature!

Back in January when I was in Australia, I was driving around--being driven, actually--and we passed a black sign hung on someone's fence that said in white paint, "WE MOW LAWNS" with a phone number on it. Dunno about you, but like any good lesbian, I don't mow grass lawns because I believe in protecting the pollinators. (And because I don't have a lawn, but that's not the point.)

Point is, I thought that phrase belonged on a shirt and that shirt belonged to a couple of dykes with a lawn care business, and what better women than Touraine and Pruett? Whose lawn were they mowing? Well...let's just say the story wrote itself. Except for a few particular bits. I've just recently dusted the story off and finished those particular bits, so here it is, finally finished for you, almost 5,000 words of goodness.

As before, this is a mostly unedited bit of fun. However, I would appreciate your support if you're excited about the story. Your dollar (well, pound sterling) will go to my kettlebell fund, which will in turn lead to more muscles, which leads to more thirst traps, also for you. And if you really really enjoyed it, tell your friends--about the books and about the story. And about the thirst traps.

We Mow Lawns

Touraine didn’t make the best impression the first day on the job at the big Ancier house. Don’t get her wrong; that huge yard was immaculate. All that sterile grass clipped short, the weeds whacked, and the hedges shaped into things that definitely looked like…animals.

It was the owner’s fault. Usually was, with jobs like this. Lawns like this belonged to one type of person and one type only: rich men who got off on the power trip of making someone else do the work. In other words, assholes.

But assholes had money and money was what Touraine and Pruett needed. It was as good a job as any to make ends meet while they waited to hear back from this postdoc or that job application. Pruett was still thinking about quitting it all to run a petting zoo in the middle of nowhere. Until they figured it out, though, this was it. It was like those frat bro moving companies called “Two Meathead Men Move Furniture”—what was more natural than a couple of dykes mowing lawns?

It wasn’t even so bad, usually. The rich assholes stayed out of the way, if they were even home—Touraine was pretty sure half the yards they mowed were second or third houses, temporarily abandoned.

Still, abandoned or not, they always ran up to the door to give a courtesy knock to let the owners know they were finished. It was the best way to get tips—in cash. Most of them paid ahead of time on running accounts. Especially if, on the odd occasion, it was some old widow who called them “handsome boys” and got a kick out of a little sauciness.

So after they finished the Ancier job, they loaded the mowers and the tools into the truck and trudged up the long walk.

“How many more of these until we can afford a driving mower?” Touraine asked, mopping the back of her neck with a steaming, sweaty rag that had once been frozen solid with ice water.

“Whole point is to earn money, not blow it all away on a tool to work even more, dickhead.”

“We are literally too fucking old for this, Pruett. We’re not sixteen anymore.” To prove her point, she stretched and her back cracked from her hips all the way up her spine. “Jesus Christ on a bi—”

“Shut up.” Pruett snapped her knuckles sharply on the door, ignoring the brass doorknocker on the dark wood.

Touraine started the obligatory count under her breath. “Three, two, one—” She was already turning on her heel when the door opened. She reversed the motion immediately and plastered on a false grin.

“Hi!” she said cheerily. “We mowed your lawn!”

Pruett chimed in on cue. “And if you like the work we do, tell your friends!”

“And we’ll mow their lawn, too!”

Look, as far as gimmicks go, Touraine knew it wasn’t the greatest. At least Pruett had made it rhyme a bit. Touraine’s idea had gotten them to the innuendo and the t-shirts (hers of which she was now wearing, with the sleeves cut off and gaping holes at the arms that showed everything from her armpits to her waist).

And it wasn’t some rich asshole of a middle-aged man with an insecurity problem or an old woman enjoying the spice of her imagination. It wasn’t even the housemaid or butler or whoever those types of people kept around.

No, the person in the doorway was definitely the owner. Or the owner’s kid. She was young, maybe thirty, with blue-green eyes. Her blond hair was pulled tight in a ponytail and there was a cant to her eyebrows and a pucker to her mouth that made her look condescending or suspicious. Or maybe she just was condescending. And suspicious. She wore tight jeans and a white tee-shirt that showed a long expanse of collarbone and sternum.

Pretty, if you liked that kinda thing. Severe. Who looked like they wanted to step on you, chew you up, and spit out the bones.

Touraine definitely wasn’t into that.

A slight crinkle appeared between the woman’s eyebrows. “Oh. You must be…the lawn…mowers. Funny. I thought you’d be younger.” She spoke with the hint of an accent, something scrubbed almost clean leaving nothing behind but the sound of cultured superiority.

Touraine tried to shoot Pruett a glare—see?—but Pruett was fixing the woman with her politely-concealed-distaste face. Which wasn’t very well concealed at all.

“Ah. Right, of course.” The woman stepped back into the spacious foyer. She walked with a cane and a slight limp and the certainty that the world would wait for her, no matter how long she took.

She came back with two crisp fifty-dollar bills and held them out.

Pruett frowned down at the cash. “No, ma’am, your accounts all paid up.”

The woman raised a dark eyebrow. It was darker than the rest of her golden hair. “I know it is. A tip, isn’t it?” She shook the crisp bills like they were just a couple tenners.

Touraine took the money and smiled as graciously as she could while Pruett kept scowling. “Thanks so much…” She trailed off and waited for the woman to fill in her name.

“Luca,” Luca said. She eyed Touraine skeptically. “I’m the owner.”

“Of course you are,” Pruett muttered under her breath.

Touraine elbowed Pruett in the ribs. “It was lovely to meet you, Luca. I’m Touraine and this is my friend Pruett. We’ll be back same time next week if that’s alright with you.”

“Yes, sure.” Luca waved her hand carelessly but Touraine noticed the quick up-down Luca gave her. “This is a weekly thing, then?”

“Depending on the weather,” Pruett grumbled.

“Alright. Thank you very much.”

Touraine dragged Pruett by the arm down the brick stairs. “Tell me you were not about to turn down a hundred dollars.”

“Fifty dollars. Give me mine.”

“No! You wouldn’t even take it from her. How’s she any different from Ethel?”

“You clearly think she’s different from Ethel. I’m surprised you didn’t offer to mow her lawn right on her fucking doorstep.”

“So what if I did? She’s…hot.” Touraine closed her eyes to better recall. “That easy elegance, the cruel confidence, the handsome hauteur. Mmm.”

Pruett made a disgusted sound in her throat. “You always go for assholes.”

They were at the truck now. Touraine stared pointedly across the bed at Pruett. “Yeah. Look how well that turned out.”

Pruett rolled her eyes to the sky. “Whatever. But don’t fuck this up. The Ancier account is one of the few consistent gigs we have.”

“I’m not gonna fuck this up.”

“I’ve heard that one before.”

#

Over the next month, Touraine found herself conveniently forgetting her water bottle or drinking it all and needing refill (once, this backfired and she ended up having to piss like a race horse, but she refused to ask to use Luca’s toilet; somehow it felt like going too far). Pruett also stopped coming up to get the tip. “If I watch you moon over her again, I will literally throw up on the marble and then we’ll have to give her the tip back just to get it cleaned.”

That was how Touraine found herself standing sweaty in Luca Ancier’s marble foyer across from an awkwardly large round mirror, holding an empty glass with a couple of folded fifties in the waistband of her denim cut-offs. (They were part of the unofficial uniform.)

“I’m in med school,” Touraine said, spinning the cup idly in her hands. “Pruett’s in vet med.”

Luca tapped one of her short nails against her glass and took another drink. “None of the med students I know would be caught dead mowing lawns.”

Touraine bristled. “Well, we can’t all live on loans alone.”

“That’s—I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. It was a compliment. I hate the other med students I know.”

It was stupid how quickly Touraine could go from irritation to a butterfly flutter in her stomach.

“So you don’t hate me?”

“I don’t know you.”

Touraine realized that they’d been unconsciously closing the space between them. Luca was right, though. They didn’t know each other. They’d only had these brief exchanges over water and cash, always with Pruett waiting outside. Touraine wanted to know her, though. And judging by the careful way Luca was studying her, that’s what she wanted, too.

Touraine took a chance. She leaned forward, reaching up just a little—Luca was taller than Touraine, not that that had mattered at all, definitely not—and kissed her. Luca made a surprised sound, but didn’t pull away. She leaned into the kiss, in fact, overwhelming Touraine with the scent of her musky rose cologne. After a moment, Touraine saw from her half-shut eyes, Luca’s hand reaching up for her face or her neck. She didn’t find out which, though.

Sharp boot heels clicked on the marble floor and Touraine sprang away. A tall woman with a swoop of dark hair curling across her forehead swanned in. She grinned when she saw Luca’s fists clenched at her sides with an exasperated look.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the intruder said wryly. “Just headed out, my darling. Don’t wait up.” She gave Touraine a quick but appreciative once over. “Not that you look like you were…”

Luca grunted and—to Touraine’s huge surprise—flushed pink. Adorably pink. “Bye, Sabine.” Her words were terse, spoken through her teeth, but she leaned forward to accept the kiss on her cheek.

And then Sabine was waltzing out the door, throwing a sing-song “Have fun, kids!” over her shoulder.

“Who was that?” Touraine asked after the door slammed shut.

“A friend.”

“Seemed like more than a friend to me.”

“Not enough to be any of your business.”

Touraine swiveled her head back to Luca. “I’m not trying to get caught up in—”

Luca jabbed Touraine with a sharp finger in the chest. In two swipes, she underlined the words. “It says here, if I’m reading correctly, that you mow lawns. Yes? Which would mean lawns are your business, correct? Lawns and not whoever may or may not be in my house at any given time. If it becomes your business, rest assured I will let you know.”

“So do you have a lawn for me to mow, or what?”

Luca stared at her in dismay. “On that horrid note, you should go.”

“Wait,” Touraine said, uncertain. “Was it the joke or your friend who’s ‘not my business’?”

Luca sighed and shook her head. “I would say it was that terrible joke, but actually, your friend has been honking every second for the last thirty seconds and if you don’t go out there, one of the neighbors is going to kill her if I don’t do it first. I’ll see you next week.”

Touraine blushed as she finally heard the racket Pruett was making outside. She would have asked how she’d missed it, but…Luca had really great lips.

#

Next week came, but it was raining so they delayed their visit to the Ancier place an extra week. Not that that made Touraine frustrated enough for Pruett to yell at her through the walls to just fucking jerk off already.

When they finally made it back, they rushed through the work, Pruett grumbling the whole time. After this job, they were going to Pruett’s friend Kiras’s concert, and Touraine had promised she wouldn’t fuck this up for Pruett.

Pruett even came up to the door with Touraine to make sure she didn’t get “distracted” again. But Luca had other ideas.

“You missed a spot, though,” Luca said after handing Touraine their usual tip. “Some fine work with the clippers.” She jerked her head back, indicating the backyard.

Pruett’s face went red. “Are you kidding? It’s perfect. The lawn’s shorter than my goddamned pubes! And the hedges have better landscaping!”

“Pru—”

“We’re going to be late,” she muttered under her breath. It wasn’t quiet enough to escape the owner’s ears, though.

Luca said, “Don’t worry. She can finish here and leave the clippers; they’ll be waiting when you come back. I’ll send you wherever you like in the car.”

“‘In the car’—Fucking, ‘in the’—are you serious?”

“Leave it, Pru. It’s okay. I’ll check it out. Take the truck, I’ll catch up.” Touraine glanced at Luca, who was giving her an arch eyebrow.

Pruett looked down at her watch then glared at Luca, then back at Touraine. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

She stomped off to the truck. Touraine and Luca watched in silence while, in no particular order, Pruett cinched tight the ratchet straps, kicked a tire, shoved the lawn mowers, and spat on the driveway. Touraine would have sworn she heard the saliva sizzle on the hot ground.

“She doesn’t like me much.”

“Mm.” Touraine was noncommittal. Sweat trickled down her back and under her sports bra, tickling like a fly.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

“Mmm?” More strangled this time.

“Be more specific.”

“It’s…complicated?”

Luca scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Come on. Bring the clippers.”

“Wait, you really have work for me to do?”

Luca stared at her flatly and said, deadpanned, “Of course I do. Follow me.”

Touraine did. Luca led her around the back and into a little garden shed that looked like it had been a garage. Luca punched in a code at the keypad by the door and the door rose up silently on smooth tracks. Nothing like the squeaking monster of a garage back at her and Pruett’s place.

Inside, there was a workman’s bench, a wall full of tools, and, in pride of place, a sit-down mower, all shining and red and clean. It wasn’t even that old of a model. The room still smelled a bit like gasoline.

Touraine whirled on Luca. “You had this here? The whole time? You just watched us march up and down your lawn when we could have been using this?!”

A smile quirked at the corner of Luca’s lips. “What can I say? I liked watching you. Why do you think I gave you such a big tip?”

“You are…such a dick.”

Her smile wasn’t cruel so much as it was teasing. “That’s not why I brought you here. I wanted your advice on something.”

She led Touraine around the lawn mower to the far end of the workbench. There was a miniature tree, curved trunk flexing and reaching beautifully. A bonsai. The leaves didn’t look good, though. They littered the soil of the pot and the leaves still clinging to the tree were yellowed and mottled with brown.

“Any idea what’s wrong with it?”

Touraine’s first instinct was to say, how was she supposed to know? She wasn’t actually a gardener. But the tender worry on the other woman’s face was hard to ignore.

Touraine sidled up to it. “Um…maybe it has a fungus or something? Do you leave it in here the whole time? Maybe the roots are…too wet?” That was a thing, right? She pressed her thumb into the soil and it was damp. “Little soggy. May I?” She reached her hand around the small gnarled trunk. It felt surprisingly delicate in her hand and she caught Luca’s sharp intake of breath.

“Okay. Sure.”

Touraine held Luca’s eyes. “I’ll be careful,” she said softly. “I just want to check the roots.”

She dug a little soil away from the trunk until she could gently tug the tree up enough to see the top roots. They were whitish yellow and looked like roots. Normal enough. A little further and she saw the root ball, a clump of stringy white roots that, if she was honest, Touraine couldn’t really tell if they were diseased or not. The adorably frightened look on the other woman’s face made her want to know, though.

“What’s the deal with it, anyway?” Touraine asked while she prodded the root ball a little. “That pretty stranger who’s not my business get it for you or something?”

“That is also not your business.” Luca was suddenly frosty behind her.

“Geez, touchy, touchy. My bad. Didn’t mean to make conversation.”

Touraine settled the plant back into its pot and brushed her hands off on her shorts.

“Look,” she said. “I’ll be honest with you.”

Luca’s dark brows knit together. “What? Is it dying?”

“No—it’s—I have no idea how it is. I don’t do plants, I cut grass. But when I go home tonight, I’ll do a little research and when I come back next time, I’ll see what I can do.”

“What if it’s dead by then?” Luca’s voice was soft and she looked at the plant with a surprising amount of grief for a dead little tree.

“Fine. Is your number the one on the account? I’ll text you—”

“That’s not mine,” Luca said quickly. “But I have yours. I’ll text you mine.”

Touraine shrugged around the black hole Luca was avoiding. Whatever. Like she said, not her business. Instead, she sidled closer.

“Is that all, then? You gonna call me that car?”

Luca looked down at Touraine, from her eyes to her mouth and back up again. Back down.

“Yes. Your friend said you’d be late.”

She didn’t move to call Touraine a car. She moved closer, the tap of her cane echoing in the suddenly too-small shed.

Touraine struggled to make words in her dry mouth. Luca had the most intense stare—like whatever she wanted from you, you were meant to give it. Part of her wanted to fight it—part of her wanted to give the woman more than she’d ever bargained for.

“I can be a little late,” she said hoarsely.

“I appreciate your flexibility,” Luca said, closing the space between them.

“You don’t even know how—”

Touraine didn’t get to finish because Luca closed her mouth over hers, slid her hand up the back of Touraine’s neck, her nails just barely scraping skin. It felt so good that she moaned right then and Luca chuckled, smug and deep in her throat. So much for fighting it. It’s not like her boxers weren’t gonna be soaked in the next ten seconds. She pushed into the kiss, gripping Luca’s leather jacket to keep them both upright.

“Yeah?” Luca steered Touraine until she had her pressed back against the lawnmower. Metal and plastic and seat cushion at her back, but Luca’s long legs had her pinned and her hips were grinding against Touraine just right, so what the fuck was she supposed to say?

“Yes, fuck. Yes, okay?”

Luca kissed just like Touraine had imagined when she wasn’t supposed to be imagining that. Like someone used to taking. Like someone who was hungry all the time. Like she wanted to dig her nails in, tear Touraine apart, and devour her. And that—fuck, that would have been bad enough. It was the second part, though, the part that surprised her, that made her knees soft enough to buckle.

Despite that hunger, Luca was so tender with her. Every press, every bite, every scratch started soft, first, a gentle question while Luca nuzzled an ear or kissed her neck, waiting for Touraine to respond. Luca’s other hand caressed up and down Touraine’s waist slowly, stroking lazy circles with her thumb against the bare skin. It was the fact that, even with all that hunger, she wanted to take her time with Touraine.

These were definitely not the thoughts Touraine was supposed to have for a one-time fuck of the employer. And yet. She let the lawnmower take a little more of her weight as she balanced on one leg and curled the other around the back of Luca’s leg.

Luca’s breath hitched and Touraine felt Luca’s nails dig into her at her stomach and her neck. Involuntary. That hunger flaring out of control just for a second.

“So are we fucking on the lawnmower, or are you coming inside?” Luca said, lips against Touraine’s ear.

“I’m definitely coming inside.”

“I—ugh. Don’t make me rethink this.” Luca retrieved her cane and practically dragged Touraine back to the house by the hand.

They made it to the foyer before Luca was at her throat again Touraine was backed up against something else—a wall, this time, a wall next to some rich person shelving for shoes and neatly folded blankets or scarves or whatever, and unfortunately—or fortunately—they were right across from that big fucking mirror so she could watch Luca kiss her neck even as the sensation made her shiver. Luca’s blonde hair was already messy from their kiss in the shed. Touraine pulled the ponytail holder off and tangled her hand in Luca’s hair, holding her in place.

“You’re taking liberties aren’t you?” Luca murmured against her neck.

“Is that a problem?” Touraine took a gamble and tightened her grip in Luca’s hair, tugging it a little. She pulled back just enough, just in time to watch Luca’s eyes roll up with pleasure. She felt Luca’s shudder in her own body. “No, I didn’t think it was gonna be.”

Touraine eased her fingers back into Luca’s hair, gentle against Luca’s neck as she pulled Luca back to her lips. Luca’s hunger flared again in the grip that tightened around Touraine’s hips, in the hips that pressed against her. Fuck.

Well Luca wasn’t the only one who was always hungry.

Touraine took one of Luca’s hands and in another surprising bit of tenderness, Luca curled her fingers around Touraine’s. That wasn’t what Touraine wanted, though. She brought Luca’s hand to the button of her cut-offs.

Luca flicked the button open with a practiced tug and slid her hand inside, stroking Touraine outside of her boxer briefs. Touraine jerked in response and that earned her another scrape of Luca’s nails against her neck. When Luca found the patch of wetness—yeah, these shorts were done for—she hummed appreciatively and started drawing light circles around Touraine’s clit. The pressure was barely there, and Touraine crooked her hips to chase the feeling, letting her head fall back against the wall. It was fucking torture and Luca knew it but Touraine wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of asking for more, the fucking asshole.

“I want my mouth on you,” Luca murmured, after another minute of torture.

“Dear God.” Touraine’s eyes fluttered shut. The dark honey of Luca’s voice stole the last of her resolve. She yanked Luca’s mouth back to hers, steering her by the tight grip in her hair. Luca moaned into her mouth, this time, and the pressure of her hand at Touraine’s center intensified to blinding for a glorious second.

Then Touraine was pushing her head down, and Luca lowered herself gingerly, using Touraine’s other arm for support and grabbing a blanket from the shelf so she could put it under her knees. A very practiced move.

“You do this often?” Touraine asked, breathless.

Luca only raked her hair back and looked up, her sea-green eyes taking her in, lips parted, and one eyebrow cocked. Waiting.

“Right. Not my business. Fuck. Fuck.” That last was drawn out as Luca pressed her face against Touraine through her cut-offs, nipping at the denim.

Then the denim was sliding down and Luca’s thumbs were sliding up beneath the legs of Touraine’s briefs to trace the crease of her hips and tease her, all while she kissed Touraine through her shorts.

Touraine snarled her hand in Luca’s hair again and rolled herself against Luca’s face. “I swear to God, Luca, if you don’t—ungh!” Luca sucked Touraine through her underwear and the words were gone.

“If I don’t what?” Luca slid the underwear down slowly, staring up at Touraine the whole time. She dropped her gaze to Touraine’s cunt and licked her lips before meeting Touraine’s eyes again.

Touraine closed her eyes and shuddered. “You’re such a dick.” If that’s how Luca wanted to play it, fine.

Touraine grabbed Luca by the chin, hard, and bent down enough to tear a kiss from her mouth. Then, still holding her, she said, “But you look beautiful on your knees. You said you want your mouth on me, so get to fucking work.” Touraine released her forcefully and saw that hunger again in the flicker of Luca’s eyelids.

This time, when Touraine pulled Luca’s head to her, there was nothing between her and that warm, condescending mouth. Luca’s tongue traced her clit before gliding down to where Touraine was wettest, and the muffled sounds of Luca’s pleasure only made it worse. Luca moved between Touraine’s clit and her slit, even working her tongue all the way inside, and fuck.

Touraine steered Luca back to her opening and held her there. “Stay,” she commanded, though it was more a whimper than an order, hell, maybe it even sounded like begging, but who the fuck cared when Luca dug her fingernails into Touraine’s ass in acknowledgement.

In the mirror, she watched the deepening flush creep up her own neck as Luca’s head bobbed against her, with her golden hair tangled in Touraine’s fingers. That just spiked the pleasure sharper. Luca slid one hand up to massage Touraine’s lower stomach, firm and insistent, making Touraine clench up tight. Touraine was losing track of who, exactly, was in charge here. Of who was giving and who was taking, and what was changing hands, anyway?

“Don’t stop,” Touraine whispered, watching her own eyes flutter shut in the mirror. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Fuck,” Luca moaned against her, but she didn’t stop. She kept up the careful rhythm she’d found and Touraine rode her face, controlling the pressure, picking up the speed she needed until—

“Ah!” Touraine almost buckled in half as she came, curling over Luca as she kept working her tongue against her. Wave after wave hit her. “Fuck. God. Fuck.” She pulled Luca away and staggered back to clutch the wall, even though all she wanted was to slide into a puddle on the floor. She managed not to, barely, with her thighs pressed together in the last of the orgasm. Her hands were still tangled in Luca’s hair, though.

“Mm. Fuck.” Luca sighed into Touraine’s thigh, where she’d slumped. She was, Touraine was glad to see, just as inarticulate. Touraine watched the rise and fall of Luca’s back in the mirror as the other woman caught her breath.

Touraine stroked Luca’s head, combing her hand through that mess of gold she’d made. She opened her mouth to speak but Luca cut her off before she could even utter a word.

“If you make one joke about me mowing your lawn, I swear to God, we will never do this again and I will end your contract.”

Touraine shut her mouth immediately.

Luca snorted and Touraine could practically hear her roll her eyes.

“Help me up, would you?” Luca asked.

Touraine did. She liked the weight of Luca in her arms and wondered how it would feel in other situations. Maybe next time, she could hold Luca up against the wall, with those long legs of hers wrapped around Touraine’s waist or carry her off to a bed or—

“Yes?” Luca said, pursing her lips and raising her eyebrow.

Touraine realized she’d been staring at Luca while lost in her vision of “next times.”

“I, uh—”

“Should go. Your friend will be looking for you.”

“What about you?” Touraine said hopefully. Pruett was going to kill her, but she really didn’t care.

Luca waved her phone. “The car’s waiting.”

“Oh. Okay. Right.” Disappointment threatened to wash away the pleasant afterglow, until Luca pulled her close and kissed her, tongue delving so deep it was like she was fucking Touraine’s mouth. Touraine could taste herself in Luca’s mouth and that was really not the best way to get her to leave. She wrapped her hands around Luca’s waist.

After a minute, though, Luca pushed Touraine’s hands down and off, pressing them to Touraine’s own sides. “Whatever you’re thinking, next time. Promise.”

Next time. The promise twisted Touraine’s stomach in anticipation and she hadn’t even left yet. She stumbled toward the door on unsteady legs. “See you in a few weeks then?”

Luca pursed her lips. Almost as an afterthought, she wiped one thumb delicately around them to clean herself up. Looking deliberately at Touraine, she sucked her thumb clean, too, and said, “It looks like rain this week.”

Touraine’s mouth fell open and her last brain cells vanished as her attention narrowed that thumb against those lips.

“I think I’ll probably need you back sooner. You’ll come Saturday evening. Let’s see how you clean up. I’ll send the car.” Luca smirked and turned, leaving Touraine to let herself out.

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