by Cherry Adair
She pushed her hair out of her face. “Sure,” she said dryly, then turned to her host. “Thanks for a fun evening, Nick.”
“Want me to put...the movie on pause till you get back?”
Catherine smiled. She couldn’t look at Luke, but she sensed a scowl. “No. But hold that thought. We’ll finish...what we started another time, okay?”
“I’ll be here,” Nick told her, sounding sincere and extremely disappointed. He briefly touched her cheek with bent knuckles as she walked by him.
“I’ll come back upstairs with you,” Luke told her firmly, walking between them to sling his arm around her shoulders and herd her toward the door.
“Give me a few minutes first, okay?”
“Sure.” At the front door he took her chin in his palm. A shiver traveled through Catherine’s body. “Remember, no is a complete sentence. If you use it enough, Faith might get it.”
Not likely. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, Luke.”
* * *
HE FOUND HER standing outside on the patio when he came upstairs fifteen minutes later.
“How’d it go?” he asked, stepping through the sliding door and walking up beside her where she stood at the railing. The phone lay on the table behind her, next to the fishbowl, which she must have brought out for company.
His patio used to hold two canvas-cushioned loungers, a low plastic table and several empty beer cans. It now gave every appearance of being the set for an Amazon movie. A veritable jungle of flowering plants and vines vied for space with clay pots filled with flowers and a forest of candles of various heights and sizes. All it needed was a swooping parrot.
She hadn’t turned on the overhead light, but the lights from inside were bright enough for him to observe her pale face and the stiff set of her lips. Cat wasn’t a crier. Not on the outside, anyway.
“She’s getting married again,” she told the stars.
“Aw, Cat.” Luke casually slung an arm around Cat’s shoulders as they stared out at the twinkling lights ringing the Bay. She leaned against him slightly, and he ran his hand down her smooth arm. Down. Up. Down. Mindful of her brittleness, he angled his head toward hers and rested his chin on her crown. Her hair smelled of lemons and fire, and it felt as soft as a kitten’s fur where it brushed his chin.
“I kinda figured that when she didn’t call collect this time.” Faith always called collect when she needed money. Or a place to stay. Or sympathy. The woman was an emotional vampire.
Man, he was in big trouble when the fragrance of Cat’s hair turned him on. “When’s the wedding?”
“Next week. This one’s in Arizona. She wants me to be a bridesmaid again.”
“How maternal of her. And how like her to tell you at the eleventh hour, then expect you to hotfoot it to her side.”
Cat turned her head to glance up at him. Her frenetic hair brushed the back of his arm, sending a nice little burst of electricity up his nerve endings. “It’s only a weekend. No big deal. I’m used to Faith by now.”
“No kidding. This is what? Number nine?”
“This is the man she’s been looking for all her life.” Cat’s hands clenched the wrought-iron railing. Luke felt the muscles in her arm bunch under the pressure. He stroked her skin until the muscles relaxed. “She sounded happy, at least,” Cat said quietly.
“He must be loaded.”
“So she said. His name is Chandler Roberts. He’s her plastic surgeon.”
“Convenient. She’ll keep him busy. Are you going to play bridesmaid again?”
“Sure.” Cat’s voice was dry. “I firmly believe every woman should have a closet full of froufrou dresses.”
“You aren’t the froufrou type.”
“Really?” She looked up at him. “What type am I?”
Gentle. Loving. Sexy as hell. “Practical. Sensible. Down-to-earth.”
“Thanks.” The corners of her soft mouth turned down. “In other words, not in the least little bit like my mother.”
“Who is...what?” Luke asked cautiously.
“Sexy, vivacious, beautiful.”
“Try obvious, loud, surgically enhanced. The woman’s a walking cliché.”
Cat smiled. “You have a way with words, Van Buren. Will you come to the wedding with me?”
“Don’t I always?”
She smiled, her eyes shiny. “I’m going inside for ice water. Want some?”
“No, thanks. Bring the cookies when you come back.”
Luke wanted to get Faith Harris-Ford-Van Buren-Davis-Turner-Collingswod-Ashby-Landry-soon-to-be-Roberts in a room alone for about ten minutes for a reality check. Cat, thank God, seemed to be well enough adjusted. Her mother’s frequent marriages were met with calm stoicism. However, Luke suspected Cat’s nonchalant veneer was only skin-deep. How could it not hurt her to see her mother choose one man after the other, with no thought, no consideration for her only child? It amazed him that Cat would even consider marriage.
He’d known, even as a kid, that marriage wasn’t for him. The thought had always left him cold. Nothing lasted as long as both parties wanted. Someone was doomed to be destroyed. And even if, by some chance, the adults withdrew relatively unscathed, the poor kid left in the middle was always devastated.
After the divorce, his mom had held on to him so tightly he’d sometimes wished he’d had Cat’s problem. He remembered lying in bed listening to his mother sob for hours. Even though she’d remarried, she’d never gotten over the divorce from his father. Luke couldn’t imagine how Faith did it repeatedly.
Cat returned carrying a large glass of ice-clinking water and the plate of chocolate chip cookies he’d baked the night before when she’d been out with some guy she’d met running in the park. Brian something-or-other. An unknown quantity and therefore dangerous.
Luke sprawled out on one of the canvas-covered loungers and held out his hand for the plate. Cat walked around the low table to sit beside him. She set the cool plate down on his stomach, then took a sip of her water.
They both wore shorts, and her bare leg pressed against his, sending a spear of electricity up his thigh directly into his groin. She smelled of some spicy-sweet powder, a fragrance Luke had associated with her for years.
He wanted to interrogate her about the scene he’d just witnessed downstairs. He wanted to discuss, coolly and clinically, the inadvisability of yesterday’s kiss. He wanted to politely request she move off his lounger and sit over there, a comfortable three feet away, where he wouldn’t be forced to touch her. But her mouth was pouty, her eyes a little sad, her shoulders not quite straight. He couldn’t withdraw his emotional support just because he was having a hard time keeping his hands off her.
“Want to talk about it?” he asked gently.
Cat fished in her glass for a large piece of ice. “Same old, same old.” She blew out a huff of air, ruffling her bangs. “Doesn’t it ever cool off around here? What happened to the San Francisco breezes I’m always hearing about?”
No breeze was going to cool him off. His concentration was shot, intent on erotic, inappropriate thoughts. Like how soft her skin looked. Like how delicious her lips had tasted yesterday. Like how good she smelled.
“They say the heat will stick around for another couple of days before it slacks off. We could always get an air conditioner.” And what had been going on downstairs earlier with Nick?
“No. I can stand it for a while.” She ran the ice down her throat, leaving a trail of moisture on her skin, then tilted her head and slowly drew the cube down the side of her neck. The muscles in Luke’s stomach clenched, and he had to force rational words through a constriction in his throat.
“What’s she trying to entangle you with this time?”
“She doesn’t really try to involve me in her life. She only calls when...” Cat w
aved a dismissive hand. “Hey, that’s fine with me. I figured out years ago that what Faith does, and how she does it, has nothing to do with me.”
Luke dragged his gaze away from the gleam of moisture on her throat. “What else did she have to say for herself?”
“She’d just returned from Paris.” Cat smiled. “She has a French accent this time. She told me it took a month to purchase her trousseau. Just the thought of shopping that long gives me hives.”
“Did she by any chance ask how you were doing?”
“Sure. She asked if I was using the face cream she’d had custom blended for me in Germany. I said absolutely.” Cat grinned. “I didn’t mention I’d used it all on the neighbors’ poor little dog when it had eczema a few months ago.”
“Good for you. You don’t need any fancy lotions and potions on your skin.” Luke’s gaze followed the shiny trail of water across the smooth skin on Cat’s collarbone. He licked his lips.
“I d-don’t?”
“No. Did you kiss Nick tonight?” Luke asked, his voice husky.
“Nick?”
“My business partner. The guy you spent the evening with?” Oh, man. He’d lost his freaking mind. He couldn’t even concentrate on a simple conversation because he couldn’t think of anything other than his hands trailing that ice. His hands on her skin. His touch making her nipples peak like that. What was he doing? Playing with fire. No, worse. Dynamite. He was playing with volatile, incendiary nitroglycerine. Get your mind off sex. Now.
“Hmm? Oh, Nick. Uh-uh.” Drops of water trickled down her chest to moisten the edge of her tank top. “Aren’t you hot?”
“Hell, yes, I’m hot!” Need clawed at him. “Go sit over there. No more touchy-feely, Cat, you’re getting me sweaty.”
He swung his legs over the other side of the lounger. “Look, if none of the guys I’ve introduced you to so far have rung your chimes, there are a couple more we can tr—”
Cat made a rude noise. “Don’t bother. Your selection’s been more than ample. I’ve found my Mr. Right.”
Luke put a finger to his throat. Yep. He still had a pulse. “Who,” he asked dangerously, “is he?”
“I’d rather not say right now. Just in case—”
“Just in case?” Luke raked his fingers through his hair until it stood up like a cockscomb. “Cat, if this is Mr. Right, you should be absolutely positive. Are you positive?”
“Oh, yes.” She picked up the half-filled glass at her feet and took a long slug of tepid water. “Before I do anything, though, I’d like you to give me some pointers.” She sent him a guileless look. “Your input will be invaluable, because—because he’s very much like you.”
“Like me?”
“You know. Suave. Cool. Sophisticated. A ladies’ man.”
Luke felt as though he’d just bitten into a quince. “A player.”
Catherine smiled. “Exactly. If anyone can tell me how to seduce a player, you’d be the one.”
Luke shot off the lounger and paced to the patio railing, his back ramrod stiff. After several heart-stopping minutes he turned to face her. “Are you out of your ever-loving mind, Catherine Harris? Which one is he?”
“I told you, I don’t want to tell y—”
“Is he someone I know?”
“Jeez, Luke, what difference does it make? I’m certainly old enough to have an affair and intelligent enough to know when I’m ready for one.”
He scowled. “I thought this was Mr. Right? You don’t have an affair with Mr. Right, Cat. You marry him. Marry. Until death do you part.”
“I’m sure the people across the Bay are taking notes. You don’t have to shout. And he won’t marry me. He has noncommittalitis, just like you do.”
“You want marriage. You’re a Cancer. Cancers nest. Home and hearth and all that stuff.”
“Well, I’ll be happy just having him. I can live without the trappings.”
“No, Catherine. You cannot. Besides, you said you wanted to find a husband.”
“It’s my prerogative to change my mind. Now I want a lover.”
“I know you—”
“Not as well as you thought, obviously. Stop grinding your teeth like that, you’ll wear down the enamel. I can’t imagine any sophisticated man would be interested in teaching some little hick virgin the finer points of making love, can you? Now, will you give me the help I need or not?”
“Cat...” Luke pressed his hands into his temples. “A man lives to be a woman’s first. It’s a fantasy few men fulfill.”
“Weird, huh?” Catherine crossed her legs and leaned back on the lounger Luke had vacated. “A man wants to be a woman’s first. And every woman wants to be a man’s last.”
He pressed his fingers into his throbbing eye sockets.
“What’s the prob?” Cat taunted. “Don’t think you can?”
“Can...what?”
“Teach me how to seduce my Mr. Right.”
“If I wanted to, which I don’t, I could. But I won’t.”
Cat leaned back and smiled. “Bet you can’t.”
CHAPTER TEN
THIS REQUIRED SOME serious mental gymnastics, Luke decided, lying on the sofa in the dark. The new wrinkle had been added three days ago. For a while there the temptation she offered was almost more than a man could take. He’d managed to control himself. Barely. Right now he was waiting for Cat to come home from another date.
A date. How delightful for her.
Thanks to her, Luke hadn’t had a decent date in weeks. His love life had gone to hell. He was permanently erect and would go into the Guinness Book of Records for the man with the hardest permanent erection in history. Probably for taking the most cold showers per day, too.
Mr. Right.
How could she have found this guy so fast? What did this jerk have that was special enough for her to abandon her lifelong dream of marriage?
And could Luke be chivalrous enough to put his own needs and desires aside if Cat truly had found her Mr. Right? Just the thought of Cat belonging to—
Chauvinist. A woman didn’t belong to a man. Well, whatever the hell the term was, Luke didn’t want Cat doing it with anyone. Not ever.
He rolled over, dragging the sheet under him into a tangled mess. It was hot again. The door to the balcony stood wide open, a fan belligerently moving hot air around. He’d taken another icy shower. No surprise—it didn’t help.
He was wearing the bare minimum—cotton briefs, in deference to Cat. Who wasn’t even home. He wished he could at least discuss this with Nick. But Nick was unusually quiet these days. Suspiciously quiet, now that Luke came to think of it.
He punched his hot pillow, then jerked upright, only too pleased to be off the sticky leather sofa as he paced, building up a nice head of steam. He strode into the kitchen and turned on the light. He’d bake bread. He loved to cook. The combination of science and creativity, of tossing raw ingredients into a pot and turning out something edible, fascinated him. But bread making got rid of aggression. The pounding, pummeling and squeezing appealed to him, especially tonight.
He found his favorite mixing bowl, added all the ingredients and started kneading the dough by hand. Pounding his fists into the dough was marginally satisfying. Not as satisfying as making love to Cat. But right now, that wasn’t an option.
And who had she gone out with tonight, anyway? Pummel. Had she said? Pummel. Was it Ted? Allan? Was it Nick again? Pummel, pummel, pummel. Who was Mr. Right? It was just like Cat to throw him off the scent like this.
She was doing the dating merry-go-round. Ted. Allan, Bob. Nick. Couldn’t she see they were all players.
Luke greased the bowl and left the abused dough to rise under a clean cloth. How did she think he could go to work when he had to stay up till all hours of the
night waiting for her? The fact that it was only a little after nine and his usual bedtime was around eleven had no bearing on the matter.
An image of seventeen-year-old Cat flashed through his mind. That damned birthday. He’d known she’d gone out with friends. Through the kitchen window he’d watched her return, dancing her way across the lawn in the moonlight, looking like some delicate woodland nymph. The soft, floaty material of her dress had outlined her bare legs and snugly cupped her breasts. He’d been terrified down to his toes at the immediacy of his body’s reaction. It had been the entire reason he’d kept his distance in the previous year. He’d been afraid of the magnetic draw she’d always had for him, the pull he’d thus far managed to resist.
He remembered vividly thinking, Run. Escape before she comes inside.
Instead he’d stood there in his dad’s empty house, heart racing, anticipation churning in his gut. Knowing he had only seconds to make a clean getaway.
Knowing he’d wanted one taste before he died.
And he would die if his father ever caught him with his hands on her. The little sister he’d promised to protect. The defenseless semiorphan he and Dad had vowed would never be hurt again.
The back door had crashed open, and there she’d stood, swaying in the open doorway.
“Luke, you came.” She’d sounded so delighted. Her exuberance had been contagious. He’d risen, hard and ready, to the occasion, and had known right then and there that he was damned.
One moment there’d been a safe, respectable ten feet of linoleum between them, the next instant Cat had flung herself into his arms, clinging like a baby monkey.
His embrace had been as far from brotherly as sugar from salt. Giving her no chance to voice a protest, he’d crushed his mouth down on hers. She’d tasted intoxicatingly sweet as her pliant body wrapped around his in the most compelling, amazing way, pressing her firm young breasts against his chest.
In the eleven years he’d known her, Cat had always been reserved, always trying to remain inconspicuous. Her exuberance that night had been totally unlike her.