Slow Burn: Seducing Mr. RightTake Me

by Cherry Adair

  “Thanks. I’ll call her back tomorrow.” She took his clothes into the bedroom and tossed them into the hamper.

  Luke raised his voice through the open door. “Don’t you miss your friends back home?”

  “I talk to Molly, Susan and some of the others almost every other day, Luke.” She came back pushing wet hair behind her shoulders, enjoying the coolness. “Which is pretty much what we’ve been doing for the last year or so, anyway. The distance hasn’t made much difference.”

  “Yeah, but wasn’t there someone special?”

  Catherine frowned at him. What was she missing here? “Susan and Molly have been my best friends since second grade, you know that.”

  “A guy, Cat. A guy.”

  “No.” She sank onto the sofa, curled her legs under her, stuffed one of the new cushions behind the small of her back, picked up Sports Illustrated from the coffee table to fan herself. The cool wet strands of her hair felt great slithering down her back. She swung her head, enjoying the sensation.

  Luke stared at her, his eyes somewhat glazed. He cleared his throat. “What about a nipple?”

  “A what?”

  He looked blank for a second. “Nippon. You know. A Japanese car. I was thinking you probably need a vehicle of some sort. Something small to drive around town. Easy to park. Good gas mileage on the freeway.”

  She could have sworn he’d said... God, she had sex on the brain. “I don’t think I’ll need a car, do you? If I want to go anywhere, I’ll just take the bus or a cab.”

  “You can always use the Jag.” He looked her up and down. “Heavy date tonight?”

  “Nope. I’m in. You?”

  “In.” For a second she thought he’d go back to reading the book he clutched hard enough to whiten his knuckles. He looked up again. “Want to take in a nice air-conditioned movie?”

  “You could have stopped at the words air-conditioned. I’d go anywhere cool right now. I had no idea San Francisco could get this hot.” She uncurled her legs and rose to go to the kitchen. “I have yesterday’s newspaper. Let’s see what’s on. As long as it’s nothing with gushing blood,” she added, as she returned with the paper and spread it out on the crowded coffee table.

  “And nothing too schmaltzy,” he warned as she crouched down to find the movie section. “Why don’t you push the fishbowl and twenty-nine of those plants out of the way?”

  “Cleo doesn’t like to be moved,” Catherine said, lifting the paper over the fishbowl and a thriving dieffenbachia, and closer to Luke. She shifted so that she had to practically lean over his knees to see the print. “No vampires.” She ran her hand through her wet hair. “Do you think Cleo is lonely?”

  “Fish don’t get lonely.” He didn’t move when she rested an elbow on his knee, but he cleared his throat. “No costume dramas.”

  She wrapped an arm about his knee and leaned a little more of her weight against his leg. Rigor mortis set in as he froze.

  Catherine pretended to watch Cleo blow bubbles and swim in circles as she settled comfortably against him. Her unfettered breast brushed against his bare knee.

  “She looks lonesome to me. I think I’ll buy her a friend tomorrow.”

  “Then b—” Luke cleared his throat. “Be prepared to be grandparent to a bunch of tadpoles.”

  Catherine laughed. “Fish have fish. Frogs have tadpoles.”

  “Same thing—”

  “Not to the frogs and the fishies, it isn’t.”

  “Keep the bowl in the bedroom then. I don’t think I can handle fish procreation while I’m trying to watch CNN.”

  Interesting subject for Luke to bring up.

  “And nothing too smoochie, either,” he warned, before she could suggest the new romantic comedy at the Roxie.

  Catherine pushed damp hair out of her face. “Jim Carrey?”

  “What time?”

  “Seven-fifteen.” She used Luke’s leg to lever herself to her feet. His thigh muscles flexed beneath her palm. “I have to dry my hair.”

  His gray-green eyes darkened. “And get dressed.”

  “I’m perfectly decent. Why can’t I go like this?”

  “Put on a bra.”

  Catherine hid her smile as she went off to dry her hair.

  * * *

  IT WASN’T A DATE.

  But it sure felt like one to Luke. The theater was dark, and the movie, at any other time, would’ve captivated his attention.

  Small problem: Catherine Anne Harris sat beside him. Close beside him. In the old theater, the seats were too narrow and far too close together. He’d had to extend his legs into the aisle to accommodate their length. Cat had to sit at an angle to accommodate hers. Which meant she was practically in his lap. She smelled of peach soap and popcorn, a fragrance Luke was rapidly becoming addicted to.

  The huge tub of popcorn was on her lap. When he wanted to grab a handful his arm brushed her firm breast. Without looking at what she was doing, Cat fumbled for the giant soda he held on his own lap. Her fingers brushed his chest. He drew in a deep breath and handed her the paper cup.

  “Thanks,” she whispered against his cheek, eyes fixed on the screen. Her lips closed around the straw. Luke squeezed his eyes shut in self-defense. He imagined those lips closing around him.

  “I’m going out,” he whispered harshly. “Be right back.”

  * * *

  LUKE PULLED OPEN the door to the men’s room. He couldn’t handle this. Could. Not. Handle. This.

  He sat in a stall and stared at the graffiti on the back of the door. He wanted Cat. No. He more than wanted her. He’d desired women before. But what he felt for Cat...what he felt for Cat was deeper, more complex. Just more, dammit! That wasn’t going to go away. In fact, if anything, it was getting worse by the minute.

  He couldn’t concentrate at work. He wasn’t getting any sleep. His appetite was shot to hell. Luke felt the familiar tug-of-war he’d been experiencing for years—his own need balanced with honor. Half of him wanted to come right out and show Cat how much he wanted her. The other half remembered what a tender heart she had, how easily she could be hurt.

  Been there, done that.

  The night of her seventeenth birthday party came to mind. And the sharp sting of his father’s disapproval as he’d yelled, “Don’t go thinking you can use that girl to scratch an itch! She’s not her mother. Catherine is a forever woman.”

  His father had been more furious than Luke had ever seen him. “What would you do with a girl like Catherine once you had her?”

  The accurate punch of that statement hit him square on the jaw. What he wanted to do and what his own moral code demanded he do were polar opposites.

  He was a man who thrived on sampling.

  Catherine Anne Harris was a keeper.

  The promise to always be her big brother hadn’t been made lightly. His depth of sincerity had been in direct proportion to the hurt and anguish he’d inflicted on her. He wouldn’t renege on that now. Even if Cat was sharpening her inexperienced claws on his heart right now, he couldn’t go back on his word. He went through The Promise about thirty-nine times in his mind. Bottom line? He’d promised himself and his dad that he would take care of Cat.

  Taking care of Cat meant putting her best interests ahead of his own. Ahead of his marauding testosterone, his own lust, his own desires. He was a mature adult, not a hormone driven adolescent. He could deny himself; he could control his base urges. No one had ever died of lust, as far as he knew. He resigned himself to being horny for however long it took Cat to find what she was looking for. When she was settled he could take care of his own physical needs.

  Luke didn’t want to consider why he couldn’t take care of those needs while seeing to Cat’s happiness. The two seemed somehow entwined in his mind. If he couldn’t hav
e Cat, he didn’t want anyone else. Frustrated, but determined to stick to the letter of the law, he groaned.

  From the next stall, someone pounded on the dividing wall. “Get yourself a girl, mister!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LUKE WAS IN the kitchen scraping burned cookies into the garbage disposal when Cat returned home from her date with Dan the following night.

  “Phew-ee!” Catherine waved her hands. “That is mucho stinky! What are you still doing up?”

  “Burning cookies. How was your date?”

  Catherine sat on a bar stool and swung her foot. “Fun. The play was terrific. We ate at a fabulous little Italian place off the beaten track called Giovanni’s. Do you know it?”

  “I was the one who told him about it. You and old Daniel hit it off, huh?”

  “Umm. He’s charming.”

  “Just remember, he’s been married once before.”

  “No problem, as long as he doesn’t bring his ex to dinner with us,” Catherine said cheerfully.

  “Devil’s food cake?”

  “Nah. Strawberry swirl.”

  * * *

  THIS IS NOT going well, she decided several days later. One of the problems was she was rarely home. The other was...well, she was being too subtle. She needed to turn up the heat. They were anchored out on the Bay on Nick’s twenty-seven-foot sailboat. Even at six in the evening, the heat of the day was oppressive. She felt like the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz. Melting.

  There wasn’t a breath of wind, the dark blue water reflected mirror smooth, the air shimmered. Dozens of white-sailed boats, manned by scantily clad people hoping for an ocean breeze, cruised the Bay. In the distance the city looked freshly washed and as picture perfect as a postcard. She could even see the twin towers of their condo beyond Marina Green.

  Luke lay sprawled facedown on a towel on the varnished deck. Nick slouched on a folding deck chair, a book on his chest, eyes closed. Both wore swimsuits and a light film of perspiration on their tanned skins.

  Catherine, wearing a soft lime-green sundress, and sitting in the shade, sighed. She pulled the light T-shirt fabric farther up her bare legs. “Do you think if I sit in the sun my freckles will join together and I’ll get a nice even tan?”

  “You’ve been asking me that same question since you turned fifteen,” Luke told her. “And the answer is still no.” He reached blindly for the soda beside him. Catherine nudged it closer with her toe.

  “Thanks. Remember when you went to Hawaii that year? You came back parboiled and peeling.”

  “How do you know? You weren’t there.” That was the year he’d gone to the Pratt Institute in New York to study architecture. She’d felt as though a cannonball had gone through her chest and left a gaping, bleeding hole. Worse even than the day her mom had walked out and left her behind.

  “Dad told me about it.”

  Catherine felt her eyes well, and bit her lip. She’d had wonderful years with her stepfather. Good years. She had to remember those. But, God, how she missed him. Missed the unconditional love he’d always given her. Missed the feel of his arms around her. Missed that safety and the sense of belonging he’d provided. She closed her eyes and said a quick prayer of gratitude for the years they had shared.

  “Hey.” Luke curled his fingers around her ankle. His hand was cold from holding the soda can as he absently smoothed his thumb up and down her anklebone. “Dad wouldn’t have wanted you to be sad on such a beautiful day.”

  “How did you know I was thinking about him?” Icy hot shivers sheeted her skin at his touch.

  “Your mouth always goes soft and sort of pouty when you’re sad. Come on, Catwoman. Give me a smile.”

  Thankful her sunglasses hid her misty eyes, Catherine felt her heart expand as she looked down at him lying there like a giant sun-loving lion. Miles of smooth, tanned, naked skin; sweat-dampened dark hair; heartbreaking smile.

  “Good memories,” she said around the lump in her throat.

  “I know,” Luke said softly. Although she couldn’t see his eyes behind his glasses, she could feel his gaze skim her face. He let go of her ankle and she felt bereft.

  “It was just one of those quick, sneaky whammies. I’m getting better every day.”

  “Isn’t that a song?”

  “Yes. But please spare us and don’t sing it.”

  “Hear, hear,” Nick agreed, reminding them he was also on board.

  The muscles in Luke’s back flexed as he pillowed his head on his hands. “Man, this is the life. I could get used to it.”

  A seagull squawked as it wheeled lazily overhead. Wavelets lapped the wooden hull; lines creaked. The boat barely moved. The scent of suntan lotion overrode the salty tang of the water.

  If she leaned down and stretched out her hand, she could touch Luke’s shoulder. Catherine wanted to touch him so badly her fingernails tingled. Her heart sped up and her palms felt slick on her soda can. She imagined sliding her hands up his back, drawing his half naked body against hers. She imagined Luke blocking out the sun as he angled his head to kiss her, imagined his mouth touching hers....

  Imagined him wanting her.

  Not like the last disastrous time she’d kissed him, nine years ago. She’d almost knocked him to the floor in her exuberance. What a naive fool she’d been. Of course he’d been repulsed. Even inebriated, she’d known how appalled Luke had been. After several Keystone Cops moves, Luke had managed to extricate himself from her rubbery hold with a firm, no-nonsense grip of her shoulders. Then he’d yelled at her. Or had she thrown up and then he’d yelled at her? She shuddered at the memory.

  But that was then, this was now. Luke wasn’t going anywhere. She wasn’t feeling cool linoleum under her bare feet, but the solid wood deck. She wasn’t a beer-giddy, euphoric seventeen-year-old. She was stone-cold sober.

  No time like the present. Her heart did an anticipatory jig in her chest. The can made a little popping sound as she squeezed it too tightly.

  “Okay. Which of you is the best kisser?” she asked into the heat-induced silence.

  “I am,” both men said in unison. Luke lifted his glasses off his nose, opened one eye and squinted up at her. “Why?”

  “Because I think I need kissing lessons.”

  “Good idea,” Nick said, using a water-filled plastic spray bottle to spritz his legs and chest. He gave Catherine a wink of approval. She kept her expression bland.

  “Bad idea. Bad, bad idea.” Luke scowled at Nick. “She does not need kissing lessons. Don’t encourage her.”

  “Gee, I’m sorry you don’t approve.” Catherine peered at him over her sunglasses. “But I’m serious here. This is a skill I want to master. I’ve heard kissing can be taken to a fine art. I’ve had the sloppy kind, the dry kind, the icky kind and pretty much everything in between. I want to be taught by the best. So I can even the playing field. Who’s it going to be?” She avoided looking directly at Luke while she spoke, lest she chicken out.

  “We’ll both teach you, Catherine,” Nick said. “You’ll have the advantage of learning from two masters.”

  “Forget it.” Luke sat up. He had the imprint of the towel on his sweat-sheened chest. “Women are born knowing how to seduce. We should be teaching her what to expect and how to resist. Martial arts. That’s what we should be teaching her, for heaven’s sake! Besides, Cat’s not having two men stick their tongues down her throat one after the other. That’s gross.”

  “Oh, thank you for sparing me that. Sticking your tongue down my throat? If that’s how you two turkeys exhibit finesse, I’d rather kiss a frog.”

  “No frogs in salt water.” Nick reached for his shorts lying on the deck under his chair. “If you learn from a master, you won’t waste your time kissing a bunch of horny toads. Hey, old son, I’ll flip you for it.” He t
ook a coin out of a pocket.

  Luke look horrified. “You can’t flip a coin for something as intimate as a kiss.”

  “Sure we can. Remember Jennifer?”

  “That was different.”

  Knowing the coin Nick held was double-sided, Catherine hid a smile. “Oh, just ignore him and flip it,” she instructed Nick. She shot Luke a glance. “If I don’t mind, why should you?”

  “Call.” Nick prepared to flip.

  “Forget it.” Luke scowled. “Neither of us is teaching Cat anything. When the right man comes along, he’ll do all the teaching she wants. Until then, keep your grubby lips to yourself, Stratton.”

  “Catherine?” Nick asked.

  She shrugged. “If Luke doesn’t want to help, then I’d welcome any pointers you can give me. Thanks, Nick.”

  Nick gave her a sexy, dimpled smile and held out his hand. “Stand up, sweetheart, and let’s see what I can do.”

  “Stay right where you are, Cat.”

  “Don’t be such a grouch.” Catherine rose, stepped over him and took Nick’s hand. “Okay, how should we do this?”

  “Put your mouth anywhere near hers and you’ll be fish bait.” Luke jerked upright. “And take your hand off her butt.”

  Catherine struggled to keep a straight face. She couldn’t even look at Nick as he carefully lifted his hand from the small of her back.

  “One of us is going to help Catherine out, old son.” Nick tugged her against his side. “Why don’t you go below for an hour or so? I don’t want an audience. Do you, Catherine?”

  Don’t overdo it, Nick. “Not particularly, no.”

  Luke ignored her to glare at his friend. “An hour? She wants a kissing lesson, not a detailed road map through the Kama Sutra.”

  Nick pulled her closer. “Anything worth doing is worth doing well.”

  “No.”

  “Hey, you had a chance to call it. Either of us would do, right, Catherine?”

  “Heads,” Luke snapped.

  “Damn, I was really looking forward to—”