Читать книгу Slow Burn - Cherry Adair - Страница 12

CHAPTER FIVE

LUKE SNEAKED INTO his own apartment like a thief in the night. He’d seen that foreign film so many times he swore he could now speak fluent German. He frowned. All the lights in the spotless living room were on. Unbuttoning his shirt, he pulled it free of his pants and felt a twinge of guilt for leaving Cat to do the cleanup. Then he considered how he’d have felt if he’d stuck around. Hell, he’d done the right thing.

He almost had a seizure when he saw Cat sprawled out on the leather sofa. She wore one of his favorite ratty T-shirts and a disreputable pair of pajama bottoms he swore she’d had since she was a kid. Her cheeks were pink; her eyes glittered.

“Nice of you to drop by, Van Buren. Pleasant evening?”

“Delightful,” Luke managed to answer cheerfully. Man, was she ticked. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his chinos as he walked around the arm of the sofa. “Hey, thanks for doing the cleanup. Did Nick give you a hand?”

“Yes. By leaving.”

Cat drew a leopard print pillow, which hadn’t been here a week ago, onto her lap, still glaring. Whoops. He did a quick scan through the open door into the darkened bedroom and lowered his voice. “Are we alone?”

Her cheeks lit up like flamingo-pink neon. “Other than the entire 49ers team naked, and exhausted, in the bedroom, you mean?”

Luke took his hands out of his pockets and sat on the opposite arm of the sofa. Out of missile reach. “It’s not out of the realm of possibility that you’d have a man here, Cat.”

Her fiery eyebrows shot up into her bangs. “Who are you? What alien life force took over Luke Van Buren’s body?”

“Huh?”

“Whose condo is this? I hadn’t met any of these people here tonight before in my life! Do you really think I’d sleep with a total stranger? In your home? In your bed?”

“Ahh, no.”

“Then don’t ask such asinine questions, you turkey.”

She curled her legs under her and bunched up her hair in her fist. She wasn’t wearing a bra. He remembered that brief, tantalizing flash of cinnamon and cream, and almost licked his lips. Yep, Luke thought. A good thing he’d stayed out.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” he asked mildly. What was the point in sitting in a movie theater all night only to came home and find her wide-awake, sexy as hell and in his face?

“I just finished shoveling everything into the dishwasher.”

The hectic color had left her cheeks. Her eyes looked bruised and kind of sad, Luke thought. They would have been looking a damn sight sadder if he’d hung around much longer at the party.

“I would’ve cleaned up in the morning, Cat.”

She hugged the pillow and snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“So what did you think of Ted?”

She shrugged.

“Allan?”

She did the so-so thing with her head.

“Either of the Bobs? Any of them?”

Cat unfolded her legs. She was close enough to touch. The scent of her body, warm, female, Catherine, made him dizzy.

“Come on, Cat.”

“Hey, don’t rush me. I’ll keep you posted. You’ve given me enough to work with for now.” She stood looking down at him. “How’d your evening with Karen go?”

“Great.” The pits. Karen had not been a happy woman when he’d left her at her door.

“She seems nice enough.”

“Pretty, smart. She’s a lawyer.”

“Lovely,” Cat told him coolly. “She can do your prenup if you two get married.”

“She knows that’ll never happen.”

Luke rose. They were no more than a foot apart. Desperate to steal a kiss from those sweet pink lips, he knew she’d deck him with the pillow she clutched to her midriff.

“Ever heard of common law?”

“This is the second time I’ve dated her. Besides, Nick and I have The Bet, remember?”

Cat shook her head, slapping him in the face with twenty pounds of hair. The honey-scented strands lashed his cheeks before springing back home. He wanted to grab her by that hair, wrestle her back to the sofa...and get a swift kick in the cojónes for his trouble.

“That is one of your more ridiculous bets, Luke. What if one of you falls madly in love and wants to get married before you’re thirty-five? It could happen, you know.”

“Being in love doesn’t necessarily mean marriage. Which is why I consider The Bet a sure thing. I have the edge. I’m never getting married, however old I am.”

“You mean you still believe that stupid ‘all your emotional eggs in one basket’ theory you had at fifteen? That, my darling dragon, is what we women call Lack of Commitment. You just haven’t met the right woman yet.”

“I meet the right women. Several times a year. Which has always been my point.” He frowned. “Are you going to bed?”

“Yes.” She stepped out of reach and turned to assess him over her shoulder. “Are we going to the house tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Late-ish. Take the bed again.”

He watched her walk to the bedroom. Even in the too large T-shirt, she moved like music. Fluid, graceful and too sexy for his peace of mind. Luke closed his eyes. He needed something else to focus on when Cat was around. Something that wasn’t soft, smooth and cinnamon flavored. Something like—

“Sweet dreams, Luke.”

“Yeah, you too, honey.” Something like—construction. Yeah. That was it. Instead of seeing Cat, he’d imagine building the house. From the foundation up.

“Are you okay?”

He glanced up. She was standing at the bedroom door with a little V of worry between her brows, one slippered foot perched on the other. He wanted to stride over, pick her up, carry her into the bedroom, lay her on his nice, wide bed...

“Just tired.”

Excavating the foundation. Lots of dirt. Big piles of dark soil—soft pale, freckly mounds tipped with pale apricot nipples... “See you in the morning,” he said gruffly, getting up to click off the light and plunge the room into darkness.

He heard the door shush closed.

Yeah, this visualizing concept stuff was going to work well. Yeah, right!

* * *

AN HOUR LATER, still wide-awake, with excavating the furthest thing from his mind, Luke had to go to the bathroom. To get to the bathroom, he had to go through the bedroom. He dreaded walking through the room with Cat sleeping there. Why had he decided to combine two bedrooms into one? Why had he thought a bigger kitchen warranted removing the guest bath?

Because he hadn’t expected Cat to be sleeping in his bed. That’s why.

She’s sleeping, you moron, Luke told himself, tiptoeing into the bedroom. She’d left the light on in the bathroom. A sliver of golden light slashed across her figure on the bed.

“Ah, Cat,” he said softly.

She was sprawled facedown across the bedspread, her hair covering her face and half the pillow. Out like a light. Beside her, tucked up to its furry little armpits by the blanket, was the teddy bear he’d given her years ago. That was Cat. She hung on to things. Treasured things. Coddled things.

He noticed she’d changed his satin sheets for plain white cotton. He sighed and bent to take off her slippers.

The smart thing to do, Catherine decided as she felt Luke’s hands removing her left fuzzy slipper, was to turn over and say hi. The sensation of his warm hands on her bare foot sent little electrical currents up her leg.

Pretending to be asleep now was almost as bad as when she’d hidden under his bed on one of his weekends at home. She’d been about nine. Even then she’d wanted to be as close to him as she could get. Eventually he’d discovered her, and hadn’t cared that she was faking a deep sleep. He’d hauled her out, dragged her screaming into the hallway, then slammed the door in her face.

The housekeeper had reported the incident to his father, who in turn had punished Luke, and in a natural progression, Luke had refused to talk to Catherine for a month.

Bad idea then. Bad idea now.

He drew off the other slipper, then massaged her instep with strong, sure strokes. She’d never felt anything more erotic in her life. Goose bumps broke out on her skin as he cradled her foot before gently settling it back on the bed.

She felt the drag of the covers under her as Luke carefully pulled the spread and blankets down to her feet, trying not to wake her. Her breasts tingled as if he’d touched them directly. She imagined the glide of the blankets were Luke’s hands skimming slowly down her body. Eyes squeezed shut, she pictured his hands on her. Large, hard, long fingered. Smoothing, cupping, claiming.

Moisture pooled between her thighs. Her pulse pounded strategically. She gritted her teeth at the thick, syrupy pleasure her imagination created. She felt the brush of fur, and realized he’d settled Hubert back beside her cheek.

“You’re a real pain, Catherine Anne Harris, you know that?” Luke murmured. “I wish you’d stayed in Oregon where you belong.”

It took a moment for her overactive hormones to assimilate what he’d just said. A real pain. Stayed where you belong.

The delicious sensations left her body in a dizzying rush.

Her heart ached in her chest; the back of her nose tingled. She clamped her teeth together so tightly her jaw ached. So much for wanting Luke to make the first move. He didn’t want her. Biblically or otherwise.

No matter how Luke presented his invitation for her to stay, the bottom line, as usual, was that she was in the way. All her life she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time where Luke was concerned.

Catherine wanted to run. She wanted to go home. To her own bed, with her own safe things surrounding her. But she’d burned those bridges by selling the house and putting everything she owned into storage. At the time that had taken more courage than she’d thought she could muster. But selling and closing up the only real home she’d ever known had been child’s play compared to this.

Luke tucked the covers around her, brushing aside her hair. For a brief, electrifying second, his hand lingered on her nape.

She couldn’t help it. She shivered.

He swore under his breath.

For several seconds he didn’t move. She could feel him standing there beside the bed. Looking at her. Then she heard his footsteps as he went into the bathroom. The lock snicked. The shower turned on.

Catherine stared up into the darkness, eyes dry, chest aching.

* * *

LUKE FINALLY EMERGED from a restless sleep. He hadn’t bothered with a sheet. The leather sofa had glued itself to his skin all the way down his left side, and he had to peel himself off like a giant Band-Aid. Thoroughly out of sorts, he yanked last night’s chinos over his briefs and staggered reluctantly through the bedroom to get to the bathroom.

The bed was neatly made. How nice. One of them had slept well. He glanced at the bathroom door. Open. He shot a look at his watch. Great. He’d had about three hours’ sleep. And where was Cat at eight on a Sunday morning?

After a quick, hot shower, he dressed in his favorite denim cutoffs and a faded red tank top, then headed for the kitchen.

Wherever she’d gone, Cat had unloaded the dishwasher and put everything neatly away before she’d left. He hadn’t heard a sound. He searched around for a note. She hadn’t left one. Vaguely miffed, he started coffee and decided on eggs Benedict for breakfast. He didn’t just save his culinary masterpieces for The Morning After. Although he usually cooked this particular dish for two. And served it in bed.

* * *

AS SOON AS she walked into the kitchen, Catherine knew she should have stayed out longer. There was a twenty-four-hour movie theater two blocks away. She could have spent the morning there, reading subtitles.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said cheerfully, setting a bag of doughnuts and the Sunday paper on the counter to avoid looking at a lot of naked Luke. Tanned, taut, terrific body. Not a freckle in sight. He had the naturally long, lean physique of an athlete without having to do the maintenance. It wasn’t fair. But then, what in life was? A familiar tightness gripped her chest.

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.