by Cherry Adair
She turned and reached up to find a mug in the overhead cabinet. “Fun party. I like your friends.”
“The feeling was mutual.” Luke eyed her black biker shorts and white tank top without comment. There were no secrets between fabric and skin, and despite having been outside jogging in the park, Catherine suddenly felt self-conscious in her skimpy attire. Luke’s gaze traveled the length of her legs and back up again to her sweat-damp hair scraped back in a ponytail.
“Been running?”
“Yeah. Across the street in the park.”
Even at 7:00 a.m. Marina Green had been crowded with bikers, runners, mothers with little kids, people on in-line skates. None of them had looked at her the way Luke was doing right now. None of them could make her shiver with a mere glance. She filled her mug with cool tap water, drank it down, then casually picked up the half-filled carafe of coffee and poured herself a cup.
Golden sunlight bathed Luke as he sat at the table in the alcove. His skin looked like bronze satin, a cliché, but true. Muscles he’d acquired from hard physical labor, not weights, covered his bones in a fascinating display of hills and valleys. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on the man anywhere. And Catherine could pretty much see everywhere.
That faded red tank top didn’t hide much. She tried not to stare at a flat brown nipple, showing because he’d twisted to watch her, and the wide armhole had shifted.
She found the milk and sugar and doctored her coffee, then grabbed the white paper bag off the counter.
“There’s a gym on the ninth floor,” he reminded her as she sat down opposite him at the table.
“Ah, yes. Where you go to pick up babes. I prefer being outside in the fresh air. Want a doughnut?”
Luke shook his head. She shivered as his hair brushed his neck. “I just had breakfast. I left yours in the oven.” He looked her up and down. “You’re in pretty good shape.”
“Pretty good shape?” Catherine pushed aside the greasy bag and rose from the table to flex the biceps in her right arm. “I’m in my prime, pal, and don’t you forget it.”
He snagged her wrist and held it up. “Look at this, your bones are as delicate as a bird’s. I could snap this wrist with no trouble at all.”
Catherine disengaged her hand. “If you snapped my wrist you’d have trouble, all right. You’d be wearing the coffeepot around your neck.” Goose bumps shot up her arm.
“See, that’s what I mean. You look fragile enough to break in a man’s hands, but you have an amazing resilience—” He broke off and gave her a look she couldn’t hope to interpret.
“Mix fragility with all that firehouse red hair, and a man would have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to want the whole package in his be—life. You’re a lethal combo, Cat. They’re going to kill themselves falling over their feet, and each other, to have you. And I’m here to make sure the right guy gets the prize. I’m going to keep you by my side, and protect you from the predators, until you make your choice.”
It was fascinating to hear his assessment of her. He’d rarely commented on her appearance over the years. She knew his preferences from seeing the women he dated. Petite blondes or brunettes. Not gangly, freckly redheads. So it felt odd to have Luke’s entire attention focused on her. Especially at such close quarters.
“I don’t need you to protect me, Luke. Although I appreciate the offer. The thought of half a dozen guys trying to coerce me into bed is incredibly appealing.” She grinned at him. “I’d like the chance to fight off a few of them myself.” She forced herself not to rub her wrist, where his touch seemed to have burned her skin like a brand.
Luke gave her a quirky look. “Am I going to have to impose a curfew?”
“You could try.” Catherine smiled sweetly. “Although I believe people are capable of having sex at any time of the day or night, aren’t they?”
“They, maybe. You, no. You aren’t the type to fall into bed with a sweet-talking man.”
“I’m not? Then why did you ask me who I was sleeping with after the party?”
He scowled. “I had to ask. Didn’t mean I thought... Cat, you’ve waited twenty-six years to shed your virginity. I know you. You’d have to be madly in love with the guy. That takes time. Years.”
“Years?”
“Hell, yes. Years.” Luke drained his mug and set it carefully on the table. He gave her a serious, now-listen-to-me-kid look. “You want more than animal coupling. More than lust. You want love, respect, understanding. Someone who knows you, who’ll allow you to fulfill your potential as a woman.” He looked so serious she had to smile.
“Can’t I go for a little animal coupling first?”
“Catherine.”
“Maybe you and Nick have the right idea. Maybe I should be like you guys for a while before I settle down.”
“Like...us? You mean be a...player?” His voice rose. “A lifestyle that’s risky, shallow, empty? A nowhere existence, just living for the moment?”
“Sure. Why not? It works for you. I’ll play the field, be a party girl. That’s a great idea, Luke.”
He scowled at the implication that it had been his idea. “You’re a woman.”
“There are women players. You date them.”
“And you’re about as far from a player as—as Bambi is from Caligula.” The light went on. “Aha! You’re just trying to muddy the issue.”
“I just thought while I look, I might enjoy living on the edge. Wild, uninhibited, unrepentant sex. Variety—”
“Over my dead body.”
“Sheesh, that’s a little drastic. I might as well wear a chastity belt.” Thank God he looked so appalled. She had no idea what she would’ve said next. She put up her hand. “Just kidding. Can we change the subject now, please?” Catherine rose from the table and yanked open the oven door. “You mentioned real food?”
“You throw something like indiscriminate sex into the conversation and then want to eat?”
“Sure. We changed the subject. Oh, yum. Eggs Benedict.”
She took the plate from the oven, feeling his gaze on her backside. That bit of conversation had thrown them both. She repressed a smile as she uncovered the plate he’d saved for her.
Catherine was amazed that the things Luke cooked turned out so well. He never measured anything, adding and subtracting ingredients to suit his taste buds, which just showed how different the two of them were.
She stuck religiously to the recipe, lined up the ingredients and utensils in the order they’d be used, and never varied anything by so much as half a grain of salt. If she had a kitchen it would consist of natural woods and a jungle of green plants. With a place for everything, and everything in its place.
The condo kitchen was a gourmet chef’s dream, with brushed-chrome doors, wide black-marble countertops and a ceiling rack laden with gleaming, well-used copper pots. The counters were cluttered with weeks’ worth of newspapers, fancy coffeemakers, a Cuisinart, all sorts of high-tech gadgetry, five pairs of sunglasses and a lonely sock.
In the deep windowsill, Luke had his only concession to plants. The window box Catherine had planted for him when he’d first moved in still flourished. She’d crowded it with various herbs he snipped for cooking. An automatic drip system hooked to the faucet guaranteed the plants’ lives.
“Delish,” Catherine told him, after swallowing. “Oh. I passed Nick in the lobby. He has a present for you.”
Luke set down his coffee mug. “Why?”
“Not what?”
“I know Nick. He’s a sneaky devil. If I know the why, I can guess the what.”
“You won’t guess what this is, I promise.”
“Hmm.” Luke’s glassy focus was in the vicinity of her chest. He must have zoned out, thinking about something, but it still felt as though he were looking. Her nipples peaked to
full glory. She casually crossed her arms and leaned forward to brace them against the edge of the table, just in case he wasn’t as zoned out as she feared. “Luke?”
His head shot up. This wasn’t their usual comfortable conversation. It felt a little strained, she thought, but that was her problem. Luke didn’t know she’d heard him last night in the bedroom. Remembering his comments sent a chill skittering through her like dead leaves on frozen ground. Was he trying to find a compassionate way to tell her he wanted her to leave? He’d done it before with devastating effect.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I was thinking about—about the foundations for the house.”
Catherine looked at him blankly. “There’s something wrong with the foundation and you only realized this now?”
“Nope. Nothing wrong. Solid. Firm. Perfect.” He picked up his empty mug and brought it to his mouth.
“I think you’d better start taking vitamins.” She snatched his mug out of his hand and refilled it. “Here. I’m off to grab a shower.” She loaded her plate and cutlery into the dishwasher and avoided Luke’s eyes, miserable coward that she was.
“And then I’m going to pack.” Catherine nudged the door closed with her knee and resolutely turned to face him.
“Pack?” he asked blankly.
“Pack.” She infused as much chirpy good cheer as she could muster into the words. “Let’s face it. This wasn’t one of my better ideas, Luke. I’m going home.” Before I make a fool of myself and you tell me to go.
“Running, Cat?”
“That’s not fair.”
“What about finding a husband?”
“I can do that in Beaverton.”
“You should’ve thought of that before you sold the only home you’ve ever known. Where will you live, little sister?”
Her chest ached. “I’ll buy a condo, big brother.”
“Sounds like a giant hassle to me.” His knuckles whitened around his mug. “Besides, we decided you’d stay here. Why buy another condo when in a few weeks this one will be available? Consider it a favor, Cat. I can stay with you when I work late.”
“I’m sure my husband will be thrilled to have you tromping through our bedroom to use the bathroom,” she said dryly.
“You don’t have a husband.” He gave her a penetrating look. “It’s not like you to make impulsive decisions like this, Cat. What’s going on?”
“It’s my prerogative to change my mind.”
“Not when we have a bet going, it isn’t.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! You and your dumb bets! Who cares?”
His chair screeched across the glossy, black-vinyl floor as he shoved it back. “I care. It’s a matter of honor.”
Catherine rolled her eyes. “Give me a break, Van Buren. I admit I made a monumental mistake coming to you. I don’t fit in here. I don’t blend in with your yuppie friends.” She spread her arms. “Look at me—”
Luke squeezed his eyes shut as if he were in pain. “Go take a shower. We’ll discuss this when you’re dressed.”
* * *
“SHE WANTS TO go back home,” Luke hissed, eyes fixed on the slammed-shut bedroom door. He stuck his bare feet up on the coffee table and glared at his friend. “What happened last night at the party?”
“Other than the host being eighty-sixed?” Nick asked as he reached for another doughnut.
“I had to take Karen home.”
“And Catherine got in a snit when you were gone all night from your own party.” Nick shook his head. “Women. Go figure.”
“So? My entire social and sex life has to come to a screaming halt because Cat’s here?”
Nick put up a powdered-sugar-coated hand. “Hey, that’s your choice. Personally I wouldn’t want to see anyone else. Not with Catherine around. In case you hadn’t noticed, old son, that’s one hot babe you have sharing your— Oh, excuse me,” he drawled as Luke cleared his throat pointedly.
“I’d switch places with you in a heartbeat, and so would half our friends. Didn’t you see them salivating around Catherine last night? Or were you too busy getting it on with Karen?”
“She’s a beautiful woman.”
“Cat? I know. She’s gorgeous.”
“Not Cat. Karen. And of course those degenerates were all over Cat like bears over honey. They’re idiots, not stupid.”
“What idiots aren’t stupid?” Cat asked, emerging from the bedroom wearing white shorts, a black crop top and strappy black sandals. She’d even put on makeup. Nothing overt, just enough to make her look...more. She’d done something to tame her hair, then swooped it on top of her head in a sexy tumble held up by gravity. A forties pinup. Nick shot up from his seat and crossed the room in three strides.
“Let me take you away from all this, my lovely Princess Catarina.” He grabbed Cat around her waist, touching her bare skin as he swirled her in a circle.
Luke watched through narrowed eyes, wondering where he could hide Nick’s body after the homicide. His friend brought Cat’s hand to his mouth, then theatrically kissed her fingertips before nibbling his way up her arm, reeling her in against his chest and making her laugh. Cat wrapped her arm around his waist and Nick smiled down at her.
“I brought you a present.”
“I thought it was for me,” Luke said, as a laughing Nick pulled Cat over to the new gate-legged table by the front door.
“Nope. You get yours later, old son. This one’s for Catherine.”
“Oh, Nick! Thank you.” She picked up the old-fashioned, round fishbowl in both hands, then looked at Nick with shining eyes. There was only one ordinary little goldfish in the bowl, not an entire freshwater aquarium, Luke thought sourly as he watched them.
“This is so sweet of you.”
“Hey, I’m a sweet guy—”
“You’d better change into jeans,” Luke informed her, cutting Nick off. Preferably at the knees. “We’re going on the bike.”
“I’m not going on the bike. Allan’s taking me.”
Luke gave her a blank look. “To my house?”
“Is that a problem?” One hip cocked, she leaned into Nick, holding the bowl with the lonely little fish against her chest.
Lucky fish.
“The sooner the house is finished the sooner you move in, right? Allan’s a great painter. He told me so last night. Consider him free labor.”
The two of them strolled across the living room like frigging Siamese twins. Nick dug in his pocket. Luke absently took the twenty his ex-best friend handed over as he passed.
“Yeah, I guess.” He stuffed the money into his front pocket.
Cat didn’t sound as if she were packing her bags anytime soon. Something inside him unwound a little.
“I’ll make some calls and round up more people,” he said. “We can make a day of it.”
Cat glanced at her watch. “Well, an afternoon, anyway. You bet on Allan, did you?” she asked, then glanced at Nick. “Who was your call?”
“Ted.”
“You should have told me. They both asked me out today.”
“That would be cheating,” Luke informed her, not amused that she was amused.
“Oh. Excuse me. I didn’t realize there were rules.” The doorbell rang and she disengaged from Nick. “That’s Allan. Get the lead out, Van Buren.”
She handed him the dumb fishbowl and went to the door.
CHAPTER SIX
NICK HAD GIVEN him a two-by-four. To beat back the guys who were going to swarm over Cat. No kidding. At the rate things were going Luke was going to need it. He didn’t like the ratio of men to woman: three to one. In Cat’s favor.
He liked women, and considered flirting one of life’s greatest pleasures. But it was one of his unwritten laws that he never strung them along. Luke m
ade no secret of his opinion of marriage or any long-term commitment.
The second Cat had left on the arm of good old Allan, Luke called a woman he hadn’t seen in months. Suzette was an attractive, petite brunette. Intelligent and witty, she made no bones about being available and she liked his rules just fine.
Half the twenty or so people spread throughout the house were working. The others had taken the grill across the street to the beach for an impromptu barbecue. Luke had posted a work schedule, and despite the moaning and groaning from his press-ganged crew, work was actually being accomplished.
Cat and Allan were painting the guest bedroom. They’d been in there for hours with the door closed. Of course, Luke thought, digging in one of the coolers for a liter bottle of soda, there was no furniture in there yet. But how long could it possibly take two people to paint a small room?
“Trying to use telekinesis to open the door?” Nick strolled into the kitchen and caught him glowering down the hall. Nick levered himself up onto the counter. “I thought you came in here for sodas.”
“On my way.” Luke held up the bottle and a short tower of paper cups. “Ladies getting twitchy?”
“Suzette and Kirsten wonder why everyone else is slaving serflike while you wander from room to room bossing us around.”
“Meticulous planning.” Luke shot another look toward the closed door down the hallway. “Bad idea leaving the two women unsupervised, Stratton. Who knows what devious plot they’ll hatch while we’re not paying attention? Back to work.”
Nick slid off the plywood-topped counter. “Has Catherine said anything about leaving since we got here?”
“Nope.”
“She and Allan look good together. What’ya think?”
It had been Luke’s ridiculous reaction to Cat dragging Allan along that had induced him to invite five million people here in the first place. The house was overrun with bodies. Feeling incredibly beleaguered, he had to be in seven places at once to oversee what everyone was doing. “I think Allan’s been in there with her long enough to paint the Sistine Chapel.”