Suzanne Brockmann

by Give Me Liberty (written as Anne Brock) (lit)

  She smiled. If she could believe only half of the truth she'd seen written clearly in Luke Fulton's eyes, she was in for one heck of a summer.

  Lib pulled herself out from underneath her car and began digging in her tool kit.

  "What do you need?" Luke asked. "Just ask, and I'll hand it to you."

  She was sitting tailor-style on the road, her long, tanned legs crossed. Strands of her hair had pulled free from her ponytail, and she wiped both the hair and sweat off her face with her arm.

  She looked at him speculatively, then frowned. "You're not dressed for grunge work."

  "You need an extra hand under there," he said patiently. "Hey, I said I'd help. So let me help."

  "You'll ruin your shirt."

  With one swift move, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it into the body of the car. "No, I won't."

  He had a fabulous body. Hard muscles were covered by sleek, smooth skin. His shoulders were broad, his arms strong

  Lib found herself wanting to feel those arms around her again.

  As if he knew what she was thinking, his eyelids lowered halfway. And for a fraction of a second, Lib almost thought that he was going to reach for her, to kiss her. But he didn't move. She looked away, clearing her throat, almost desperately searching for something to say. But she was speechless. Luke was just too damned sexy, looking at her like that.

  He crouched down next to the car, looking underneath the chassis.

  "It's been a while since I've been underneath a car," he admitted with a half-smile. "What do we do first?"

  The moment had passed. He was very definitely not going to kiss her.

  She took a deep breath to regain her balance. "First we need to see if we both can fit under this car," she said. "You aren't claustrophobic by any chance?"

  "Only in small spaces," he said with an answering grin.

  "Perfect," Lib said. "I'll go first, since I'm going to need more room to maneuver. You're going to have to squeeze yourself in next to me, okay?"

  She wasn't kidding, Luke realized, as he quite literally wedged himself next to her under the tiny sports car. This was torture. She was pressed against him from his shoulders all the way down to his thighs. He gave himself about five minutes before he totally lost his mind and kissed her.

  "What do you want me to do?" he asked, forcing himself to concentrate on the muffler. "Although, I'm not sure I'll be much help since I can't move my arms..."

  She glanced at him, her violet eyes lit with amusement. "Cozy in here, huh?" she said. She pointed. "Hold this, will you... " He shifted uncomfortably and reached up with his left hand. "While I... tighten... this—"

  Luke felt her entire body straining as she tried to get leverage. Her head and shoulders were slightly off the ground, and even though he knew he shouldn't touch her more than he already was, he looped his right arm under her neck and helped her tighten the clamp.

  "All right!" she said. "One down." She relaxed back against his arm. "Just once in my life, I'd like to be able to work on my car in a real mechanic's pit. Or with one of those whatchamacallits that lift the car up into the air... "

  Her hair felt so soft against his arm. They were lying here, underneath her car, in a damn-near intimate embrace. If she moved her hip a fraction of an inch in his direction, she wouldn't be able to miss the fact that he was nearly fully aroused. And then what?

  "Hold this," she commanded and he reached up again with his left hand. "Thanks."

  "I can't play this game with you, Lib," he said suddenly. "Even if I wanted to be in a relationship — which I don't — I wouldn't get involved with someone who's not going to stick around."

  "That's very wise," Lib said, gratefully accepting Luke's help as she fastened the other clamp. "But who says I'm not going to stick around?"

  "Where are you from?" Luke asked.

  Lib laughed. "Everywhere," she said. "Nowhere."

  "Maybe this is an easier question," Luke said. "Where did you live last?"

  "L.A.," she said. "And before that, New York City."

  "I knew it," he said. "You have 'city' written all over you. You'd never stay in Sterling. Not a chance."

  Lib glanced at him out of the comer of her eye. "I may do it, if only to spite you," she said.

  "I give you six weeks, tops," he said. "And then you're out of here."

  "You never know," she said. "But I don't think so. Hold this one more time, will you?"

  He reached out again, felt her body tighten and pull.

  "Damnit, the rust's making it stick." She turned her head to look at him. "Here — help me with this. Maybe using all four hands we can out-muscle the rust."

  With Luke's arms around her like this, she could feel the hard muscles of his chest and stomach against her back. A few more seconds, and they'd be finished installing the muffler. They'd have to crawl out from under the car. What a shame."

  "Are you ready?"

  "On three," Luke murmured into her ear. "One. Two. Three—"

  Lib felt her muscles strain. She felt Luke's muscles strain. "Come on, come on," she shouted at the bolt, and oblig­ingly it moved.

  "Yes!" she said, collapsing against Luke. "One more turn oughta do it."

  Luke felt his lips brush the side of her face, and he stopped himself in shock. What the hell was he doing? This woman was a stranger. He didn't know her at all.

  But his body did. His body had recognized her instantly. She fit against him perfectly, as if she'd been made with his exact specifications in mind.

  "Don't fall asleep on me now," Lib said, nudging him with her elbow. "Come on, Luke, heave ho."

  They repositioned their hands on the handle of the wrench. Her fingers were slender and strong and somehow cool despite the heat, sweat and grease. She smelled so good —

  "Ready?" she asked.

  Somehow Luke managed to nod.

  "On three again," she said. "One, two, three!"

  Luke was tugging so hard, his arms were starting to shake, and Lib was pressed back so tightly against him, he could barely breathe.

  With a sudden lurch, the bolt turned and tightened.

  He couldn't take it another second. Lib was lying there against him, with her beautiful violet eyes laughing up at him. Her lips looked so soft —

  She lifted her face toward him and even though he had a chance to, he didn't move away.

  Another mistake. But what a mistake! Her lips were as soft as they had looked, and her mouth was sweet and cool. She met his tongue eagerly with her own and he pulled her closer, as close as he could, considering the confines of the car and — Oh, Lord! What was he doing?

  Luke pulled away fast, and bumped his head on the underside of the car.

  Swearing loudly, he pulled himself out from under the car, away from Lib, away from temptation. She followed more slowly.

  "Are you all right?" she asked quietly.

  Luke dusted himself off and fished his shirt off of the front seat of the Spitfire. He didn't turn toward her, didn't offer her a hand up.

  "I guess you're all set now," he said as she pulled herself to her feet.

  Lib crossed her arms. "Are you really going to kiss me like that, and then pretend you didn't?" she asked.

  He met her eyes then. "Yes."

  Disappointment cut through Lib, followed closely by embarrassment. She must've been wrong, she realized. She must have imagined that attraction she'd thought she'd seen in Luke's eyes.

  "Okay," she said. "Right." Lib took a deep breath and, hoped her cheeks weren't too red. "Well, thanks a million for helping me out."

  Luke looked at her standing there next to her sports car. She had long, tanned, shapely legs that led all the way up to the frayed edges of very short cut-off jeans. Her T-shirt was grimy and soaked with sweat. Her hair had come free from its ponytail and there was a smudge of grease on her cheek. He'd never seen a woman that he'd liked or wanted more. And for the first time in years, he felt real doubt. As he walked, Lib turned and walke
d into the grocery store, leaving Luke standing in the middle of the street.

  Chapter Two

  It was strange driving on Forest Road, all the way out of town, out to Great-Aunt Harriet's farm.

  Last time Lib had been here, she had only been fifteen. Harriet had let her drive the old pickup truck around the farm, but never into town, never out on Forest Road. So she'd gotten around on foot, or on Harriet's ancient touring bike.

  She'd spent every summer at this farm from the time she was six until the year she turned sixteen — the year Harriet had that horrible stroke.

  For the past eight years, Lib's visits to Harriet had been short weekend trips to the nursing home over in Bellows Falls. Harriet couldn't speak very well, and she couldn't walk, but she sure as hell could listen, so Lib had sat with her and talked.

  Harriet missed her farmhouse as much as Lib did, and despite her problems with communicating, the old woman made it quite clear that her property was not to be sold. But it had been rented out, to cover the taxes and other expenses.

  Last year when Harriet had died, Lib wasn't surprised to be named sole heir to the property. She and Harriet had always had a special bond, and the old woman knew Lib loved the farm. After twenty-three years of never staying in one place for more than nine or ten months, Lib was ready to do some serious settling down.

  It was late afternoon by the time Lib pulled up in front of Harriet's old farm house. The paint was peeling, and one of the front windows was broken, but by God, it was hers!

  It was also locked, tight as a drum. Richard Lowell, Harri­et's lawyer, had told Lib that the neighbor across the way had the key.

  She turned and looked across Forest Road. There was only one other house out here for miles around, and it was no more than fifty yards away. It was the old Fulton house. The Fultons had owned all of the land north of Forest Road since before the American Revolution — and the Harlowes — Harriet's and Lib's family — had owned all the land south of it. Back a few hundred years ago, Mrs. Fulton and Mrs. Harlowe had talked their husbands into building the two farmhouses within shouting distance of each other.

  Lib had spent most of her girlhood summers hanging out of her bedroom window, watching Luke Fulton tend to his chores in the yard across the street.

  Even when she was only six years old, she'd liked to watch Luke. Even at age fifteen, he was tall and handsome and he always had a smile on his face.

  In addition to the work he did on the farm, he had a job in town, working evenings at the Dairy Bee ice cream stand.

  Lib smiled. Up until this afternoon, the only words she'd ever said to Luke Fulton were, "I'll have a double scoop of chocolate, please."

  And yet, this very afternoon, she'd spent several hours with the man — she'd even kissed him.

  Her smile faded.

  Except, aside from the first few seconds that their mouths had met, Luke hadn't seemed too interested in kissing her.

  It was no big deal, Lib tried to tell herself. Rejection was never any fun. But life went on. And she went on.

  Lib crossed the road to the old Fulton house, and knocked on the front door. She wondered who was living here now that Luke had sold the farm. She peered in the front windows. No one was home.

  She sat down on the porch swing. Man, she was tired. She'd been driving nearly all night, after only a short nap when near the Vermont border. And fixing that broken muffler had tired her out, both physically and emotionally.

  Lib lay down on the porch swing, dangled her long legs over the arm rest, and closed her eyes. Sooner or later her new neighbors were going to show up, and she'd be here, waiting, to collect her key.

  * * *

  The sun was low in the sky when Luke pulled into his driveway. Lord, what a day. After he'd helped Lib Jones install her new muffler, he'd gone back into the video store. He'd watched from the window as she emerged from the grocery store carrying two paper bags of food. He wasn't sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved when she loaded the bags into her car and drove away.

  Did he really expect her to come back into his store and give him another chance to turn down her invitation to have dinner? He couldn't go out with her, he told himself again. He didn't have time, and even if he did, he didn't want that kind of relationship.

  He'd done that, played that game for too many years. Now he wanted...

  Problem was, he didn't know what he wanted. For so long, he'd wanted nothing more than his land back. He'd worked hard, taken incredible financial risks, but he'd made it..

  He was rich — one of the richest men in Sterling. He had nearly nine hundred thousand dollars in the bank, and he owned a large portion of the small town's thriving businesses. And in September, he'd have the chance to buy back his land, to redeem himself in the ghostly eyes of his ancestors.

  Yeah, he'd made it.

  Almost made it, he corrected himself. Two more months and one more deal to go down and he'd have the rest of the money he needed to buy back his land.

  And then what?

  He was a Fulton. The last Fulton. If he didn't have kids — a son — the name would die out with him. He supposed that meant he should start thinking about marriage. Not that a woman like Lib Jones conjured up images of white silk and innocence.

  Black silk maybe. As in sheets, on the bed, with candle­light...

  Luke shook his head. No, he was better off staying away from her. Which wouldn't be hard at all.

  He cut the engine to the pickup truck and gathered up his briefcase from the passenger seat. It looked like a nice evening for sitting on the porch swing with a tall, cool glass of something.

  He started up the steps.

  Lib Jones was sleeping on his porch swing.

  He was hit simultaneously with waves of desire, excite­ment and anger.

  What the hell was she doing here? How the hell had she found out where he lived?

  She looked so young and vulnerable as she slept. Lord, she was young. He'd figured she was somewhere in her late twenties, but now he realized that she was much younger. Better and better, he thought darkly.

  "Hey," he said loudly, roughly. "Wake up."

  Lib stirred and her eyelids fluttered, then opened. She looked up at him, and then her eyes opened even wider. Her startled expression was genuine — she was surprised to see him. She scrambled to her feet.

  "What are you doing here?"

  "I live here," he said. His anger had faded with the knowledge that she wasn't intentionally following him around. But now he had a tight, nervous sensation in his stomach. He forced himself to ignore it.

  "I thought you sold the farm." She pushed her hair back from her face, raking her fingers through it as if to try and make herself look neater.

  "I sold the back acres," he said. "I didn't sell the house or the land here by the road."

  Lib obviously hadn't had a chance to wash up since he'd seen her last. She looked grubby and tired, but she smiled and his knees felt weak.

  "I guess we're going to be neighbors then," she said.

  Neighbors? Luke glanced at the old Harlowe house across the road. "Are you the new tenant?" he asked, his expression betraying none of his alarm.

  Lib shook her head. "I'm the new owner."

  "New owner?" he said. "I thought—"

  "Harriet Harlowe died last December," Lib said. "She was my great-aunt."

  "I'm sorry," Luke said. "I didn't even know." He looked at her. "Harriet Harlowe. That's right. You said something about her in town. I didn't make the connection. She was always just old Miss Harlowe to me. I'm sorry."

  "Thanks." Lib frowned. "The lawyer did say he contacted you — that you had the key to the place...?"

  Luke put his briefcase down on the porch and unlocked his front door. "Yeah, I got a letter," he said. "I've been really busy, and I guess I didn't read it very carefully. I assumed it was notification about the next tenant." As he held open the screen door, their eyes met again. "Come on in."

  Lib saw it the
re in his eyes again — all of the attraction and heat she'd thought she'd seen before. She hadn't been imagining it. It was real.

  She went inside, well aware of Luke's presence behind her. She looked around.

  The Fulton farmhouse was even more beautiful than Lib had remembered from the few times she'd been inside as a child. It was bigger than Harriet's house, with more rambling add-ons and extensions off the main building. It had been renovated many times since the main structure had gone up in the seventeen-hundreds. The big kitchen and the living room were still in the original house, and the wide wooden planks on the floor and the heavy beams overhead gave those rooms incredible charm.

  Lib followed Luke into a front parlor that had been added on in the late nineteenth century, from the looks of the high tin ceiling. He turned on the light and crossed to a small writing desk in the corner.

  "Here it is," he said, pulling out an envelope that had been slit open.

  As Lib watched, he quickly skimmed the letter. His lips quirked into a smile, and he looked up at her.

  "Liberty Jones?" he said. "Lib is short for Liberty?"

  "What did you think it was short for?" she asked.

  Luke shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "Eliza­beth, I guess. Liberty suits you better, though."

  "Should I take that as a compliment?"

  "Yeah," Luke said. Their eyes met, and he quickly turned away. "Let me find the keys."

  Luke put the letter back in his desk, and rummaged through a small drawer. He spun the key ring on his finger as he came toward her.