by Lee McKenzie
She took his breath away the instant she stepped through the door. The reticent, sometimes even awkward study-buddy he’d hung out with in college had outgrown her awkwardness and blossomed into a beautiful, confident woman. She had the same soft blue eyes, still wore glasses instead of contacts, still dressed conservatively but with a lot more style.
She smiled when she saw him and raised one hand as if to wave.
“Claire!” The man who called her name was striding toward her.
She froze and her smile faded.
Okay, something wasn’t right here. Luke straightened and quickly stepped up beside her.
“Donald, what are you doing here?” she asked.
“You hung up on me. We need to talk about selling the penthouse, Claire. And I want that book.”
Ah, yes. The ex. The guy was a little taller than she was, very well dressed and about as intense as they come.
“Not. Now.” Keeping her voice calm seemed to require some effort. “I have plans.” She glanced up at Luke as though seeking confirmation.
Since Luke didn’t like the look of this guy, he was more than happy to play along. He slung an arm across her shoulders and extended a hand to her ex-husband. “Luke Devlin. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Claire’s ex looked momentarily confused and then shot Luke a frosty glare. He grudgingly accepted the handshake, though. Luke didn’t like his grip any more than he liked him. He was trying way too hard to be firm. For one fleeting second, Luke considered making the guy say uncle.
Don’t be a dumb-ass, he chided himself.
“Donald Robinson,” the guy said. After he pulled his hand away, he zeroed in on Claire again. “You can’t keep putting this off.”
This guy wasn’t getting the memo.
Luke drew her closer. “Like Claire said, now’s really not a good time. We should get going, babe. We don’t want to be late.”
She looked up at him, lips ever so slightly parted, and gave him the kind of smile that suggested there was actually something going on between them. Since Donald wouldn’t know there wasn’t, Luke lowered his head and gave her a light, lingering kiss.
“You are so adorable,” he said, purposely making his voice go soft and quiet. “Isn’t she adorable?” he asked Donald.
Donald stammered something that sounded more like an excuse than an apology, and backed away. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said to Claire. “I’ve lined up an appraiser.” He looked uncertainly from her to Luke. “Will you...ah...will you be at home tomorrow?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I guess you’ll find out when you call.”
For a few seconds Donald looked like he wasn’t going to let this drop, but then he threw up his hands and, without saying anything, swung around and walked away. “And I want that book back,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m serious.”
“Oh, my God,” Claire said after her ex disappeared around the corner. She ducked out from under Luke’s arm. “I am so sorry. And grateful. Thank you. Donald can be...”
An asshole? “Hey, no problem. I probably owed you anyway.”
They both laughed at their collective memories from college days, and she seemed to relax a little.
“Any idea where you’d like to eat?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“There’s a little Irish pub downtown, not far from the market. Best burgers and fries in town.”
“Sure. Sounds wonderful.”
He couldn’t tell if she meant it or not but jeez, look at her. The powder-blue sweater he’d admired earlier was now topped by a cobalt-colored suede jacket. Both emphasized her dazzling blue eyes. She’d always had a classic style and great taste in clothes, and her taste in food was probably more sophisticated than burgers and beer. His was not and he saw no point in faking it.
“Is this place close enough to walk?”
“Guess it depends how much you like walking,” he said. “I’ve got my bike and a spare helmet.” He hoped she’d go for it. If she rode with him, he would have an excuse to bring her back home, and that would give him an opportunity to get inside the building. He was curious about the condo Donald was so determined to unload, but more than that, he wanted to see where she lived in relation to the penthouse they were staking out.
“A bike?” she asked.
“Yeah. Well, a motorcycle.” He gestured to where it was parked next to the curb.
She looked decidedly undecided.
Come on, live a little, he was tempted to say. But that would get her back up and then she’d say no. Instead, he casually handed her a helmet as though he assumed she’d done this a hundred times.
* * *
EVERY SINGLE ONE OF CLAIRE’S instincts—including a few she didn’t know she had—screamed at her to say no. But somehow the helmet was in her hands and then she had it on. She must look like a bobblehead, since she definitely felt like one.
“I’ve never ridden on a Harley-Davidson.” She’d never even pedaled a ten-speed.
Luke grinned. “Then I’m happy to uphold that tradition. This isn’t a Harley.”
“Oh.” She gave the black beast a closer look, took in the silver lettering on the side. Ducati. It still looked like the kind of machine a biker would ride, and Luke, with his longish dark hair, well-worn leather jacket and black boots, looked exactly like the kind of guy who would ride it. His jacket wasn’t biker-black, though. More the color of espresso. Or dark chocolate. And while Harley-Davidson sounded dangerous and intimidating, Ducati sounded sexy. Like Luke.
He pulled on his helmet and climbed on the bike. “Jump on.”
Her heart pounded in her chest. You are such a wimp, she scolded. People rode on motorcycles all the time. Luke was a responsible adult. She hoped. She slid one leg over the seat behind him and settled onto the cushy leather, grateful she hadn’t changed into a skirt.
“Hang on,” he said.
To him? she wondered. Duh. It was him or nothing. She put her hands on his sides, glad for the cool leather between her palms and his rib cage. Every nerve in her body jolted to life when he started the bike, and her pulse roared in her ears. No, that was the rev of the engine. They rolled away from the curb and she flung her arms around him, so tightly she could have counted his ribs through the jacket if she’d wanted to.
The ride to the pub lasted somewhere between five minutes and a lifetime. After he found a parking space and cut the engine, she snatched her hands away from his body and stumbled off the bike. She was both terrified and—oh, God, how could this be happening?—turned on. Being scared, yes, she could understand, but a body all aquiver from clinging to a man on the back of a motorcycle? Who knew such a thing was even possible?
Chapter Two
Luke held Claire’s helmet and watched her smooth her tousled hair with shaky hands.
“Your first time?” he asked.
She responded with a silent question in her eyes and a little extra pink in her cheeks.
“On a motorcycle.”
“Oh, yes. It was.” He liked that the polished, professional grown-up Claire was still college-girl adorable when she got flustered.
“I thought it might have been.” He handed the helmet back to her and guided her toward the entrance. “What did you think?”
“Um...” Her color deepened.
Hmm. That good. Here’s hoping the ride home had the same effect.
He held the door and followed her inside. The bar was packed with the usual Friday mix of tourists and the downtown happy hour crowd. He spotted a table for two that was being vacated near the back, and before two other couples could swoop in to grab it, he was holding a chair for Claire.
She sat and slid the helmet underneath. “That was lucky.”
Nope. That was experience.
The server stopped and pocketed the change left by the previous customers. “Menus?”
“Sure.”
She picked up the empty glasses and put them on her tray, then gave the ta
ble a halfhearted swipe with a damp cloth. Claire’s reaction had him second-guessing his decision to bring her here, but taking her to a fancier place might have sent the wrong message.
“Do you know what you want to drink?” the server asked.
The way Claire studied the drink list, she could have been cramming for an exam.
“Give us a minute?” he asked.
“Sure thing.”
After the woman moved on to another table, he watched Claire suck the ripe fullness of her lower lip between her teeth, release it and slowly run the tip of her tongue across the luscious curve of her upper lip. During their many study sessions back in college, he’d watched her do that a hundred times. And he’d known then, as he did now, that she had no idea how seductive it was. She wasn’t trying to tantalize, and that made it even more of a turn-on.
During those study sessions of old he had wanted to kiss that freshly moistened mouth and tease that tongue into coming out to play. But even in those days, when he had been a stereotypical college student with an overactive libido and his party mode in overdrive, he’d had enough sense not to ruin a good thing. The good thing being a study-buddy and a friend. He had never had a female friend who was just a friend, and he’d never had a study partner, period.
Their first kiss had been less than half an hour ago. He had simply wanted to send a message to the jerk of an ex-husband, but now, watching her tongue play with her lips, he wondered if she would let him bookend this date with another kiss when he took her home.
Was this a date? It would be if she let him kiss her again. Was that a good idea? Sure as hell seemed like one from where he was sitting. A kiss was just a kiss, after all. It didn’t have to end with them setting the sheets on fire. Besides, he would never use Claire DeAngelo to scratch an itch, and she’d never let him anyway.
The server returned. “Have you decided on drinks?”
“Coffee for me,” he said.
“Cream and sugar?”
“Black, thanks.”
Over the top of the drink list, surprise registered in Claire’s eyes. He couldn’t fault her for that.
She set the tattered menu on the table. “I’ll have a Diet Coke.”
That was no surprise at all.
“Coffee and a Coke. Be right back to take your food order.”
“So, Luke Devlin in a bar drinking coffee,” Claire said. “That’s...different.”
“I’m driving.”
“Of course. Good point.”
“But you could have had something with a little more kick than a diet soft drink.”
Something akin to alarm flickered in her eyes and vanished, leaving him wondering if maybe he imagined it. “I’m not much of a drinker.”
“Me, neither.”
That made her laugh.
Should he tell her the truth? Step one, he reminded himself. “I’m serious. I’ve been sober almost two years.”
The amusement drained from her face. “Oh. Luke, I’m sorry I laughed. I shouldn’t have.”
He leaned closer and touched her hand. “No apology necessary. Sometimes even badasses grow up.”
“Not always.”
He guessed she was talking about her ex.
“Some of us do,” he said. Too bad it sometimes took a disaster to make it happen.
She slowly withdrew her hand. “So, here we are. Ten years out of college and a couple of teetotalers.”
“Wow. It’s been ten years?”
“It has.”
The server set Claire’s soft drink and his coffee on the table. “You folks ready to order?” she asked.
Claire gave the menu another quick scan. “What’s good here?”
“They have the best burgers in Seattle. The Emerald Isle is my favorite.”
She read the description and grimaced. “Two beef patties and bacon and cheese? I see your appetite hasn’t changed.”
“I worked hard today. I need the calories.”
“And I sat at my desk most of the day, so I definitely don’t. I’ll have the O’Chicken burger,” she said, smiling at the name as she handed her menu to the server.
“Fries or salad with those?”
“Fries for me,” Luke said.
“I should have a salad.” Obviously that’s not what she wanted.
“Have a salad,” he said. “We can share my fries.”
The server confirmed their order and drifted away.
“I was surprised to see you this afternoon,” she said. “I bumped into one of your old dorm-mates a couple of years ago and he told me you’d joined the Seattle P.D.”
So she did know. “Yeah, I got in a couple of years after I graduated college.”
“And you’re moonlighting as a window washer?”
He didn’t want to let her believe that, mostly because it wasn’t true. But because of where she lived, and the reason he was working there, he needed to be careful what he did tell her.
“I’m with vice. Sometimes an investigation is easier when the bad guys don’t know who we are.”
“So you’re...what? Working undercover?”
He tipped his head in agreement.
“I thought things like that only happened in the movies.”
“If this is a movie, that would make me James Bond.”
That made her laugh. “Isn’t he a spy?”
“Yeah, but it’s a movie, remember? That means I get to be anybody I want. What about you?” he asked, wanting to steer the conversation in a different direction.
“Well, since you get to be Pierce Brosnan—or would that be Daniel Craig?—then I guess I’d be Julia Roberts.” She was blushing again. “But more Mona Lisa Smile than Pretty Woman,” she added quickly.
His turn to laugh. “Good to know, but I was talking about the real-life you. You said you work at home.”
“I do, some of the time, but nothing movie-star glamorous I’m afraid. I’m a Realtor, and a partner in a business called Ready Set Sold.”
He never would have imagined her as a salesperson. Then again she’d be good at anything she decided to do. “Good name for a real estate company.”
“We thought so. We’re more than just real estate, though. We help people renovate and stage their homes before we put them on the market.”
“Good idea. How many business partners do you have?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t say her ex was one of them.
“Two. Samantha Elliott is our carpenter and general handywoman, and Kristi Callahan is an interior decorator. They both do really amazing work, but they’re more than business partners. They’re my two best friends.”
Huh. Three women, best friends, running a business together. He liked the sound of that. “What about Donald? Is he in real estate?” Not that it was any of his business, and he probably shouldn’t even bring him up, but something about the guy didn’t sit right with him.
Claire plucked a napkin from the dispenser and wiped the table in front of her. “No. He’s an investment broker. He did really well at it, which is how we could afford the condo. Things between us started to fall apart right around the time the economy took a downturn, and then I found out he was...”
Luke had a pretty good idea what she was going to say, and he let her get to it without prompting.
“And then I found out he was having an affair.”
Bastard. Women like Claire, and his mother, deserved better. His own track record was less than stellar but except for Sherri, he had never been in a relationship long enough to be unfaithful. Even with her, although he’d been tempted a time or two, he’d kept his pants zipped. He might be a chip off the old block in a lot of ways, but his father’s infidelity had been the thing he hated most about the man. No way, not even when he’d been drinking heavily, as he had been in those days, would he let himself sink that low.
“Is that when Donald moved out?”
“He didn’t have a choice. After I found out, I packed up his stuff and called a moving company.”
He felt himself grin. “Hot damn, you’re feisty.”
He had always liked that Claire was a smart, determined woman. To know she wouldn’t put up with any crap from anyone made him admire her even more. Why hadn’t his mother kicked his father’s ass out of the house a long time ago? Why didn’t she do it now?
Claire swirled the straw in her drink. “A lot of men might think that what I did was a bit over-the-top.”
“Only the ones who are cheating.”
“You mentioned something about a breakup. Were you the heartbreaker or the heartbroken?”
He should have seen this question coming since he’d been the one to bring up exes. “A little of both, I guess. I didn’t cheat on her, though.”
“Did she? Cheat on you, I mean.”
“No. At least not that I know of. We were seriously into partying and then...ah...something happened that made me realize I had a problem. I knew I needed to quit drinking, and it turned out I wasn’t much fun to be with when I was sober.”
“She actually said that?”
“Not in so many words. And I learned some stuff, too.”
“Such as...?”
“Being sober and living with a drunk isn’t much fun, either.”
“Oh, Luke. I’m sorry. Do you know how she’s doing now?”
“No. We sort of lost touch.” Which wasn’t entirely true. He did know how she was doing. Not good. He didn’t want to talk about Sherri or the real reason they’d split up. He never talked about stuff like this with anyone, ever. Why was he opening up with Claire?
A food runner arrived with their order. “The O’Chicken?”
Claire patted the table in front of her, eyes widening as she took in the amount of food on her plate. The kid set the second plate in front of Luke and sidled away as the server appeared. She balanced a tray of drinks on one arm as she pulled a bottle of ketchup from her apron pocket and set it on the table.
“Anything else?” she asked.
He and Claire both shook their heads, and she carried on.
For a few moments there was silence as Luke applied a generous squirt of ketchup to his burger and squeezed another zigzag across his fries. He offered the bottle to Claire but she shook her head. He picked up the top half of his bun—lettuce, tomato, pickle and all—slapped it onto the burger side, and flattened it with his palm. While he watched Claire, he picked it up and took a bite.