Читать книгу Cherokee Marriage Dare - Sheri WhiteFeather, Sheri WhiteFeather - Страница 12

Maggie peered around the tailgate, but saw neither hide nor hair of Luke. Her hide and her hair, on the other hand, were drenched. He’d outsmarted every maneuver she’d tried so far.

Where was he? Under the vehicle? Wedged against a tire? She had an arsenal of snowballs ready to go, just waiting for him to show his sneaky face.

Determined to win, she opted for another tactic. The damsel-in-distress ploy ought to work. A macho guy like Luke should fall for that. Her brothers usually did. Men, she thought with a feminine gleam in her eye, were natural-born suckers.

“It’s time to quit,” she called out. “I’m freezing, and I want to go inside.”

She continued to peer around the SUV, armed with a carefully packed snowball. Testing the weight in her hand, she smiled. It was, in her estimation, a solid sphere of ice.

“Luke!” she called out again. “This isn’t funny. I’m exhausted, and you have the keys to the house.”

“Nice try, princess,” a deep voice said from behind her.

She turned and saw Luke aiming a bucket of snow at her. Still clutching her ammunition, Maggie let out a girlish squeal and took off running.

Bucket in hand, he chased her.

They danced around a tree, back and forth, like foolhardy kids. There was no time to think, to stop and admire the husky sound of his laughter or the way his dark eyes crinkled when he smiled.

She was having too much fun to analyze the moment. And so was he.

Maggie tossed the snowball at him. It sailed past his shoulder and splattered against the tree. White flecks glistened against the bark, the edges icy and sharp.

Luke moved toward her, slowly, teasing her with the bucket, giving her a chance to turn tail and run.

Instead, she did something to catch him off guard. She charged him, full force, intending to knock the ammunition out of his hand.

The bucket went flying, and so did she.

When she tackled Luke, he lost his footing and took her down with him. Arms and legs tangling, they rolled, like snowmen toppling to the ground. Maggie’s breath rushed out in gasping pants.

He ended up on top, his weight sinking into hers, powdery flakes fluttering around them. He wiped the snow from her face, his gloved hand brushing gently.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes.” She touched his face, too. Then ran her hands through his hair, combing the dampness away from his forehead.

Their eyes met and held. Without speaking, they stared at each other, their emotions frozen in time.

It could have been a dream, she thought. A fantasy drifting on the edge of reality. If she looked past him, she would see a rainbow, an arc of gems shooting across the December sky.

He whispered her name, and the jewels grew brighter—diamonds, rubies, emeralds falling from the heavens.

Maggie and Luke moved at the same time, in the same instant. She drew him closer, and he lowered his head.

The wind whipped over them, and they kissed.

Desperately.

He sucked on her bottom lip, caught it with his teeth. The imaginary rainbow blurred her vision, sending sparks over every inch of her skin.

Thrusting his tongue into her mouth, he clasped both of her hands in his, taking possession, staking his claim.

Maggie wanted to possess him, too. To make Lucas Starwind hers. To take everything that he was and wrap him tightly around her heart. He tasted like heat and snow, like ice dripping over a long, dark, dangerous candle, the wick igniting into a flame.

A gust of cold air sliced over them, but neither noticed.

They kissed, again and again, questing for more—nibbling, licking, absorbing every thrilling sensation.

Luke released her hands, and they went after each other. She unzipped his jacket; he unbuttoned her coat. He slid his hips between her legs; she bumped his fly.

They were making love in their minds, mimicking the rocking, rubbing motion with their bodies. Maggie clung to the man in her arms. This was, she thought, the most wildly erotic moment of her life.

Until a neighbor’s car door slammed.

Luke shot up like an arrow. Then he cursed, clearly chastising himself for losing control.

“You’re going to catch pneumonia,” he said, fumbling to rebutton her coat.

Maggie didn’t think that was possible. She was as warm as sealing wax. And she wanted to melt all over him. But she knew the opportunity had passed.

Luke was Luke again. Tough. Tense. Guarded.

“Come on.” He reached for her hand and drew her to her feet. “You need a hot bath. And something to eat.”

She needed to kiss him again, she thought, but she didn’t argue. She rather liked being protected by the big, tough detective. He actually swept her into his arms and carried her to the front door.

Luke Starwind was dark and dangerous. Exciting. When she’d slid her hands over those sturdy muscles, she’d felt the holstered gun he kept clipped to the back of his belt. It seemed, somehow, like an extension of his body, like part of the man he was. The Cherokee warrior, she thought. The former Green Beret.

He fumbled with his keys. Maggie put her head on his shoulder as he stepped over the threshold. Feeling delightfully feminine, she pressed her lips to his neck and smiled when he sucked in a tight breath.

He deposited her in the master bathroom, where a sunken tub awaited—an enormous, dark-green enclosure surrounded by rugged antiques. She caught a glimpse of his four-poster bed and tried not to swoon. His house was growing on her.

Feeling as boneless as a rag doll, she allowed him to remove her coat.

“Will you start a fire?” she asked, wishing he would undress her completely.

He didn’t, of course. Her coat was as far as he went.

“Yeah. I’ll heat up a can of soup, too.”

“Thank you.” She pressed a delicate kiss to his cheek and felt him shiver. “You’re cold, too,” she remarked.

“I’ll dry off in the other bathroom.”

He backed away and thrust a towel at her. Maggie accepted the offer, thinking how incredible using his soap was going to be.

She eyed a bulk of terry cloth hanging behind the door. “Can I wear your robe, Luke?”

“What?” He followed her gaze, a frown furrowing his brow. “No,” he responded, his voice strained. “I’ll get you a pair of sweats.”

“All right.” She shrugged as if his robe held little consequence. When he was gone, she decided, she would slip it on. Just for a second. Just to feel it caress her bare skin.

Luke washed his face, towel-dried his hair and slipped on a T-shirt and a pair of old, comfortable jeans. Next he built a fire and headed to the kitchen to heat some soup. He tried not to think about Maggie soaking in his tub, sleek and naked, her skin warm and flushed.

He’d behaved like a kid, goofing around in the snow, letting Maggie pull him under her playful spell. But worse yet, he’d lost complete control, kissing her until his body ached with a hot, feverish lust.

Dumping the soup into a pot, he added the required amount of water and reminded himself that Maggie was off-limits. Way off-limits. The last thing he needed was to get involved with a woman practically young enough to be his daughter. Luke rarely took a lover, and when he did, he made damn sure his partner was mature enough to handle a sex-only relationship.

Then again, he doubted free-spirited, frolic-in-the-snow Maggie was looking for a lifelong commitment. He’d seen pictures of her in the society pages with her former beau—a twenty-something Italian race-car driver. A live-for-the-minute European playboy.

Which made Luke wonder what Maggie saw in a crusty, pushing-forty P.I. like himself.

“Luke?”

Squaring his shoulders, he turned to acknowledge her. She stood in the doorway, her freshly washed hair combed away from her face, her blue-green eyes sparkling.

Luke squinted through a frown. What spell was she about to cast? And how could a woman look downright breathtaking in a pair of standard-gray sweats?

His sweats, he reminded himself.

“That smells good,” she said.

“It’s ready.” He reached for a cup. “Do you want crackers?”

When she nodded, he pulled a box from the cupboard.

Minutes later, they sat in front of the fire, sipping tomato soup. Flames danced in the stone hearth, warming the room with a flickering gold light. Maggie spooned up soggy crackers and watched him through her magical eyes.

“Tell me what you said, Luke.”

Confused, he shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“When we danced at Rafe’s wedding reception. You said something to me. Something in Cherokee.”

He fought to steady his pulse. A qua da nv do. My heart. He would never forget those words or the moment he’d said them. “I don’t recall saying anything.”

She scooted closer. They sat cross-legged on a wool rug, just a few feet apart. Her hair had begun to dry, and the fire bathed her in an amber glow. She looked young and soft, her skin scrubbed free of cosmetics.

“But you have to remember. They sounded so pretty.” She struggled to repeat the phrase. “I can hear them in my head, but I can’t pronounce them.”

He could hear them in his head, too. Could feel them pounding in his chest. “I’m sorry. I just don’t remember.”

Maggie glanced down at her soup, and Luke frowned. He knew his lie had hurt her feelings.

But how could he tell her that for an instant in time she had actually become part of his heart? He didn’t understand why he’d felt such a tender, almost haunting connection to her. And he never wanted to go through something like that again. She had no right to touch his heart, not even for an instant.

“I bought a book about the Cherokee,” she said. “I curled up one night in bed and read about your ancestors. It’s a fascinating culture. So beautiful. So noble.”

He placed his empty cup on the mantel. “I’m only half Cherokee.” And he was neither noble nor beautiful.

Maggie watched him, and he felt self-conscious under her scrutiny. He knew she was studying his features—eyes lined with well-earned crow’s-feet, a nose that had been broken on the worst day of his life, a jaw as hard as granite.

“It’s still part of your legacy, Luke.”

“So you bought that book because of me?”

“Yes.” She tilted her head, her hair falling to one side. “The chapters about the Trail of Tears made me cry. All those people being forced to leave their homeland, starving and freezing and dying on the way.”

Something inside him nearly shattered. In some small way, she had cried for him. “I’m Eastern Band Cherokee. My ancestors hid in the Great Smoky Mountains in order to escape removal.” Men, women and children, he thought, whom the army had pledged to hunt down like wild dogs. But he supposed Maggie had read about that, too.

“Where do your parents live?” she asked, her voice still filled with emotion.

“My dad’s dead.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” She glanced at the fire. For a moment, they both fell silent.

He knew she was going to ask him about his mom next. Somehow, that hurt even more. His mother’s sheltered, fragile lifestyle was a constant reminder of the pain his family had endured.

“Is your mom close by?”

“No. She lives in the country.” In the same house where he grew up. The same quiet little farmhouse where the kidnapping had taken place.

“What does she look like?”

Like a woman who’d lost everything that mattered, he thought. “She’s fair-skinned, and her hair is sort of a silvery-gray. It used to be brown.”

Maggie smiled. “I bet she’s pretty.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “My dad thought so.”

She finished her soup, placing the empty cup beside his. Uncrossing her legs, she drew her knees up. Her face was a wash of golden hues from the fire, her eyes a watery shade of blue. He wondered how many times a day they changed color.

“Do you have any brothers and sisters?”

The question hit him like a fist. He clenched his stomach muscles to sustain the impact. “No,” he said as his heart went numb.

Not anymore.

The next day Maggie awakened to the sound of a screeching telephone. She pushed through the mosquito netting that draped her brass bed and squinted at the clock.

Groaning, she nearly knocked the phone off the dresser. Who called at five o’clock on a Sunday morning? On her private line, no less?

“This better be important,” she said into the receiver.

“It’s Luke.”

A shiver shot straight up her spine. She’d worn Luke’s sweats home yesterday. And needing to feel connected to him throughout the night, she’d also slept in them. The fleece-lined fabric brushed her skin like warm, masculine hands.

His hands, she thought as she heard him breathe into the phone.

“What’s going on?” she asked, trying to sound professional. Clearly an early-morning call from Luke related to business. As far as she knew, he didn’t make personal calls, at least not to her. “Did you get a breakthrough in the case?”

“No. But I picked up your bodyguard at the airport, and we’re on our way over. So get out of bed and put on some coffee. He’s moving into your place today.”

Maggie shot up like a rocket, nearly tearing the mosquito net from the ceiling. Her bodyguard? “You’re not going to sic some big, burly brute on me.” In spite of her family’s wealth and celebrity, she did her damnedest to live a normal life. Which meant no maids, chauffeurs, cooks or bodyguards. She cleaned her own house, drove her own car and fixed her own meals. Granted, her house was a two-million-dollar loft, her car was a Lamborghini and she purchased her food from a gourmet market, but she was still self-sufficient.

“I have the most sophisticated alarm system ever devised,” she went on. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“Too bad. Your brother already agreed with me that Bruno should move in with you until this case is solved.”

Her brother. She should have known Rafe had a hand in this. He and Luke seemed to think she was some sort of helpless female. “What kind of stupid name is Bruno?” She pictured a no-neck, muscle-bound Gestapo guarding her front door.

“I’ve seen Bruno in action, Maggie. And I’m not changing my mind about hiring him. We’ll see you in fifteen minutes. And if you don’t let us in, we’ll break in, proving to you how useless that alarm system of yours is. You don’t even have a security camera.”

She fumed. She raged. She paced the floor with darts in her eyes. Luke was going to suffer for this. And so was Bruno. She would make the bodyguard’s assignment a living hell, ditching him every chance she got.

Maggie washed her face and brushed her teeth, but she didn’t change her clothes or put on a pot of coffee. If Luke wanted freshly brewed coffee, she would gladly kick his rear all the way to Colombia, where he could pick his own damn beans.

Luke and Bruno arrived in the estimated fifteen minutes. Luke buzzed her, and she pressed the remote and opened the security gate at the entrance of an underground parking structure, then shot out of the loft and waited at the indoor elevator that led to her living quarters. The industrial building had been remodeled to suit her needs, but she’d kept the old-fashioned, gated elevator because she liked its vintage style.

She heard the elevator ascending, and when it stopped, her jaw went slack.

Luke’s companion was on a leash.

Bruno, it appeared, was a dog. The most powerful-looking creature she’d ever seen.

“That’s my bodyguard?”

Luke and the beast exited the elevator. “He’s not what you expected?”

“You know damn well I thought Bruno was a man.”

The dog didn’t react to his name or to the sharp tone in Maggie’s voice. Luke, however, had the gall to arch an eyebrow at her. Apparently he didn’t care that he’d ruffled her feathers at five in the morning.

“Now why would I hire another man to move in with you? Hell, Maggie, I could have done that myself.”

Then why didn’t you? she wanted to ask. Why didn’t you become my personal bodyguard? My roommate?

Because he’d given the job to Bruno.

She shifted her attention to the dog. He stood about thirty inches tall and probably weighed a good two hundred pounds. Heavy-boned, with a fawn-colored body, his muzzle bore a dark mask.

“What is he?” she asked.

“An English mastiff.”

She studied Bruno’s serious face. She doubted the big dog would ever roll over with his paws in the air, begging for a belly rub. Maggie patted his head, deciding she would have to loosen him up. Teach him to do dumb doggie things. The poor fellow behaved like an armed guard with a rifle up his butt.

“There’s no point in standing in the hall,” she said, inviting Luke and Bruno into her home.

The first thing Luke noticed about Maggie’s loft was the skylight. Dawn blazed from the ceiling, sending lavender streaks throughout the room.

Her decor was bold, yet decidedly female. A variety of textures, ranging from watered silk to carved-and-painted woods, made up the living room. Leafy plants grew from clay pots and scented candles dripped melted wax. The oak floors were whitewashed, and one entire wall was covered with a mural of mermaids rising from the sea.

Instinctively, he knew Maggie had painted it. He felt the enchantment flow over him like a cool, sensual wine.

Moonlight and mermaids. He turned to look at her, and saw that she watched Bruno instead.