by Cherry Adair
Ducking out on his own party was rude as far as she was concerned. The condo was still jam-packed with Luke’s and Nick’s upwardly mobile friends, none of whom seemed to have noticed their host had gone AWOL. Everyone was having a blast.
Catherine’s head throbbed and the muscles around her mouth ached from smiling. She was tired of making nice. In fact, she’d pretended to hurt her ankle so she didn’t have to dance anymore. Which meant she was stuck sitting in Luke’s big black leather chair in the corner with her feet propped up. A captive audience for Ted, Allan, two Bobs and an ethereal blonde named Cheryl.
She let Cheryl entertain the four men while she zoned out, thinking unwillingly about what Luke was up to. Karen had beautiful skin. No freckles on her. Catherine glanced down at her own hands, fisted around a half-filled glass of warm soda. Her skin looked as though she’d been peppered. Ugh. She hated her freckles. Hated them.
One of the Bobs said something, and the others laughed. Catherine had enough presence of mind to smile. One thing she’d learned: there was no point in crying over things that couldn’t be changed. She was in this particular polka-dotty skin, and she had to resign herself to living with it. Disliking how she looked wasn’t going to change reality.
Besides, she thought, working herself up into a real snit, it was Luke’s fault. If he hadn’t always shown up with some creamy-skinned, pocket Venus, Catherine wouldn’t have grown up hating her freckles, her hair and her height.
She wanted Luke to come home and everyone else to disappear.
Eventually, finally, the guests left in dribs and drabs. Now it was after two, and Luke still wasn’t back.
The last to leave, Nick leaned over to kiss her forehead on the way out the front door. “Are you sure I can’t—”
“Go.” Catherine pushed at his wide chest. “Thank you for offering to help with the cleanup. I’ll take care of it next week when I wake up.”
“You did good, Princess. You were the belle of the ball.”
“I’m delighted to hear it.” Catherine didn’t bother to stifle a yawn. “Too bad Prince Absent wasn’t here to see me shine.”
“Oh, he saw enough. Trust me.”
“You’re a sweet man. Delusional, but sweet. Go home, Nick.”
As soon as the door closed behind him, Catherine felt the muscles in her shoulders sag. Overtired, that was all. She was just overtired. Overstimulated. Overloaded.
She imagined Luke in bed with Karen. The salsa and meatballs did a sickening dance in her tummy. She gathered several empty platters from the dining room table on her way to the kitchen for a Maalox.
After changing into plaid flannel pajama bottoms, one of Luke’s T-shirts and her ratty slippers, she shuffled back into the living room and turned off the CD player. Ah. Silence.
She surveyed the messy room, knowing no matter how tired, she wouldn’t be able to sleep. She almost had herself convinced it had nothing to do with Luke’s absence and everything to do with not waking up to this mess.
“You owe me, Van Buren. You owe me big.” She loaded dirty glasses onto a tray and wrinkled her nose. A sickening rush of memories assaulted her. She couldn’t smell beer without remembering that night nine years ago.
It had started harmlessly enough; her friends, fake IDs in hand, had surprised her with a visit to a strip joint for her seventeenth birthday. Catherine didn’t want to remember the rest of it. If she did, she’d be on the next plane back to Beaverton.
One thing was for certain—the next time she managed to get Luke to kiss her she’d make sure she was stone-cold sober. That was then. This was now.
Same objective. Different game plan. She’d chosen this path, and she’d stick to it. No retreating like a spineless crab. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Rah rah rah.
She looked down at her clothing and grimaced. Not exactly seductive. But if she suddenly appeared in a slinky black negligee and garter belt, Luke would run screaming for the hills. No. She had to take this slowly and methodically. She’d put the idea out there. Luke had to run with it.
She just had to have the courage of her convictions and not run when the going got tough.
It took more than an hour to clean up the party mess. Luke still wasn’t home. “Of course he isn’t. What did you expect?” she asked herself, drying the last platter and putting it away while the dishwasher hummed with the final load. “You aren’t the only woman who wants him. Duh, Catherine!”
She had to play her cards close to her chest. This time Luke had to make the first move. She just had to be patient. One of her better traits, and one not shared by Luke.
She checked the living room and narrow balcony one last time for stray glasses. Finding none, she went to turn off the kitchen light before going to bed. The place was now spotless. Luke called her a neat freak. Okay, so she was a little obsessive. He was just the opposite. For a man meticulous in his work, Luke was a slob at home. He’d happily leave the same pair of dirty socks, breeding and multiplying, under the coffee table until they walked to the laundry on their own.
Her habits had been ingrained before the age of six. She and her mother had moved seven times, sometimes in the dead of night. If everything was in its place, she’d been able to grab her most precious possessions quickly.
She glanced at the clock on the stereo: 3:30 a.m.
They’d be asleep now. Cuddled together. Karen probably had one of those froufrou beds, all lace and pink pillows. Luke would look outrageously masculine and sexy, stretched out naked—
Catherine ruthlessly cut off the thought and groaned out loud. Living with Luke was going to either kill or cure her.
CHAPTER FIVE
LUKE SNEAKED INTO his own apartment like a thief in the night. He’d seen that foreign film so many times he swore he could now speak fluent German. He frowned. All the lights in the spotless living room were on. Unbuttoning his shirt, he pulled it free of his pants and felt a twinge of guilt for leaving Cat to do the cleanup. Then he considered how he’d have felt if he’d stuck around. Hell, he’d done the right thing.
He almost had a seizure when he saw Cat sprawled out on the leather sofa. She wore one of his favorite ratty T-shirts and a disreputable pair of pajama bottoms he swore she’d had since she was a kid. Her cheeks were pink; her eyes glittered.
“Nice of you to drop by, Van Buren. Pleasant evening?”
“Delightful,” Luke managed to answer cheerfully. Man, was she ticked. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his chinos as he walked around the arm of the sofa. “Hey, thanks for doing the cleanup. Did Nick give you a hand?”
“Yes. By leaving.”
Cat drew a leopard print pillow, which hadn’t been here a week ago, onto her lap, still glaring. Whoops. He did a quick scan through the open door into the darkened bedroom and lowered his voice. “Are we alone?”
Her cheeks lit up like flamingo-pink neon. “Other than the entire 49ers team naked, and exhausted, in the bedroom, you mean?”
Luke took his hands out of his pockets and sat on the opposite arm of the sofa. Out of missile reach. “It’s not out of the realm of possibility that you’d have a man here, Cat.”
Her fiery eyebrows shot up into her bangs. “Who are you? What alien life force took over Luke Van Buren’s body?”
“Huh?”
“Whose condo is this? I hadn’t met any of these people here tonight before in my life! Do you really think I’d sleep with a total stranger? In your home? In your bed?”
“Ahh, no.”
“Then don’t ask such asinine questions, you turkey.”
She curled her legs under her and bunched up her hair in her fist. She wasn’t wearing a bra. He remembered that brief, tantalizing flash of cinnamon and cream, and almost licked his lips. Yep, Luke thought. A good thing he’d stayed out.
“Shou
ldn’t you be sleeping?” he asked mildly. What was the point in sitting in a movie theater all night only to came home and find her wide-awake, sexy as hell and in his face?
“I just finished shoveling everything into the dishwasher.”
The hectic color had left her cheeks. Her eyes looked bruised and kind of sad, Luke thought. They would have been looking a damn sight sadder if he’d hung around much longer at the party.
“I would’ve cleaned up in the morning, Cat.”
She hugged the pillow and snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“So what did you think of Ted?”
She shrugged.
“Allan?”
She did the so-so thing with her head.
“Either of the Bobs? Any of them?”
Cat unfolded her legs. She was close enough to touch. The scent of her body, warm, female, Catherine, made him dizzy.
“Come on, Cat.”
“Hey, don’t rush me. I’ll keep you posted. You’ve given me enough to work with for now.” She stood looking down at him. “How’d your evening with Karen go?”
“Great.” The pits. Karen had not been a happy woman when he’d left her at her door.
“She seems nice enough.”
“Pretty, smart. She’s a lawyer.”
“Lovely,” Cat told him coolly. “She can do your prenup if you two get married.”
“She knows that’ll never happen.”
Luke rose. They were no more than a foot apart. Desperate to steal a kiss from those sweet pink lips, he knew she’d deck him with the pillow she clutched to her midriff.
“Ever heard of common law?”
“This is the second time I’ve dated her. Besides, Nick and I have The Bet, remember?”
Cat shook her head, slapping him in the face with twenty pounds of hair. The honey-scented strands lashed his cheeks before springing back home. He wanted to grab her by that hair, wrestle her back to the sofa...and get a swift kick in the cojónes for his trouble.
“That is one of your more ridiculous bets, Luke. What if one of you falls madly in love and wants to get married before you’re thirty-five? It could happen, you know.”
“Being in love doesn’t necessarily mean marriage. Which is why I consider The Bet a sure thing. I have the edge. I’m never getting married, however old I am.”
“You mean you still believe that stupid ‘all your emotional eggs in one basket’ theory you had at fifteen? That, my darling dragon, is what we women call Lack of Commitment. You just haven’t met the right woman yet.”
“I meet the right women. Several times a year. Which has always been my point.” He frowned. “Are you going to bed?”
“Yes.” She stepped out of reach and turned to assess him over her shoulder. “Are we going to the house tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Late-ish. Take the bed again.”
He watched her walk to the bedroom. Even in the too large T-shirt, she moved like music. Fluid, graceful and too sexy for his peace of mind. Luke closed his eyes. He needed something else to focus on when Cat was around. Something that wasn’t soft, smooth and cinnamon flavored. Something like—
“Sweet dreams, Luke.”
“Yeah, you too, honey.” Something like—construction. Yeah. That was it. Instead of seeing Cat, he’d imagine building the house. From the foundation up.
“Are you okay?”
He glanced up. She was standing at the bedroom door with a little V of worry between her brows, one slippered foot perched on the other. He wanted to stride over, pick her up, carry her into the bedroom, lay her on his nice, wide bed...
“Just tired.”
Excavating the foundation. Lots of dirt. Big piles of dark soil—soft pale, freckly mounds tipped with pale apricot nipples... “See you in the morning,” he said gruffly, getting up to click off the light and plunge the room into darkness.
He heard the door shush closed.
Yeah, this visualizing concept stuff was going to work well. Yeah, right!
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, still wide-awake, with excavating the furthest thing from his mind, Luke had to go to the bathroom. To get to the bathroom, he had to go through the bedroom. He dreaded walking through the room with Cat sleeping there. Why had he decided to combine two bedrooms into one? Why had he thought a bigger kitchen warranted removing the guest bath?
Because he hadn’t expected Cat to be sleeping in his bed. That’s why.
She’s sleeping, you moron, Luke told himself, tiptoeing into the bedroom. She’d left the light on in the bathroom. A sliver of golden light slashed across her figure on the bed.
“Ah, Cat,” he said softly.
She was sprawled facedown across the bedspread, her hair covering her face and half the pillow. Out like a light. Beside her, tucked up to its furry little armpits by the blanket, was the teddy bear he’d given her years ago. That was Cat. She hung on to things. Treasured things. Coddled things.
He noticed she’d changed his satin sheets for plain white cotton. He sighed and bent to take off her slippers.
The smart thing to do, Catherine decided as she felt Luke’s hands removing her left fuzzy slipper, was to turn over and say hi. The sensation of his warm hands on her bare foot sent little electrical currents up her leg.
Pretending to be asleep now was almost as bad as when she’d hidden under his bed on one of his weekends at home. She’d been about nine. Even then she’d wanted to be as close to him as she could get. Eventually he’d discovered her, and hadn’t cared that she was faking a deep sleep. He’d hauled her out, dragged her screaming into the hallway, then slammed the door in her face.
The housekeeper had reported the incident to his father, who in turn had punished Luke, and in a natural progression, Luke had refused to talk to Catherine for a month.
Bad idea then. Bad idea now.
He drew off the other slipper, then massaged her instep with strong, sure strokes. She’d never felt anything more erotic in her life. Goose bumps broke out on her skin as he cradled her foot before gently settling it back on the bed.
She felt the drag of the covers under her as Luke carefully pulled the spread and blankets down to her feet, trying not to wake her. Her breasts tingled as if he’d touched them directly. She imagined the glide of the blankets were Luke’s hands skimming slowly down her body. Eyes squeezed shut, she pictured his hands on her. Large, hard, long fingered. Smoothing, cupping, claiming.
Moisture pooled between her thighs. Her pulse pounded strategically. She gritted her teeth at the thick, syrupy pleasure her imagination created. She felt the brush of fur, and realized he’d settled Hubert back beside her cheek.
“You’re a real pain, Catherine Anne Harris, you know that?” Luke murmured. “I wish you’d stayed in Oregon where you belong.”
It took a moment for her overactive hormones to assimilate what he’d just said. A real pain. Stayed where you belong.
The delicious sensations left her body in a dizzying rush.
Her heart ached in her chest; the back of her nose tingled. She clamped her teeth together so tightly her jaw ached. So much for wanting Luke to make the first move. He didn’t want her. Biblically or otherwise.
No matter how Luke presented his invitation for her to stay, the bottom line, as usual, was that she was in the way. All her life she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time where Luke was concerned.
Catherine wanted to run. She wanted to go home. To her own bed, with her own safe things surrounding her. But she’d burned those bridges by selling the house and putting everything she owned into storage. At the time that had taken more courage than she’d thought she could muster. But selling and closing up the only real home she’d ever known had been child’s play compared to this.
Luke tucked the covers around he
r, brushing aside her hair. For a brief, electrifying second, his hand lingered on her nape.
She couldn’t help it. She shivered.
He swore under his breath.
For several seconds he didn’t move. She could feel him standing there beside the bed. Looking at her. Then she heard his footsteps as he went into the bathroom. The lock snicked. The shower turned on.
Catherine stared up into the darkness, eyes dry, chest aching.
* * *
LUKE FINALLY EMERGED from a restless sleep. He hadn’t bothered with a sheet. The leather sofa had glued itself to his skin all the way down his left side, and he had to peel himself off like a giant Band-Aid. Thoroughly out of sorts, he yanked last night’s chinos over his briefs and staggered reluctantly through the bedroom to get to the bathroom.
The bed was neatly made. How nice. One of them had slept well. He glanced at the bathroom door. Open. He shot a look at his watch. Great. He’d had about three hours’ sleep. And where was Cat at eight on a Sunday morning?
After a quick, hot shower, he dressed in his favorite denim cutoffs and a faded red tank top, then headed for the kitchen.
Wherever she’d gone, Cat had unloaded the dishwasher and put everything neatly away before she’d left. He hadn’t heard a sound. He searched around for a note. She hadn’t left one. Vaguely miffed, he started coffee and decided on eggs Benedict for breakfast. He didn’t just save his culinary masterpieces for The Morning After. Although he usually cooked this particular dish for two. And served it in bed.
* * *
AS SOON AS she walked into the kitchen, Catherine knew she should have stayed out longer. There was a twenty-four-hour movie theater two blocks away. She could have spent the morning there, reading subtitles.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said cheerfully, setting a bag of doughnuts and the Sunday paper on the counter to avoid looking at a lot of naked Luke. Tanned, taut, terrific body. Not a freckle in sight. He had the naturally long, lean physique of an athlete without having to do the maintenance. It wasn’t fair. But then, what in life was? A familiar tightness gripped her chest.