CHEROKEE MARRIAGE DARE

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  "He must have been an honorable man." Maggie gazed at Luke. "Like his son."

  He didn't look up from his plate, but Nell and Dana exchanged a feminine glance. And at that moment, Maggie knew they saw what was in her heart.

  Hours later, as they said goodbye, both women hugged her. It was, she thought, the acceptance she needed.

  "I'll come back again," she told Luke's mother. Next time they would talk about art and literature and the beautiful places they both loved – the European countrysides Dana painted but had never visited.

  * * *

  The following afternoon, Luke entered Maggie's office. It still seemed strange to see a woman occupying Tom Reynolds's desk. The room smelled like hothouse flowers instead of Tom's ever-constant cigarette smoke.

  She looked up and smiled. An oversize cappuccino cup sat next to her Rolodex, and a jade paperweight rivaled the color of her eyes.

  "I have an assignment for you," he said. "I want you to ask your family about Gregor Paulus. I'm looking for anything, even the most minor detail, that might give us a better understanding of his relationship with Prince Marc."

  "He was my uncle's personal assistant."

  "I know. But I haven't been able to zero in on the dynamics of their association. Was Paulus Marc's confidant? Or was it strictly a professional relationship?"

  "Do you think Paulus is involved?" she asked. "Do you think he's the Altarian mob contact?"

  "He's on my list of suspects." Luke took a seat in one of the leather chairs across from her desk. "But I haven't come up with anything linking him to the Kellys. If he was part of the CD-smuggling scam, then Prince Marc brought him into it."

  "Why would Marc do that?"

  "I don't know. That's why I want you to talk to your family about Paulus. I just can't seem to get a handle on him."

  "No problem." Maggie came to her feet, then crossed to the bar. Dispensing the cappuccino machine, she filled her cup. Next she opened the refrigerator and added a swirl of whipped cream to the hot beverage.

  When she returned to her desk, she sat on the edge of it, giving Luke an enticing view of long, shapely legs ending in a pair of wicked-looking pumps.

  The intercom buzzed. Maggie leaned across the desk to press the button, and as she did, her skirt rode farther up her thigh. Luke told himself not to stare, but he gathered an eyeful anyway.

  "Yes, Carol?"

  "Is Luke with you?"

  "Yes, he's right here."

  "Good. I picked up something on my lunch hour both of you need to see."

  Maggie stood, and Carol came into the office carrying a copy of a current supermarket tabloid.

  The blonde placed it on the desk. The movie star on the cover didn't mean anything to Luke, but as he scanned the minor headlines, he caught Carol's concern.

  Connelly Heiress Obsessed With Private Eye.

  The word that came out of his mouth was a quick, vile curse.

  The story was on page four, along with several photographs of Maggie and him kissing in the snow. The pictures weren't professional quality, which meant someone in his neighborhood must have snapped them for a lark, and then realized who Luke's companion was. He wondered how much the bastard had sold them for.

  "I'm sorry," Maggie said.

  "It's not your fault."

  "Are you going to sue?" Carol asked.

  "No." He dragged a hand through his hair. "It'll blow over."

  "I already warned building security to be on the lookout for reporters and cameramen," Carol said, proving her loyalty as a trusted employee.

  "Thanks."

  She went back to work, leaving Luke and Maggie alone with the tabloid.

  Maggie read the article, while he restrained his temper. He wanted to smash his fist into the wall, but he knew behaving like a hothead wouldn't do any good.

  "It says I come to your office every day because I can't get enough of you. Supposedly we're carrying on quite an affair."

  He blew out a rough breath. The story also described him as the first "older man" she'd taken up with. That made his stomach chum.

  "At least they didn't report that I'm helping you on the case. Of course, they would never suspect that. No one thinks I have half a brain, let alone enough intelligence to assist a respected P.I."

  "We were kissing, Maggie." Mauling each other, he thought. "That's all they're interested in."

  "Then maybe this is a blessing in disguise. In fact, maybe we should start attending social functions together."

  "You mean give credence to the trash they printed?"

  "I'm in less danger if the Kelly hit man thinks I'm your lover instead of your temporary business partner, right?"

  Luke frowned. She had a valid point, but he didn't like the idea of dragging their lives through the mud, even if it created a believable cover for their association. And then there was that marriage dare. "You're not going to use this as leverage, are you?"

  Maggie gave him an incredulous look. "You think I'm going to try to win the dare by seducing you in public?"

  He shrugged. What did it matter? She wasn't actually serious about marrying him. She'd devised the dare as a challenge, as a creative way to get his attention. And he had accepted it to teach her a lesson, to prove she had no business trying to change him.

  "We'll start this evening," she said, reaching for her cappuccino. "You can escort me to an art show I was invited to. I'm tired of staying home every night anyway."

  "Fine," he responded, expecting to be bored out of his skull. He appreciated the kind of art he could understand, but there were plenty of wacky sculptures and paintings out there he could never relate to. Luke knew damn well he didn't fit into Maggie's avant-garde world. They didn't belong together, and no amount of phony dating was going to turn them into real-life lovers.

  * * *

  Luke had never drooled over a woman, but this just might be a first.

  Maggie's cocktail dress was the size of a postage stamp. The silver fabric shimmered over every lethal curve, exposing a hint of cleavage and more leg than she had the right to own. A sparkling necklace and a pair of stiletto heels completed the killer package.

  Even Bruno couldn't keep his eyes off her.

  She smiled at Luke. "Are those for me?"

  "What? Oh, yeah." He'd forgotten about the roses. Bringing her flowers seemed like the proper thing to do, even on a fake date. He handed them to her and noticed the dress turned her eyes a moonlit shade of blue.

  "Thank you." As she walked into the kitchen to retrieve a vase, her shoes clicked across the floor, as sleek as silver bullets.

  Suddenly it was the sexiest, most dangerous sound he'd ever heard.

  She returned with a single rose, the stem snapped short. Moving closer to Luke, she pinned the blood-red flower onto his lapel. He felt as if he'd been branded.

  "Shall we go?" she asked, reaching for a wrap that matched her dress.

  He merely nodded.

  She tossed her head. Her hair was long and loose, golden highlights spilling around her face. "We can take my car." She handed him the keys to her Lamborghini. "It's more showy, and we're trying to get noticed tonight, right?"

  Minutes later, Luke slid behind the wheel. Maggie owned one of the six hundred and fifty-seven Countach Anniversario models ever made – a vehicle capable of traveling 183.3 miles per hour.

  "I like to move fast," she said.

  He pictured making fast and urgent love to her. "So do I."

  They flew into traffic and reached their destination in record time. The gallery was located in a historic building with multipaned windows and a brick walkway. Inside, lights burned brightly. A winding staircase led to three spacious floors.

  Other guests milled in and out of showrooms. A waiter held a tray in front of them, and Maggie accepted a flute of champagne. Luke declined a glass of the bubbly in lieu of a harder drink from the bar. Maggie took his arm and led him to the first display.

  A lone statue stood in the center
of a stark white room. They moved closer, and he noticed the sculpture depicted a naked woman; her head tipped back, her long, lithe body arched. A bed of rose petals lay at her feet.

  Maggie fingered the flower on Luke's lapel. He wanted to pull her tight against him.

  The next room showcased a trio of paintings, each more sensual than the last.

  "Damn," was the only word he could manage. He couldn't take his eyes off a painting that focused on a woman kissing a man's navel. Only his bare stomach and the waistband of his jeans were visible, making the image mysteriously provocative.

  She sipped her champagne. "A nameless, faceless man. He could be anyone."

  "Yeah." And Luke was imagining Maggie's mouth on his stomach. "You should have warned me."

  "What? That this show is a collection of erotic fine art? It must have slipped my mind."

  Like hell, he thought. She'd done it on purpose, and her ploy had worked. Desire gushed through his veins.

  But at this point he didn't care. He was going to take what he wanted. Immune to the fact that they were in a public place, he grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her – hard. So hard he nearly lost his breath.

  She kissed him back, and he explored the hot, impulsive sensation, running his hands up and down her dress. Hungry for more, he toyed with the idea of devouring her in one quick bite.

  Fast, he thought. He wanted it fast. The way an addict injected a drug or an alcoholic downed a forbidden drink.

  And then he realized he was dangerously close to spilling his vodka on the marble-tiled floor.

  Pulling back, he stared at Maggie. Her eyes were a fiery shade of blue, her lips still slightly parted. The silver dress reflected sparks of light, like a chandelier casting vibrant rays.

  "Don't trick me again," he said. "Don't set me up for another seduction."

  "But that's part of enjoying life," she challenged. And part of the dare, he thought, realizing she had just won the first round. She sent him a triumphant smile, and he had the notion to grab her, to tip her head back and taste her all over again.

  "Maggie?" a feminine voice said behind them. "Darling, is that you?"

  They both turned. A well-preserved blonde in a black dress clung to the arm of her young, brawny escort.

  Instantly, the irony hit Luke. He figured the couple had at least seventeen years between them, just like him and Maggie. Suddenly this game, this dare, seemed morally wrong.

  "Delilah." Maggie reached out to hug the blonde. "It's so good to see you."

  "You, too." Delilah tilted her head. She wore her hair in an upswept style, showing off the gems at her ears and the jewels at her throat. "You must be the private eye," she said to Luke. "Maggie's handsome obsession."

  "That's what the tabloids say."

  The blonde laughed. "I have an obsession, too. Let me introduce you to him."

  Luke shook hands with the young man and wondered if the guy was receiving stud-service pay or if he dated Delilah for free.

  When the couple moved on, Luke drained his glass, swallowing the last of his vodka. Maggie was still sipping eloquently on champagne.

  "Delilah is a patron of the arts. She has an amazing collection."

  "Of what?" he asked sardonically. "Twenty-five-year-old men?"

  She glared at him. "That was her husband."

  "And that's supposed to impress me? Some young gigolo marrying a rich divorcée?"

  "First of all, Delilah isn't a divorcée. And second, she and Kevin live in an estate both of them paid for. She didn't many him for his body, and he didn't marry her for her money." Maggie looked him straight in the eye. "And since neither one of them can have children, they plan on adopting an orphan from Bosnia."

  Luke caught the information right in the gut. He rarely, if ever, misjudged people. It was his business and his nature to look beyond stereotypes. "I'm sorry," he said. "I had no right to insult your friends."

  "That's okay. I did the same thing when I met Carol. So I guess we're both guilty of jumping to conclusions."

  With a forgiving smile, she took his hand and led him toward another incredibly erotic piece of art, intent on drawing him into her world.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  «^»

  Maggie's childhood room had been redecorated since her youth, but it still felt like home. French doors led to a balcony that overlooked the gardens. She stared at the view, picturing herself as a child hiding in the maze and pretending to be braver than she was.

  "Maggie?"

  She turned to the sound of her mother's voice.

  As always, Emma Rosemere Connelly was the image of beauty and grace. She wore her blond hair in a French twist, and a strand of pearls accented a classic Chanel suit. Maggie had never seen her mother looking unkempt or frazzled.

  "Are you all right?" Emma asked.

  She nodded and perched on the edge of the bed. "Did you see the tabloid article, Mom?"

  Emma sat in a velvet side chair. "I heard about it, but I certainly wasn't inclined to read it."

  "Dad isn't upset?"

  "He doesn't intend to confront Mr. Starwind if that's what you're worried about. Luke already called and apologized."

  Maggie didn't know whether to be pleased or angry. She appreciated the fact that Luke respected her honor, but she didn't want him apologizing for their relationship or downplaying the emotion between them.

  "We already knew that you and Luke were attracted to each other."

  She reached for a pillow. "You did?"

  "We saw you dancing with him at Rafe and Charlotte's reception. The way he held you, the way you looked at him … well, it wasn't hard to miss.

  "I'm in love with him."

  "Oh, my." Emma placed a jeweled hand against her heart. "Are you sure? This isn't just one of your impulses, is it?"

  "No." She met her mother's gaze with a candid stare. "This is the real thing. And I've never been so frustrated in my life. If we're not snapping at each other, we're fantasizing about tearing each other's clothes off."

  "Well, then."

  Emma coughed delicately, and Maggie bit back a smile. She never failed to surprise her family with her blatant, if not inappropriate, honesty. "Tell me what it was like when you first fell in love with Dad."

  The older woman sighed. "It was wonderful. But it was turbulent, too. Grant was such a dynamic man. So proud, so strong." She fingered a pearl at her ear. "And much too crass for the likes of my family. As you know, my parents were heartbroken, as well as angry, that I didn't many another royal. I was a princess. It was my duty to form a strategic alliance for my country."

  "But instead, you gave up your title and married a rugged American."

  "Yes." Emma smiled. "I was headstrong in my youth, too."

  "Do you ever regret your decision?" she asked, curious how her mother had coped with the knowledge that her husband had slept with his former secretary. "You and Dad did have some problems."

  "I've never regretted marrying the man I love. And our troubles happened long before you were born. A lifetime ago." Glancing at the balcony, Emma paused as though tempering painful memories. "A person has to learn to forgive, to work through the hurt."

  "What about your sacrifice?" Maggie asked, trying to envision her mom as a young, headstrong princess. "All those years away from your family?"

  "That was the most difficult part. And now, of course, I'm grateful I had the chance to make peace with my father before he died." Five years before, Emma had gone back to Altaria to make amends with King Thomas, bridging the gap between the Connellys and the royal family.

  Glancing at the pillow on her lap, Maggie toyed with the lace edge. Her mother must be devastated by Prince Marc's treachery. Maggie had already questioned Emma, as well as other family members, about Marc's association with Paulus. "Luke is going to solve this case."

  "I trust that he will," Emma responded. "And I'm also aware that you're determined to help him. That worries me, Margaret," she added,
using her daughter's formal name.

  "Luke promised Rafe that he would keep me safe."

  "I know, but you're so reckless at times. You have to be careful and listen to what Luke says. He isn't just a private investigator. He was a Special Forces soldier. He has experience in these sorts of matters."

  "I won't defy him. I just want to be part of this, to make a difference." Maggie tilted her head. "What do you think of Luke, Mom?"

  The other woman clasped her hands in her lap. "He's a good man. Your father and I like him."

  "Good. I'm glad." She sent her mother a confident smile, even though her heart was beating triple time. "Because sooner or later, I intend to marry him."

  * * *

  The following morning Maggie's car phone rang. She pressed the speaker button. "Yes?"

  "It's Carol. Are you on your way to work?"

  "Yes." And she was running late as usual. She glanced at Bruno. The dog rode shotgun, staring out the Lamborghini's tinted window. "We should be there in about five minutes." She approached a yellow light and sped through it. "Maybe four."

  "Luke's in a foul mood, Maggie."

  She checked her rearview mirror, spotted a cop and slowed down. "Why? What's wrong?"

  "Another tabloid hit the stands today. And it has Luke fuming."

  Shoot. "Thanks for the warning, Carol. I owe you one." She ended the call and proceeded to the office, reminding herself to breathe. Of course Luke was upset. He wasn't used to being in the limelight. He hadn't lived his life under public scrutiny.

  "Well, he better get used to it," she told the dog. "Particularly since he's going to marry a Connelly."

  Bruno grinned at her, and she patted his head. She'd fed him steak and eggs for breakfast, with a scatter of corn chips on the side. He was adjusting to her devil-may-care lifestyle with ease.

  She pulled into the parking lot and wondered if she should have dared Bruno to marry her instead.

  The moment she exited the car, a camera flashed its glaring bulb in her face. She squinted at the photographer, a squirrelly little man who touted himself a "royal watcher."

  While he continued to snap her picture, she let Bruno out on the passenger side, giving him a subtle command. The big dog bared his teeth. The cameraman jumped back, slipped on a grease spot and fell flat on his rear.