Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Jimmy
I wasn’t sure how it happened exactly. One minute I was finishing my coffee, and the next I was in my truck with two men I barely knew—one of them the devil himself, or close enough to make my pulse trip over itself.
The old Ford wasn’t built for three grown men in the front seat, but we made it work. Sean slid in first on the passenger side, all elbows and easy grins. Lucien took the middle, knees brushing the dash. Which meant his leg—his very solid, very there leg—pressed against mine.
“Alright, Jimmy,” Sean said, buckling up. “Take us down Broad, hang a right at Belvidere, then cut over toward the market.”
I nodded, praying my voice wouldn’t crack. “Sure thing.”
I turned the key, and the engine coughed to life as if it resented the effort. The cab filled with the familiar scent of sun-baked vinyl and motor oil. Usually, I found it comforting. Not today. Not with Lucien sitting so close, the heat of him bled straight through my jeans.
The man smelled of soap and sweat and something darker—clove, maybe?
Was this how temptation worked? My daddy always said Satan never showed up wearing horns. He came looking like the thing you wanted most.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter.
Lucien shifted beside me, his thigh pressing firmer against mine as he turned toward Sean to talk about something—routes, maybe, or what they’d do once we got to the kitchen.
I couldn’t follow. Every word blurred under the pounding of my pulse.
I was aware of the curve of his knee, the warm press of his arm against mine, the faint rasp of his breathing.
And God help me, I liked it.
I’d gone to The Hill Café because I was hungry, that’s all. It was two blocks from my Airbnb. How was I supposed to know Lucien would be there?
Or was that the point?
Was this the trick Daddy warned me about—the master deceiver placing temptation right in my path, wearing kind eyes and a mouth that said dangerous things?
The truck lurched as I fumbled with the clutch. “Sorry,” I muttered.
Sean laughed. “She’s an old beast. You gotta sweet-talk her a little.”
Lucien chuckled low in his throat. “I think Jimmy’s doing just fine.”
My ears burned.
Traffic downtown was brutal, stop-and-go chaos. I kept both hands locked on the wheel, eyes on the road, praying for green lights and distance. But the streets were narrow and the trucks in front of us were slow, and I could feel every jolt of the road through Lucien’s leg against mine.
We hit a red light, and Lucien leaned forward, scanning the intersection. “You’ll want to downshift here,” he murmured.
I nodded, reaching for the gear stick—and my hand landed square on his thigh.
“Jesus,” I hissed. My fingers jerked back like I’d touched a live wire. “Sorry—I didn’t—”
Lucien turned his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Better shift, Jimmy,” he murmured. “Unless you plan on stalling out right here.”
I swallowed hard and shoved the stick into gear. The truck groaned, then lurched forward as the light turned green. My heart felt like it might punch a hole through my ribs.
Sean glanced over, oblivious. “You good, man?”
“Fine,” I managed. My voice didn’t sound fine.
The rest of the drive blurred into a haze of horns, stoplights, and Lucien’s quiet laughter. By the time we pulled up to the farmer’s market, I was sweating like I’d run a marathon.
“Park next to the blue tent,” Sean said, pointing. “That’s Stuart’s spot.”
I eased the truck into reverse, palms slick against the steering wheel. The rearview mirror shook, reflecting Lucien’s profile—sharp, unreadable. I swallowed, trying to focus.
“Easy,” Sean said. “Yeah, just like that. Keep coming… and stop.”
The truck thudded gently into park. I turned off the ignition and exhaled like I’d been holding my breath for miles.
The heat hit us as soon as we opened the doors. The morning sun had turned the blacktop into a skillet. Farmers called to each other over stacks of crates. Somewhere, a radio played old country music, too twangy to ignore.
An older man waved from beside a table piled high with boxes. He wore a straw hat, denim overalls, and a grin that belonged on a billboard for sweet tea.
“Well, I’ll be,” he called out. “If it ain’t Reverend Reason himself!”
Lucien laughed, shaking his head. “Morning, Stuart.”
Stuart stuck out his hand. “Brought a friend, I see.”
“Two, actually,” Sean said. “Truck’s dead, but Jimmy here came to the rescue.”
“Appreciate that, son.” Stuart’s handshake was rough but kind. “You’ll have to excuse the mess. Been sorting out what’s still good from what’s bound for the compost heap.”
Lucien nodded toward the crates. “Same deal as usual?”
“Yes, sir.” Stuart wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “Taters, squash, and enough zucchini to make your eyes roll. Too ripe to sell, but still fit for good eating. Better folks get it than it goes to waste.”
Sean hopped up onto the tailgate. “We’ll take all of it.”
I hesitated, unsure of what to do with my hands.
Lucien caught my eye. “You don’t have to help. You already saved us a trip.”
“Of course I’ll help,” I said before I could stop myself. “Can’t just sit here and watch y’all work.”
Stuart chuckled. “Now that’s the spirit. You hear that, Reverend? This young man’s got more manners than the last three volunteers you dragged over here combined.”
Sean grinned. “Wait till he sees the kitchen. He might change his mind.”
I followed their lead, grabbing boxes that smelled of dirt. The work steadied me—the scrape of cardboard, the rhythm of lifting and passing. But every time Lucien’s hand brushed mine, that steadiness wavered.
We loaded the last crate, and Stuart clapped the dust off his hands. “Y’all come back next week. Might even have some peaches if the birds don’t beat me to ’em.”
Lucien smiled. “We’ll hold you to that.”
Stuart winked. “And if you ever want to preach the good word about eatin’ local, I’ll lend you my megaphone. Can’t promise it’ll reach heaven, but it’ll get the Methodists.”
Sean laughed. “We’ll settle for the Episcopalians.”
“Ha! Same difference.” Stuart waved as we climbed back into the truck.
As I started the engine, I caught Lucien watching me again—steady, thoughtful, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
I looked away fast, pretending to check the mirrors, but my chest still ached from the way his gaze lingered.
Was this temptation?
We loaded the last crate, said our goodbyes to Stuart, and piled back into the truck. Sean took the passenger side, scrolling through his phone, while Lucien slid into the middle again, the scent of sun and sweat following him.
“Back up to Church Hill,” Sean said. “I’ll navigate.”
“Sure thing.” My voice came out rough.
Lucien shifted beside me as I turned the key. The truck rattled awake, and the vibration moved through the seat like a heartbeat I couldn’t escape. His thigh brushed mine again—closer this time, solid and warm—and the contact lit a fuse straight down my spine.
I eased onto the road, trying not to think about it, but there was no not thinking about it.
Every turn jostled us closer. The city rolled by in flashes—brick storefronts, old churches, banners for some art festival—but my focus tunneled down to the inch of space between us that kept vanishing and reappearing.
Sean leaned forward, pointing ahead. “Take a left up there. No, next one. This street’s a nightmare.”
Lucien laughed softly. “Don’t scare him. He’s doing fine.”
“Fine,” I muttered, though my hands were white-knuckled on the wheel.
Traffic had thickened downtown, cars bunching up at every light.
Horns blared, and sunlight caught on windshields in blinding bursts.
My nerves frayed like a loose wire. Lucien shifted again, his thigh pressing into mine, deliberate or not, I couldn’t tell.
The warmth bled through my denim, slow and insistent.
I swallowed hard, my chest tight. Daddy’s voice whispered through the noise in my head: The Devil tempts with beauty. He’ll use the body to corrupt the soul.
Sean’s phone rang. He cursed under his breath and answered, his voice rising above the noise. “Yeah, we got it. Headed back now.”
A car in front of us slammed on its brakes. I reacted a second too late. The truck lurched, tires squealing, the seatbelt biting across my chest.
Lucien’s arm shot out across my torso — anchoring me.
“Jesus,” I gasped.
Sean barely looked up, still on the phone. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I managed.
Lucien’s hand lingered for a breath longer than it needed to. His thumb brushed my chest, just once, then dropped away.
“You missed the light,” he murmured, voice low enough to vibrate against my ribs.
I swallowed and pressed the clutch, easing the truck back into gear. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” he said, smiling. “Just didn’t want you to stall out again. You’re a little too… tense on the stick.”
My brain short-circuited. There was no way that wasn’t on purpose.
“Excuse me?”
He grinned wider, eyes glinting like dark honey. “You’ve got to be gentle with it. Ease it where it needs to go. Forcing it never works.”
My pulse pounded in my ears. “I—uh—right.”
He chuckled, the sound smooth and sinful. “Relax, Jimmy. I’m just talking about your truck.”
I wanted to crawl under the dashboard and disappear. Heat climbed up my neck, spreading across my face. My jeans felt too tight, the seam pressing hard against me.
Oh God.
I was hard.
Not just a little. I was aching, every nerve alive and desperate. I shifted in my seat, praying Lucien wouldn’t notice, praying Sean would keep talking, praying for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
Lucien turned his head slightly, and for one terrifying moment I thought he’d looked down. Instead, his gaze met mine—steady, knowing.
He didn’t say a word.
That made it worse. The light turned green, and I couldn’t move.
“Jimmy,” Lucien murmured, his voice rattling through me. “You’d better go before it turns red again.”