Читать книгу Cherokee Marriage Dare - Sheri WhiteFeather, Sheri WhiteFeather - Страница 10

Maggie Connelly waited on Luke Starwind’s doorstep. The Chicago wind blew bitter and brisk. She could feel the December air creeping up her spine like icy fingers. A warning, she thought. A prelude to danger.

Adjusting the grocery bags in her arms, she shifted her stance. Was she getting in over her head? Playing with fire?

No, she told herself. She had every right to get involved in her family’s investigation. She needed to make a difference, to find closure. Her beloved grandfather was dead, and so was her dashing, handsome uncle. Their lives had been destroyed, and she needed to know why.

But her biggest stumbling block was Luke. She knew the former Green Beret would try to thwart her efforts.

Maggie tossed her head. Well, she had a surprise in store for him. She’d uncovered a valuable piece of evidence. And that was her ace in the hole, the card up her sleeve. He couldn’t very well shut her out once she revealed the winning hand fate had dealt her.

Luke opened the door, but neither said a word.

Instead, their gazes locked.

Maggie took a deep breath, forcing oxygen into her lungs.

The man stood tall and powerfully built. Jet-black hair, combed away from his forehead, intensified the rawboned angles of his face. He possessed a commanding presence, his features strong and determined—high-cut cheekbones, a nose that might have suffered a long-healed break, an unrelenting jaw.

Luke was a jigsaw puzzle she’d yet to solve, each complicated piece of his personality as confusing as the next. Everything about him rattled her senses, and made her want to touch him. Not just his body, but also his heart.

His reclusive, shielded heart.

Did Luke know that he had a romantic side? A masculine warmth hidden beneath that stern, rugged exterior?

Maggie had asked him to dance at her brother’s wedding reception, and now she could feel every gliding motion, every smooth sultry sway. He’d rubbed his cheek against her temple and whispered a Cherokee phrase, something that had made him draw her closer to his beating heart. She’d never been so tenderly aroused.

“What are you doing here?”

Instantly, Maggie snapped to attention. After that sensual dance, he’d avoided her like the plague, returning to his hard-boiled self.

But why? she wondered. Because she’d made him feel too much?

Refusing to be intimidated, she shoved the groceries at him. “I came to fix you dinner, Starwind. So be a gentleman, will ya?”

Flustered, he took the bags, nearly dropping one in the process.

Maggie bit back a satisfied smile. She’d managed to catch Mr. Tough Guy off guard. That in itself rang like a small victory.

He moved away from the door, and she swept past him, curious to see his home.

The spacious, two-story town house showcased a stone fireplace and nineteenth-century furnishings, each piece sturdy and functional. A little battered, she supposed, but the rustic antiques made a personal statement. She assumed Luke had chosen them, as they suited him well.

She noticed the absence of knickknacks and lived-in clutter. Apparently Luke surrounded himself with the necessities of life, rather than objects that sparked sentiment. A person’s home reflected his emotions, Maggie thought. And although Luke’s town house was located in the heart of the city, it made her wonder if he’d been raised on a farm or a ranch. The oak floors were polished to a slick shine and padded with braided area rugs.

She zeroed in on the kitchen and headed toward it, knowing Luke followed. He set the groceries on a tiled counter, and she familiarized herself with his spotless appliances and practical cookware. The windowsill above the stainless-steel sink was bare, no potted plants, nothing to water or care for.

Something inside her stirred—a wave of sadness, an urge to brighten his rough-hewn world. To make Mr. Tough Guy smile.

He frowned. And for an instant she feared he’d just read her mind.

He leaned against a pantry-style cabinet, watching every move she made. Maggie unbuttoned her coat and told herself to relax. The man was a top-notch private investigator. It was his nature to study people and make analytical assessments. Plus, she thought, releasing the breath she’d been holding, he was attracted to her.

Their bodies had brushed seductively on the dance floor; their hearts had pounded to the same erotic rhythm. A qua da nv do. The Cherokee words swirled in her head. What did they mean? And why had he said them with such quiet longing?

Maggie hung her coat behind a straight-back chair in the connecting dining room. Luke’s gaze roamed from her cashmere sweater to the tips of her Italian boots, then back up again.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” she responded a little too innocently. She wasn’t ready to drop the bomb. First she would ply him with pasta. And a bottle of her favorite wine.

Luke crossed his arms. He wore jeans and a dark-blue sweatshirt, attire much too casual for his unyielding posture. In his left ear, a tiny sterling hoop shone bright against dark skin. The earring defined the native in him, she thought. A man who remained close to his Cherokee roots.

She unloaded the groceries and realized he intended to stay right where he was, staring at her while she prepared their meal.

“I’m surprised you know how to cook,” he said.

She shot him a pointed look. “Very funny.” Maggie knew how Luke perceived her. No one took her endeavors seriously.

She was the youngest child in one of the wealthiest, most powerful families in the country. Her elegant mother hailed from royalty, and her steely-eyed father had made his fortune in business, transforming a small company into a global corporation.

But Maggie had yet to earn the respect often associated with the Connelly name. The paparazzi deemed her a spoiled, jet-setting heiress. The tabloid pictures that circulated made her seem like nothing but a party girl. It was an image she couldn’t seem to shake, no matter how hard she tried.

And while Maggie’s personal life was dissected in gossip columns, Luke kept a tight rein on his.

Why was he so detached? she wondered. So cautious? Why would a handsome, successful, thirty-nine-year-old choose to protect his heart?

She didn’t know much about Luke, but she’d done a little digging, asking for information from anyone who knew him. And although she hadn’t been able to unravel the mystery surrounding him, she’d learned a few unsettling facts. Luke had never been married or engaged. He didn’t participate in meaningful relationships, and most people, including women, described him as guarded.

Maggie held his watchful gaze, searching for a flicker of happiness, a spark of joy. But his eyes seemed distant. Haunted, she thought, by undisclosed pain.

Could she make him happy? Could she hold him close and ease the tension from his brow?

Deep down, she wanted the chance to try. But she doubted he would welcome her efforts. Especially when she told him that she intended to help him with her family’s investigation.

Lucas Starwind, she knew, wouldn’t appreciate the Connelly’s youngest daughter working by his side.

A little over an hour later Luke and Maggie sat across from each other at his dining-room table. The lady was up to something. He knew she’d been questioning people all over town about him. And now here she was, enticing him with a home-cooked meal. Young, beautiful, impulsive Maggie. The Connelly baby. The free-spirited jet-setter. Something didn’t add up.

But, then, Maggie was far from predictable. She carried herself like a muse, like the goddess of dance, flaunting a playful sensuality Luke wasn’t accustomed to. She wore her light-brown hair in a natural style, and her eyes were the color of a tropical sea. Long, lithe curves complemented all that unchained beauty.

She had a temper, too. Just enough to ignite his blood.

But Luke didn’t like the idea that they wanted each other. She was too young for him—much too young. Seventeen years spanned between them, a lifetime in his book.

He glanced at the food she’d prepared—antipasto salad, lasagna and a loaf of oven-warmed bread. It was a cozy, charming meal. The kind of dishes a sidewalk café would serve. Even the ambience seemed intimate. Maggie had provided a scented candle, and it burned between them like a melting jewel.

But this wasn’t a date, and in spite of the wine sparkling in his glass, Luke was in complete control of his senses.

Maybe not in complete control. But close. As close as his body would allow while in Maggie’s presence. As long as they weren’t touching, he would survive her proximity. No more dances, no more warm, gentle seductions. Luke couldn’t take another bewitching. Not after what he’d said. What he’d felt.

He glanced up and caught her watching him. Waiting, he supposed, to see if this cozy dinner had affected him, if it would make him easier to deal with. He knew she was plotting something. Those blue-green eyes shimmered with what he’d come to think of as muse magic—enchantment that could steal into a man’s soul.

Luke frowned, disturbed by his train of thought. Maggie Connelly was a woman, not a muse. And he was too practical to get caught up in mythical nonsense.

Then why had she inspired him to hold her close? To sway flawlessly to the music? To whisper words he hadn’t meant to say? Luke hadn’t spoken the Kituwah dialect since he was a boy.

He shook his head, intent on clearing his mind. Dwelling on that moment wouldn’t do him any good. He still had this other business with Maggie to contend with—whatever the hell it was.

“Level with me,” he said. “Tell me what’s going on.”

She reached for her wine. The light from the chandelier cast an enchanting glow. Luke ignored the gilded streaks in her hair, the gold that gleamed like a treasure.

“I’m going to help you solve my family’s case.”

He clenched his jaw. So that was it. The grad student wanted to amuse herself by playing detective. No way, he thought. No damn way. Tom Reynolds, his experienced partner, had been killed while working on this investigation. The last thing Luke needed was an amateur sleuth—a gorgeous female—dogging his heels, getting herself into all sorts of trouble.

“This isn’t a game, Maggie.” He drilled her with a hard stare. “People are dying out there.”

“You think I don’t know that?” She bristled before her voice turned raw. “King Thomas was my grandfather. And Prince Marc was my uncle.”

And both men were dead, Luke thought. Killed in a boating accident that hadn’t turned out to be an accident at all. “I’m sure you’re well aware that the Kelly crime family is responsible for what’s been going on. And they have ties in Altaria.” He leaned against the table. “This is a sophisticated operation. An international crime ring. There’s someone in the royal household who’s a key player in everything that happened.”

“And that’s why this matters so much to me. I have a right to know why members of my family were killed. Altaria is a second home to me.”

He pictured her in Altaria, sunbathing on the white sandy beaches, strolling the cobblestoned streets, breathing in the cool, clean air. Altaria was an independent kingdom on the Tyrrhenian Sea, just off the southern coast of Italy. Yes, he thought. Maggie Connelly belonged to that world, to the picturesque island that captured the essence of her youth and royal blood. He didn’t doubt that she had been King Thomas’s favored grandchild.

“This case is too dangerous for sentiment.” And he wasn’t about to put her in the center of a critical investigation.

“My grandfather and my uncle are gone,” she countered, pushing her plate away. “And I need closure.”

Luke heaved a rough sigh. If there was one thing he understood, it was the thirst for justice. But Maggie’s situation was different from his. She wasn’t responsible for the despair in her family. “I can’t let you get involved.” He had a darn good idea why King Thomas and Prince Marc had been killed, and the danger was still out there. A danger that threatened Mother Earth. Biological warfare wasn’t child’s play.

She set her chin in a defiant gesture. “I’m already involved. I have a piece of evidence, something I’m sure is related to this case.”

Silent, he studied her for a moment. Pretty Maggie—the free-spirited coed, the high-society party girl. She had to be bluffing. There was no way she could have uncovered vital information. “Really, Nancy Drew? And what might that be?”

Irked by the mockery, she met his gaze head-on, her eyes suddenly more green than blue. Like one of those mood rings, he thought with a spark of humor. The lady did have quite a temper.

“A few weeks ago I found a CD in a lace shipment from Altaria,” she said, knocking the amusement right out of him. “The software is encrypted, so I couldn’t read the file, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that it was smuggled out of the country.”

Luke’s entire body tensed.

Another pirated file.

Damn it, he thought. Damn it all to hell. Maggie’s discovery was enough to get her killed. “Who else have you told about this?”

“No one.”

“Good.” At least she had the sense to keep quiet. Unable to finish his meal, Luke set his fork back on the table. This case was tying his stomach in knots. “What were you doing nosing around at the warehouse?” She wasn’t involved in the Connelly import business.

She sent him a tight look. “I wasn’t nosing around. I custom ordered some lace for a dress. When it arrived, the warehouse forwarded the package to me.”

A package that had accidentally contained one of the stolen files. Luke shook his head. Maggie had gotten herself tangled up in biological warfare over a dress. Somehow that made perfect, idiotic sense. “You’re going to turn that CD over to me and forget that you ever saw it.”

“Oh, no, I’m not. I’m keeping it until you agree to let me help you with the investigation.”

She tilted her head at a regal angle, and Luke cursed beneath his breath. Women in Altaria couldn’t inherit the throne, but that didn’t make Maggie Connelly any less of a princess.

Her oldest brother, Daniel, had inherited the throne. Although his very public, very lavish coronation was scheduled at the end of the month, he’d already taken a private oath before the United Chambers, becoming king of the small, sovereign nation. And now King Daniel had stolen files to worry about, information that had been smuggled out of his country. He doubted the monarch would appreciate his sister withholding evidence.

Luke had the notion to wring Maggie’s royal little neck. “You’re not getting away with this,” he said.

“And neither are you,” she retorted.

Their gazes locked in a battle of wills. Luke cursed again, only this time out loud. In that long-drawn-out moment, he knew he had met his match.

And now, damn it, he had to figure out what to do about her.

The Connellys’ Chicago mansion was a classic Georgian manor, located in the city’s most fashionable neighborhood. The brick structure sat like a monument, surrounded by a sweeping lawn.

Luke had been escorted to a sitting room, but he didn’t feel like sitting. Instead he stood beside a marble fireplace, waiting for Maggie’s brother Rafe. Overall, she had eight brothers, two sisters, a graceful mother and a powerful father, but Rafe was the one Luke had been working with on the Connelly case.

Leaning against the mantel, he glanced around the room and shook his head. He couldn’t imagine growing up in a place like this. Luke had found his own measure of financial success, and he appreciated antiques, but everything in the Connelly mansion was too grand for his taste.

A moment later he moved his arm, realizing it was dangerously close to what looked like a priceless vase. Ming Dynasty, Qing Dynasty. He didn’t know the difference, but knocking the damn thing over wasn’t the most prudent way to find out.

Rafe entered the room, and Luke moved forward to greet him. Rafe Connelly was anything but the computer nerd Luke had expected before they’d met the first time. He was athletic and hardworking, charming when he felt like it and fond of casual clothes and fast cars. Luke respected him immensely. And if anybody could turn Maggie around, he could. Although Rafe was levelheaded, he shared a bit of Maggie’s impulsive nature. Luke assumed she wouldn’t resent her brother’s intervention.

“Any luck?” Luke asked.

The other man shook his head. “She’s upstairs in her room, hissing like a cat. There’s no way she’s going to relinquish that CD. Not without a compromise.”

And I’m the compromise, Luke thought. Me and the investigation. “Did you tell her what’s on the CD?” he asked. Rafe had recently uncovered the existence of the pirated files, as well as the lethal material they contained.

Rafe gave him an incredulous look. “Not without consulting you first.”

They both fell silent, their expressions grim. They had discussed the severity of this case, the need for secrecy. Luke gazed out a French door. He could see a crop of distant shrubbery blocked in each wood-framed pane.

He turned back to Rafe. “What the hell are we going to do?”

“I don’t see that we have much choice. If we don’t allow Maggie to get involved, she intends to go snooping around on her own.” The other man pulled a hand through his wavy light-brown hair. “I swear, I could brain her.”

Luke knew the feeling. And he also knew what Rafe was getting at. Maggie was in more danger on her own than she was working by Luke’s side. And her having possession of one of the CDs made it even more critical. “I don’t need this.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Once again they fell silent. Luke thought about Tom Reynolds, who had been shot to death while on the investigation. His stomach clenched. If he hadn’t been out of town at the time, he could have given Tom the backup he needed.

“You’ll have to keep a close eye on Maggie.”

He looked up and slammed straight into Rafe’s dark-blue gaze. Was the other man blaming him for Tom’s murder? Or was it a reflection of his own guilt he saw?

They stood in the center of the room, the finery closing in around them. Luke knew what came next. He knew exactly what Rafe was going to say.

“I’m asking you to protect my sister, Luke. To treat her as if she was your own flesh and blood.”

He locked his knees to keep them from buckling. His own flesh and blood. A pain gripped his heart. The ever-constant ache that reminded him of what he’d done. Tom Reynolds wasn’t the only death he was responsible for. Twenty-seven years before, he’d let a beautiful little girl die. He would never forget the day her body had been found. The muggy summer day a farmer had discovered her, bruised and battered—tortured by a vicious attack.

“Promise me you’ll protect her.”

“I will,” Luke vowed. “I promise.” He would keep Rafe’s sister safe. With his life, he thought. With the only honor he had left.

The other man broke the tension with a grin. “It won’t be easy. Maggie’s one headstrong female.”

Luke couldn’t find it within himself to smile. But he rarely could. His joy had died twenty-seven years ago. “Yeah. I’ve already locked horns with her. I know what I’m up against.”

“You’re going to have to fill her in about what we’ve learned so far,” Rafe said. “I don’t want to give her an excuse to go poking around on her own.”

Luke squinted. “Fine. But first I want you to lay some ground rules. Tell Maggie that I’m the boss. This is my investigation, and whatever I say goes.”

Rafe agreed. “I’ll brief her, then send her down in a few minutes.”

He headed toward the French door. “Have her meet me outside. I could use some air.”

“Sure. And Luke?”

He turned, his boots heavy on the Turkish carpet. “Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Luke only nodded. Protecting Maggie Connelly scared the hell out of him. But her brother had entrusted him with the responsibility. And that was something a Cherokee man couldn’t deny.