Luke's Promise
Eileen Wilks
A few minutes in the Love Me Tender Chapel, and Maggie Stewart had toppled the giant of all bachelors, sexy-as-sin Luke West. But their marriage came with an expiration date - on payment of Luke's colossal inheritance. The honorable horseman promised to rein in his powerful wife-craving, for he'd never compromise precious Maggie.But his bride had vowed to push her husband to the brink of pounding desire, then offer herself as satisfaction - on one condition…that their loving last not just one night, but a lifetime!
It Was Going To Be A Seduction, After All.
Maggie pulled the brush through her hair and brooded over the sheer contrariness of the man she was more or less married to. After kissing her silly that first night, then teasing and tantalizing her the next day, Luke had either lost interest or suffered a pang of conscience. He hadn’t touched her since.
How could a woman let a man know she wanted him when he treated the very idea of sex between them as a joke? Maggie tossed the brush on the bed. Hard.
Today they were driving to Dallas. She would sneak off to Victoria’s Secret and buy a couple of sexy nightgowns. And just what did she do then? she asked herself as she left her room. Parade around the house in a few scraps of satin and lace and hope he’d be swept away by lust?
Maybe she should level with him. By the way, Luke, I was hoping you could train me in something other than riding. Mind if we go to bed so you can make a woman out of me?
Dear Reader,
Welcome to Silhouette Desire, where every month you can count on finding six passionate, powerful and provocative romances.
The fabulous Dixie Browning brings us November’s MAN OF THE MONTH, Rocky and the Senator’s Daughter, in which a heroine on the verge of scandal arouses the protective and sensual instincts of a man who knew her as a teenager. Then Leanne Banks launches her exciting Desire miniseries, THE ROYAL DUMONTS, with Royal Dad, the timeless story of a prince who falls in love with his son’s American tutor.
The Bachelorette, Kate Little’s lively contribution to our 20 AMBER COURT miniseries, features a wealthy businessman who buys a date with a “plain Jane” at a charity auction. The intriguing miniseries SECRETS! continues with Sinclair’s Surprise Baby, Barbara McCauley’s tale of a rugged bachelor with amnesia who’s stunned to learn he’s the father of a love child.
In Luke’s Promise by Eileen Wilks, we meet the second TALL, DARK & ELIGIBLE brother, a gorgeous rancher who tries to respect his wife-of-convenience’s virtue, while she looks to him for lessons in lovemaking! And, finally, in Gail Dayton’s delightful Hide-and-Sheikh, a lovely security specialist and a sexy sheikh play a game in which both lose their hearts…and win a future together.
So treat yourself to all six of these not-to-be-missed stories. You deserve the pleasure!
Enjoy,
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
Luke’s Promise
Eileen Wilks
EILEEN WILKS
is a fifth-generation Texan. Her great-great-grandmother came to Texas in a covered wagon shortly after the end of the Civil War—excuse us, the War Between the States. But she’s not a full-blooded Texan. Right after another war, her Texan father fell for a Yankee woman. This obviously mismatched pair proceeded to travel to nine cities in three countries in the first twenty years of their marriage. For the next twenty years they stayed put, back home in Texas again—and still together.
Eileen figures her professional career matches her nomadic upbringing, since she’s tried everything from drafting to a brief stint as a ranch hand—raising two children and any number of cats and dogs along the way. Not until she started writing did she “stay put,” because that’s when she knew she’d come home. Readers can write to her at P.O. Box 4612, Midland, TX 79704-4612.
My heartfelt thanks to Mary Casper
for her invaluable assistance about the stabling and
training of horses for three-day eventing. Chances are,
whatever I got right is due to her input. Thanks, Mary.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
One
Monday, November 26th
11:52 a.m.
Damned if he was going to let his brother get away with this.
Luke slammed the door to his Dodge Ram hard enough to loosen the hinges and sprinted up the steps of the big old house. He didn’t press the doorbell tucked inside the gargoyle’s mouth. Jacob always insisted this was still his brothers’ house as much as it was his, though Luke and Michael didn’t live there anymore.
After today, Luke’s big brother just might reconsider his open-door policy. He jammed his key into the lock and swung the door open.
It was noon, lunchtime for most people. But Luke headed for Jacob’s office, not the kitchen or dining room, betting that’s where he’d find his quarry. Jacob would be doing what he did best—making deals, making money.
Luke shoved the door open so hard it bounced off the wall. “Good. You’re alone.”
His brother’s only reaction was to look up from the papers stacked in tidy piles on his desk, his expression remote. “Yes. Sonia’s in Georgia, cooing over her new grandbaby. And my new assistant doesn’t start until tomorrow.”
“I just bought Fine Dandy.”
Jacob’s left eyebrow lifted. “Maggie’s horse?”
“You know damned well it is.” Luke paced over to the desk, planted his hands on it, and leaned forward. “I thought you’d be good for her. All this time you’ve been seeing her, I thought—but you let her sonofabitching father put her horse up for sale!”
“Wait a minute. If you’re talking about Maggie Stewart—”
“Of course I’m talking about Maggie Stewart!” Luke turned and paced the length of the office in several quick steps. “Are you telling me you didn’t know about Fine Dandy? Maggie didn’t tell you what her father was doing?”
Jacob shook his head.
Luke’s breath gusted out. It looked like he’d built up a good head of steam over nothing. It wasn’t the first time. He jammed his hands into his back pockets. “You can buy him off me, then, I guess. My head groom should be picking him up right about now…you can board him with me until Maggie decides what she wants to do.” When Jacob’s eyebrow lifted, he added irritably. “Quit with the Mr. Spock look.”
“You know my situation. Cash is tight right now with the Steller deal still up in the air, and it will be months before we’re able to dissolve the trust. If Fine Dandy’s purchase puts you in a bind I’ll help as much as I can, but—”
“I don’t need your help,” Luke snapped. “Dandy should come from you, that’s all. Since you’re her fiancé.” Luke hadn’t said it out loud until that second. The words tasted even more foul than he’d expected.
“No.”
“What do you mean, no? Don’t you care what that horse means to her? Or are you more like her father than I thought—determined to mold her in some image of your own?”
“Luke.” Jacob shook his head. “I won’t ask you to sit. You’re no better at being still now than when you were four. But if you’d stop interrupting, you might learn something. Of course I want Maggie to have her horse, to continue to compete, if that’s what she wants. But I’m not her fiancé.”
Luke stopped dead, every muscle tense with disbelief. “Two weeks ago, when we met to discuss Ada’s situation, you said you were going to ask Maggie to marry you.”
“She turned me down.”
A peculiar tightness squeezed Luke. The acid that had eaten him for the past three months—ever since Jacob started seeing Maggie—dribbled out, burning as it went. Maggie didn’t want Jacob? “That’s hard to believe.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“No.” Luke frowned. The problem wasn’t what he’d thought; therefore, the solution would have to change, too.
“Why would Maggie’s father sell her horse?” Jacob asked. “I had the impression Malcolm Stewart’s main interest in his daughter lies in how many trophies she can bring home.”
“Because the man’s a fool. I’ll lay odds it has something to do with that damned trainer he hired. Walt Hitchcock doesn’t think women should be allowed on the Olympic Team—or much of anywhere other than the kitchen and bedroom.”
“Why would Stewart hire him, then?”
“He’s got the credentials,” Luke admitted reluctantly. “Former Olympic medalist. Bronze,” he added with a faint sneer that, perhaps, a former Gold Medalist was entitled to. “Eleven years ago.”
“Maggie’s an excellent rider.”
“Yeah, she’s damned good. Not ready for the Olympics, though.” As always, Luke made his mind up in a flash. “Listen, Jacob, I’ve got to go.”
“What about Fine Dandy?”
“I’ll take care of Dandy. Maggie, too.” He headed for the door.
“Luke! Dammit, wait a minute.” Jacob was a big man, half a head taller than Luke and thirty pounds heavier, but he could move quickly when he wanted to. When Luke reached the front door, Jacob wasn’t far behind. “What do you mean, you’ll take care of Maggie?”
But Luke moved fast, too. When he wanted to. He hit the front steps at a run. “You’re not going to marry her,” he called as he climbed into his truck. “So I guess I will.”
The pickup was already moving when he slammed the door.
12:10 p.m.
“Your father will be so upset.”
“Here’s a news flash. I’m upset.” Maggie crammed a fistful of panties into the corner of the suitcase and sniffed. Other women cried, she thought glumly. Take her cousin Pamela. Pamela cried beautifully, her eyes turning bigger and bluer with every tear. Not Maggie. Her nose got red and runny, but her eyes stayed dry.
“He isn’t going to like this. You know what he says about your poor impulse control.”
“At least I won’t be around to hear him say it.” Which was the whole point of making her escape now, while Malcolm Stewart tended to the important things in life—making money, crushing opponents. By the time he returned from his business trip, Maggie would be somewhere else.
Anywhere other than here, in his house.
“It’s so unpleasant when you and your father are at odds. Are you—are you angry with me, too?”
She looked up and sighed. “No.” What would be the point?
Sharon Stewart was a pastel woman. Eyes, clothes, hair, complexion—all were muted, but not to the icy clarity of sherbets or the welcoming warmth of spring. No, everything about her was tastefully understated to the point of invisibility. Her face was round, like her daughter’s, the skin soft and pale and pampered. Her eyes were uncertain. Always. Even now, those gentle blue eyes admitted no more than a faint, perplexed anxiety, as if all the more vivid emotions had been washed away.
But her hands clenched and unclenched on each other, the knuckles strong and white. Broad hands, so much like her daughter’s. Peasant hands, according to Maggie’s father.
“He’ll think I should have stopped you,” Sharon said anxiously.
“Oh, Mom.” Impulsively Maggie moved closer, laying her hand over one of her mother’s. She caught the faintest whiff of Chanel. For as long as she could remember, her mother had used Chanel—discreetly, just a dab behind her left ear. The scent conjured memories of childhood hugs at bedtime. “Tell you what. Why don’t you run away from home with me? Then neither of us will have to worry about Father’s temper.”
Sharon looked blank. “If that’s a joke, Margaret, it’s in poor taste.”
“Maggie, not Margaret.” She sighed and pulled her hand back. “How many times have I asked you to call me Maggie?”
“Your grandmother considers that a particularly vulgar nickname.”
“I’m not my grandmother.” Although she bore the old harridan’s given name, for her sins. “Never mind. Pass me my address book, would you?”
Sharon handed it to her, and she crammed it into the side pocket of her already-stuffed purse.
“Where will you go? You don’t have any money.”
“I have enough.” Especially since she wouldn’t have to pay for Fine Dandy’s stabling, feed, vet bills… Maggie slammed the suitcase shut. She had to lean her full weight on it, then fumble with the catches with her left hand. The cast made it awkward. “I’ll get a job.”
There was no reason not to. Not anymore. Anger, dark and roiling, gave her good arm extra strength when she swung the suitcase off the bed.
“But do you think…that is, with the economy so uncertain…”
Maggie wanted to wince, so she grinned. “The Dallas economy is in fine shape. Don’t worry. I may be lousy at keeping jobs, but I’m great at getting hired. I’ll find something.”
“If you’d just wait until tomorrow…. If you’d just talk to your father when he gets home. He is going to get you another horse. Walt Hitchcock said—”
“I don’t give a holy hoot what Walt said!” She raked a hand through her short hair, striving for patience. “Father hired Walt, so he thinks the man is perfect. I don’t. Which is why Father sold Dandy—I wasn’t following the orders of his chosen trainer, so I had to be forced into line.” She remembered last night’s grimly polite scene with a shudder. “I don’t want another horse. I want Fine Dandy.”
“Oh, honey.” Her mother raised a tentative hand as if she might pat Maggie’s shoulder, but didn’t complete the gesture. “That’s not the way it happened. You were hurt, and your father worries about you. He wants you to have a horse you can depend on.”
She shook her head, incredulous. “You don’t really believe that. You can’t. This is hardly the first time I’ve taken a tumble since I climbed on a horse. Father isn’t— He doesn’t—” Fury boiled up, and the sharp tang of grief, too new and raw for words. “I messed up taking that drop jump. The fault was mine, not Dandy’s. I told Father that, but he wouldn’t listen. He never does.”
Maggie’s nose was running again. She sniffed as she turned to open her closet. She wanted her riding boots. What she would do with them when she no longer had a horse she wasn’t sure, but she refused to leave them behind. When she came out of the closet, boots dangling awkwardly from her left hand, her mother was gone. No surprise there. Sharon shied from confrontations the way a timid mare started at every scrap of litter tumbled by the wind.
Like mother, like daughter. Maggie grimaced and looked around for her purse.
It was gone, too.
Her first reaction was disbelief. It had to be here. She’d just jammed her address book in it. Yet the only possible reason for its disappearance was so absurd she put down her boots and hunted anyway.
Not that there were many places to look. Maggie carried her clutter with her in a satchel-size handbag, and kept her living space ruthlessly neat. She checked the closet, then crouched to look under the bed. And all the while her heart was hammering, hammering. Because she knew. Even though she looked, she knew she wouldn’t find her purse.
Her mother had taken it.
Maggie sat back on her heels, sniffing furiously. It was such a silly, useless betrayal. Did her mother really think she could keep Maggie from leaving this way? But when had Sharon Stewart been anything but ineffectual? Sweet and gentle…and weak. Especially when it came to standing up to her husband on her daughter’s behalf.
She needed her purse. It held her car keys, ID, credit cards, cash—all necessary, but all replaceable. More important were the things she couldn’t replace. A favorite necklace with a broken catch she’d been meaning to have fixed. The plastic keys her friends’ babies liked to play with and the Swiss army knife her brother had given her when she was eighteen. Photographs. Her high school ring, her address book and her favorite pen and…her journal.
Oh Lord. Her journal was in her purse.
The thought pushed Maggie to her feet. Not this time, she thought. This time she wasn’t letting her mother off the hook. Sharon could stand by her man all she wanted. This time Maggie wasn’t going to pretend it meant anything less than betraying her daughter.
She shrugged into the only coat that fit over her cast, the scruffy leather bomber jacket she’d bought in the men’s department years ago. Her mother hated it. Then she grabbed the strap on her wheeled suitcase and dragged it after her.
The broad, shallow stairs that swept from the second floor to the first would have done credit to Tara. Oil paintings in gilded frames kept pace with the broad, shallow steps, paintings hung on creamy walls that had never known the indignity of a fingerprint. Maggie paid no attention to them, or to the way her wrist throbbed as she and her suitcase thumped down those broad stairs. A fine, high tide of anger carried her along.
Halfway down, she heard her mother talking to someone in the foyer. All she could see of the visitor was a pair of cowboy boots.
It wouldn’t be a salesman. Salesmen, strangers and missionaries on bicycles never came to this house. Importunities were delivered here more graciously, and on a grander scale. A congressman might hint at the need for donations to his campaign after dinner. The wife of a CEO might let it be known over cocktails that she was raising funds for her favorite charity. It was a house for soft voices, afternoon teas and elegant parties where lives and hearts could be broken with quiet, deadly courtesy.
Maggie paused. No problem, she decided. For once, she was ready to ride the angry tide into unfamiliar territory. So what if there was a scene? A rude, crashing, public scene might be just what she needed.
She raised her voice as she started the suitcase moving again. “Don’t you think I’m a little too old to be grounded, Mom?”
“Margaret, please.” Sharon’s voice was strained. “We’ll discuss this later.”
“Later doesn’t work for me.” Her riding boots felt as if they weighed thirty pounds apiece, and her wrist had gone from throbbing to a hard, solid ache and her suitcase kept trying to topple over. She didn’t care. “I want my purse back. Now.”
“We have company.”
“Fine. Maybe he can tell me what you did with my purse. Or did you hide it before you answered the door?”
As her suitcase bumped along behind her, she saw more of the visitor—long legs encased in jeans that had faded to white in all those interesting places a man’s body shapes wear into denim.
Maggie’s heart did a quick, funny flip as something less distinct than memory, more painful than instinct kicked in. Her attention split between wrestling her suitcase down the stairs and the man who was revealed, step by bumpy step. She couldn’t see his face because he stood on the other side of her mother, but she saw enough—a strong thigh and slim hip covered in worn denim. Part of a chest, a shoulder and arm wearing red cotton. At least, the shirt had once been red. Now it was worn and soft, the color faded to a deep rose.
And she saw his hand. Long-fingered and incongruously elegant, that hand. It held a dark brown Stetson…and it was dusted by dark hair on the back, though she couldn’t see that from here. No more than she could see the thin white scar on the palm.
Memory supplied those details.
Maggie stopped dead. Her suitcase jerked on its strap, then toppled onto its side. She didn’t notice. The breath caught in her throat and tangled there with the quick pumping of her heart.
“I seem to have come at a bad time,” the visitor said, and stepped out from behind her mother.
It was a good thing she’d stopped moving. Otherwise she might have pitched forward physically when she fell into the bright dazzle of Luke’s smile.
Lucas West was a sight to bedazzle any woman. His hair was a warm brown that always looked a few weeks late for a trim, just shaggy enough to invite feminine fingers. His skin was tanned, roughened by wind and sun, and his body was lean, strong-shouldered, with a cowboy’s narrow hips and small, tight butt. The features on his narrow face were sculpture-perfect, right down to the most kissable mouth on either side of the Red River. But it was those eyes—those bright-as-sin, fallen angel eyes—that truly trapped a woman.
Oh, yes. Luke was appallingly good-looking. And he knew it.
Maggie scowled and bent to shove her suitcase upright and get her breathing started again. “Your timing’s not bad,” she said, straightening. “I was just about to leave, but I can’t go until my mother gives me back my purse. She’s trying to keep me from running away from home. What’s new with you?”
“Not much. I sold Hunter’s Child last week, and I expect I’ll have a sister-in-law or two soon. But you already know about that situation.” Smile lines traced friendly paths around eyes as wild as the bluebonnets that flooded hillsides in the spring. Deeper grooves cut his cheeks like parentheses, enclosing that sinful grin. “Jacob would have explained when he proposed to you.”
Sharon gasped. “Jacob West asked you to marry him? Margaret, you didn’t tell me. You know your father was hoping—and Jacob is a wonderful man, so clever.”
“So rich, you mean. I turned him down.”
“That’s what I heard.” Luke’s voice was mild, but some dark, unlikely emotion flashed through those bright eyes, gone too quickly to disturb the lazy grin. “That’s why I’m here. That…and Fine Dandy.”
“Dandy’s gone.” Grief pinched, too raw and private for words. She scowled at her mother, and the giddy zing of anger returned. “So is my purse.”
Sharon’s cheeks turned pink. “It’s hardly my fault if you misplace your things.”
Maggie thudded down the last two steps. “I didn’t misplace it. You did. On purpose. Where is it?”
“Since you insist on discussing this now…” Sharon’s lips tightened. “I locked it in the Cadillac.”
Maggie’s confidence stumbled. “I could break a window.”
Sharon didn’t bother to respond. They both knew she wouldn’t. Not on her father’s car.
“Maybe I can help.” Luke moved closer.
“Please don’t,” Sharon said. “This is a family matter.”
Maggie’s eyebrows lifted. “You know how to break into a car?”
“I probably could,” he admitted. “But I had a different sort of assistance in mind. I saw Fine Dandy listed when I was checking out some Web sites, looked into it and learned that your father had put him up for sale. So I bought him.”
Hurt bit, mixing with anger and the lingering punch of arousal. “Great. That’s wonderful. I’m very happy for you. Now get the heck out of—”
“Maggie!” her mother exclaimed, shocked.
“No, it’s okay.” Luke’s eyes didn’t leave her face. “I thought we might be able to work out a deal.”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What kind of deal?”
“Marry me and you can have your horse back, enough money to continue competing—and me for a trainer.”
She didn’t even blink. “Why not? I’ve got nothing better to do.”
Two
The front door closed behind Luke firmly. Maggie had allowed him to take her suitcase and boots, but she clutched her saddlebag-size purse herself.
“My mother is not happy with you,” she said cheerfully. “She wasn’t crazy about it when you offered to spring me. Then you threatened my father’s car. Serious penalty points there, Luke.”
Luke glanced at the woman who was all but skipping along beside him on the way to his pickup. Maggie wasn’t much bigger than a bite, but her pint-size body held enough energy for any three normal people. Her cheeks were round and freckled, her hair was very short, but otherwise undecided—neither curly nor straight, brown nor blond. Her clothes were more definite, being divided between the defiant and the sloppy. Above wrinkled khaki pants, her T-shirt was a scream of purple. The brown leather bomber jacket she wore looked like it had been through at least one World War. The cast that peeked out of her left sleeve was a radioactive-green.
And she had a small, husky voice. A whiskey-and-sin voice that made a man think of rumpled sheets. He wanted to jump her bones. “I like your shirt.”
She glanced down at her chest. Yellow letters sprawled across the modest bumps made by her breasts asked, What Would Xena Do? She grinned. “It’s a reminder. Part of my antiwuss campaign.”
“Wuss?” His eyebrows lifted. “I’ve seen you compete. You could give lessons in determination to the Cowboys’ offensive line. Maybe you should, after their last season.”
“Oh, I’m fine on the back of a horse. It isn’t until I’m standing on my own two feet that my wuss tendencies take over. If you hadn’t forced things, I probably would have wimped out and left without my purse.”
He paused, his head cocked to one side, trying to figure out what was going on. He’d expected to have a hell of a lot more trouble talking her into this, but she was grinning at him as if they ran off together every other week. “You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”
“Damned right I am.” She said it with a certain relish.
“That’s three.” He opened the pickup’s passenger door.
“What?”
“That’s the third time I can remember hearing you use a cuss word.”
“The habits of a lifetime are hard to break. I’m working on it.”
“Learning to cuss is part of your antiwuss campaign?”
“Yep.” She tossed her purse onto the seat and climbed in. “Would you really have busted a window on my father’s car if my mother hadn’t given in and unlocked it?”
He grinned. “Damned right I would.” Sitting on the bench seat of the pickup cab, she was slightly above him. He liked the perspective that gave him on those soft, smiling lips. He wasn’t crazy about the rush of heat and frustration that hit, along with the tantalizingly faint wash of memories.
He’d have to get used to that. “We couldn’t leave without your purse. You’ll need ID when we get to Vegas.”
“Oh, right. Of course. My mother would have thought of that sooner or later, wouldn’t she? If not, my father certainly would have when he got back. Then they’d never have believed we were really running away to get married.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “Now I understand. You don’t think this elopement is for real. You just want your father to think it is.”
“Well…the fact that he can’t stand you is a real plus, I’ll admit. I haven’t thanked you, Luke, but I do appreciate it. Asking me to run off with you was inspired. You think fast on your feet.” She chuckled. “The look on my mother’s face…anyway, I guess you came by to offer me a chance to ride Fine Dandy for you once my wrist is better, and I really, really appreciate that.”
“I do want you to ride Fine Dandy.”
“Then I’m sure we can work something out.” In the same friendly tone she added, “But I do wish you’d stop staring at my mouth that way.”
“I’ve always been partial to your mouth.”
“No offense, but you’re partial to any pair of lips attached to a female body.”
The sudden grinding in his gut—was it anger? Or guilt? “Only the pretty ones.” He tossed her suitcase in the back of the truck and climbed in on his side. “We’d better get going. The flight leaves at one-twenty.”
“You have a flight to catch? I guess you could drop me at Linda’s—her place is on the way. Or I can call someone from the airport to come get me. But maybe we could talk about Fine Dandy first?”
“No, Maggie, I don’t have a flight to catch. We do. For Las Vegas.”
Her eyes went huge, and her mouth parted—but no words came out. Satisfied, he started the engine.
The driveway was a long, concrete yawn leading to an equally boring street. Expensive—but boring. The houses here had grounds, not yards, and they were cared for by professionals. A three-man crew was stringing Christmas lights in the naked branches of several live oaks at one home.
Automatically Luke’s gaze flickered and veered away.
He hated winter, hated the empty trees and sky, the creeping gray defeat of the season. Christmas was a hurdle to be leaped, the red-and-green mania that swept the world every December a trial to be endured before he could settle in to wait for the promise of spring.
“Okay, Luke,” Maggie said abruptly. “It was a good joke. But enough is enough. You don’t want to marry me.”
“I don’t?”
“I suppose I’m not the last woman you’d want to marry, but there must be a hundred or two you’d prefer. They can’t have all turned you down already.”
“I haven’t asked anyone else.”
Silence. They pulled to a stop at the light and waited for the light to change, and she didn’t say a word—but he could almost hear her scrambling to pull her scattered thoughts together. He decided to help her out. “You know why I have to marry someone, the quicker the better, don’t you? Jacob must have told you about Ada when he proposed.”
“Well—well, yes, he did.” She shook her head. “This is so weird. In twenty-seven years I’ve collected exactly zero proposals of marriage, then last week Jacob…and now you…and neither one of you—you’re both friends!” Her breath huffed out. “This is just so weird.”
That was one word for it. Luke did take some satisfaction from hearing that Maggie thought of Jacob as a friend. “This proposing business comes as a shock to me, too.”
Two weeks ago, if anyone had suggested to Luke that he would ever dabble in matrimony, he would have laughed. But two weeks ago, he hadn’t known about Ada.
People outside the family didn’t understand. To them, Ada was just a servant—first his father’s housekeeper, now Jacob’s. But to the West brothers, she was much more. She was the one woman they all loved, the one constant in their lives. No matter who else had come and gone—and there had been one hell of a lot of comings and goings—Ada had always been there for them.
And now she was dying. Or she would be, if she didn’t continue the experimental treatments Jacob had arranged—the incredibly expensive, near-miraculous treatments at a Swiss research center. The only way to save her was for the brothers to do what they’d each sworn never to do.
They each had to marry. And fast.
Luke had turned onto the ramp to the Interstate before Maggie spoke again. “Jacob did tell me about Ada’s illness. And I honor you and your brothers for wanting to take care of her. That’s wonderful. But I don’t understand why—”
“You know the way my father left his estate tied up.” He stamped on the gas harder than necessary. His father might be five years’ dead, but he still had the power to make Luke want to be somewhere, anywhere, other than where he was. “Everyone does. I’ve seen articles about the trust in the New York Times, for God’s sake.”
“Yes, I know about the trust. Your father had some very peculiar views about marriage, Luke.”
His grin flickered to life. “Tell me about it.” After seven marriages to six women—he’d married and divorced Luke’s mother twice—any other man might have been a little sour on the institution. Not Randolph West. He’d been enthusiastically planning his eighth wedding when a heart attack had ended his participation in the matrimonial sweepstakes.
“What I don’t understand is why you have to get married.”
“I hadn’t planned on it.” But life was forcing some changes in his plans. He’d sure as hell never intended to marry. He didn’t need his inheritance, didn’t want it. The ranch was his. He’d worked hard to build it and his reputation as a rider and a trainer. What he needed a lot more than money was a good rider, someone to handle some of the competitions where the horses gained both experience and the attention of potential buyers. He was getting stretched pretty thin.
He glanced at the woman beside him. Maggie was a damned fine rider. Maybe after their marriage ended…no, he thought, shaking off the thought. He was going to do his damnedest to make sure they came out of this friends. That was enough to hope for. “Even Jacob can’t pay for Ada’s treatments by himself,” he said.
“I know that. But…Luke, I know you don’t like talking about it, but you were married at one time. Doesn’t that fulfill the conditions of the will as far as you’re concerned? Or is there some stipulation about how long the marriage has to last?”
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “No.” Meaning no to both questions, no to the memories. No to the whole, sorry subject.
She didn’t say anything, but she watched him expectantly, her hazel eyes solemn.
Dammit. This was the reason—one of the reasons—he’d always kept things light with Maggie. Casual friends, some teasing, a little flirting. No touching, no dating, no real come-ons. Not many people even knew about Pam, but Maggie did. She was Pam’s cousin. They’d roomed together in college. She’d been at the hospital that night…
Only he hadn’t always kept things light, had he?
“My father might have been slightly nuts on the subject of marriage,” he said, “but he wasn’t a hypocrite. His will doesn’t stipulate how long our marriages have to last, but all three of us have to be married when we petition to have the trust dissolved and stay married until it is. Pam and I divorced nearly ten years ago. Our brief, unlamented union doesn’t count.”
“Oh.” The hand without the cast started pleating the fabric of her T-shirt. “I see why you have to marry, then. But…I’m sorry, but that isn’t a reason for me to get married. There must be a thousand women right here in Dallas who would gladly take you on. And if we include the rest of Texas, why, the number would get sky-high.” She smiled at him hopefully.
“Thanks,” he said dryly. “But there certainly aren’t a thousand women I’m willing to marry.”
“But why me?”
He glanced at her, surprised. “Because I know you. If we agree on terms, I won’t have to worry about you deciding you want more and stirring up trouble trying to get it. This marriage…” He laughed, short and hard. “God, my throat tries to close up when I say the word. You know that about me, know that there’s no point in expecting too much, and there’s another reason to ask you. I can’t think of much worse than to be legally tied to a woman who thinks she’s in love with me.”
“Your ego’s showing.”
He shrugged. He knew himself. And he knew women. “With you…we can make things come out even, you and me. I need to get the trust dissolved. You need Dandy. Besides…” He grinned. “I like you.”
“Luke.” She sighed. “I like you, too. That’s part of the problem. We’re friends. I don’t want to mess with that.”
“We already did.” He didn’t look at her. “About a week before Christmas last year, we messed things up pretty thoroughly.”
“Oh, that!” Her breezy voice dismissed it. “That was a mistake, of course. A mutual mistake. We were both a little tipsy, a little emotional. But we’re adults, so we admitted we’d been a pair of prize idiots and put it behind us.”
No, he thought. They hadn’t put it behind them. They’d pretended it never happened. That was how she’d wanted to play it—how she still wanted to play it, obviously, and if he had some ideas about changing that, they could wait. “You’re right,” he said mildly. “We’re friends. I don’t want to lose that.”
“Okay, then.” She beamed at him like a teacher whose slowest student has finally given the correct answer. “We don’t want to risk our friendship on something as—as uncertain as marriage. Even a businesslike marriage can get sticky.”
She said the right things, said them with such matter-of-fact good humor that he might have believed her…if her hands hadn’t stretched the hem of her T-shirt all out of shape with their nervous pleating and unpleating. Or if he hadn’t remembered all too well the look in her eyes when he’d climbed out of her bed, given her a kiss and walked out the door.
She would probably try to climb out of the truck right here on the Interstate if he let on that he knew he’d hurt her. “I can’t argue with you about marriage being an uncertain business.”
“Exactly.”
“But it’s uncertain because people go into it with a lot of unrealistic expectations. We’ll make sure we’re both clear on what we want and expect from our deal. No emotions, no complications.”
“Luke…I’m sorry, but I don’t want to marry you.”
“But you do want Fine Dandy. And you want to continue to compete. I know you’d rather have a marriage based on the good stuff,” he said gently. “You deserve it—flowers and pretty words, moonlight and promises. Romance.”
“Romance? Good grief. You know me. Practical as a pair of old boots.”
He had his work cut out for him, all right. “Well, this would be a very practical way to meet both our needs.” Needs might have been the wrong word to use. It conjured vague, heated memories he couldn’t afford to indulge. “Think of it as a business arrangement.”
The stubby arcs of her eyelashes blinked once, slowly. “Like a marriage of convenience?”
“I guess.” He hadn’t heard the term before, and wasn’t sure what she meant. “If it were anyone else, I’d have to get a prenuptial agreement first. But I trust you. If we can agree to terms, I know you’ll honor them.”
She was thoughtful now, her fingers rubbing at her cast as if the wrist beneath it ached. “The problem is, I don’t trust you.”
“Ouch. I guess we can set our agreement down in writing. I’m thinking a million would be about right, once the trust has been dissolved.”
“I don’t—it isn’t—good grief, a million dollars? You can’t seriously propose to give me that kind of money!”
“Sure I can. I don’t know exactly what my share of the trust will come to, but a million won’t make that much of a dent in it.”
“You know what? You’re going to be a very rich man, Luke. I think you’ll need a bodyguard more than a wife to protect you from all the women who will be scaling fences and swimming rivers to get to you.” She chuckled.
Damn, he wished she wouldn’t do that. Her voice was whiskey and sex; her chuckle was worse. “A bodyguard would cramp my style.”
“And a wife wouldn’t?”
Best not to touch that. “So, do you want to run by the lawyer’s office and see how fast he can draw up some kind of prenuptial agreement?”
“I trust you about the money.” Her hands started fiddling again, this time with the zipper on her jacket. Up, down. Up, down.
“If you trust me about the money, then where’s the problem?”
“Sex.”
The truck swerved slightly in the lane.
“How long will this marriage have to last to get the trust dissolved once you’re all married? Two months? Six?”
“Maybe four months.” He had control of the truck, and himself, again. “Maybe more. I’m not the financial whiz in the family, but Jacob’s best guess is between four and eight months.”
“Well, I’m not crazy about getting a lot of pitying looks for the next four months or more because my husband has been seeing other women.”
His jaw tightened. “You think I’d embarrass you that way?”
She shrugged and went back to toying with the zipper. “I think you’d try to be discreet. The thing is, I do know you, Luke. Are you planning to swear off sex for the next four to eight months?”
He shot her an incredulous look.
She grinned. “For once, I can read your mind.”
No, she couldn’t. Or she’d be trying to climb out of the truck right now. Fortunately she hadn’t a clue what kind of images had popped into his head when she’d said “sex.”
But she’d been on target with the rest of it. Not that he’d actually thought it out. About all he’d taken the time to plan was how to get the two of them to Vegas as quickly as possible. But in the back of his mind, he’d assumed he’d find what he needed elsewhere…because no way was he going to hurt Maggie again. And sure as God made little green apples, if he took her to bed, she’d end up hurting.
But he hadn’t thought it through. Maggie talked tough. She was tough, strong as old leather—in some ways. In others, she was as soft and easily damaged as a rose petal. Fragile. If he married her and then fooled around on her—never mind the reason for the marriage—he’d bruise that petal. Again.
Guilt rose, thick and grim. “I think they include something about fidelity in the marriage vows, even in Las Vegas. You don’t think you could trust me to live up to any promises I make?”
“Luke.” Her sigh was small, husky, impatient. “They include something about ‘till death do us part’ in those vows, too. But we wouldn’t either one of us mean that part, would we?”
He couldn’t think of a damned thing to say.
“I take it this means that the marriage is off.” She shook her head. “Do you think we set any records for the shortest engagement ever? We’re nearly to the airport, I see. I can call someone from there to come get me.”
The hell of it was, he knew he could change her mind. Maggie wanted him. She didn’t like it, tried to hide it, but the simmer and spark were there between them. Always had been. If he could get his hands on her, he could persuade her to marry him…among other things.
Hell, she was right not to trust him. Just as well he had to keep his hands on the wheel—it forced him to do this right. Changing her mind while threading his way through the seventy-mile-an-hour traffic on I-35 was going to be tricky, though. “Let me see if I understand. You won’t marry me because you think I wouldn’t be faithful.”
“That’s about it.”
“Thought you’d found a deal-breaker, didn’t you?” He grinned. “All right. I promise I won’t fool around.”
“I—I didn’t exactly say I would marry you, even if—and realistically, a promise like that…Luke, have you ever been faithful to any woman for longer than, say, a week?”
“Realistically,” he said gently, “I don’t break promises. And this one is from me to you. Personal, not part of whatever vows we make in order to dissolve the trust.” His quick glance revealed that she’d gone from messing with the zipper to gnawing on her lip. “You’re cute when you’re worried.”
“I’m not worried.”
“You’re cute when you lie, too.”
“And I’m not marrying you.”
“Do you want me to promise that I won’t use you, Maggie? That I won’t take you to bed just because you’re handy and I’m horny?”
Her cheeks flamed. “That sounds awful.”
“It’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it? All right. You have my promise. I won’t cheat on you, and I won’t use you.” It wasn’t a hard promise to give. Keeping it…well, he’d have to, that was all.
She was staring unhappily at her lap, where the fingers of her right hand were rubbing at the hand that was partially encased in that radioactive-green cast. “You’re not used to celibacy, Luke.”
“No.” Time to lighten the mood, he decided, and flashed her a quick grin. “I won’t ask for a reciprocal promise, however. Feel free to use me. If, at any time, you become overwhelmed with lust—”
“Hah!”
“—my body is at your disposal.”
She muttered something under her breath, scowling at her clenched hands.
“I didn’t catch that.”
“Nothing. This just isn’t a good idea, Luke.”
“What’s wrong with it? You get Fine Dandy, I get what I need to take care of Ada and your father will be mad enough to spit nails.” Malcolm Stewart couldn’t stand him. He blamed Luke for everything that had gone wrong in that short, miserable marriage so many years ago.
With some reason, Luke knew.
“Now, there’s a great reason to get married,” she said dryly. “To irritate my father.” But at last her hands stopped tormenting her T-shirt.
“Think of it as a bonus.” This time, he’d be careful with her. He’d find a way to make her feel better about herself, to repair some of the damage he’d done. This time, he wouldn’t hurt her when he left. “Here’s another bonus. You need a trainer.”
“Yes, but—but do you mean you’d do it? You’d be my trainer?”
“Yes.”
“You’re good.” That was said grudgingly. “Almost as good as you think you are.”
He grinned and signaled for the turnoff to the airport. “Better than Walt Hitchcock, anyway.” He glanced at her. “Come on, Maggie. What would Xena do?”
She looked all over the place—at her shirt, her hands, out the window—everywhere but at him. And at last said, “Well…well, hell. I guess I will marry you, Luke.”
6:54 p.m.
Five hours later, they stood side by side in the “Love Me Tender” wedding chapel just off the Strip. Candles burned atop the unused piano. A few minutes ago, a stereo had played the chapel’s theme song while Maggie walked down a short aisle between empty pews.
The room was silent now, except for the words being spoken by the man in front of them.
Her mouth was dry. Her stomach was in revolt. In one hand she held a small bouquet of roses, while the other was clasped firmly in Luke’s. His palm was dry, unlike hers. The scent of the roses blended unhappily with the floral room freshener someone had recently sprayed in the small room.
She was still wearing her purple T-shirt and cargo pants.
The man who was marrying them wore a collarless black shirt that looked vaguely ecclesiastical. His thin black hair was combed back meticulously over the bald spot on top of his head. His tanned skin was stretched so tightly over his cheeks that she was afraid it would split if he smiled.
Face-lift, she thought vaguely. She wondered if it hurt when he went to the dentist and had to “open wide.”
Did ministers get face-lifts? Was he a minister? Panic clutched the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t remember. She remembered picking out the music and the flowers, and discussing what version of the marriage ceremony they wanted. Why couldn’t she remember who was marrying them? It seemed suddenly, vitally important to know. Was she making vows she didn’t intend to keep before a man of God or a civil servant?
He’d stopped talking and was looking at her expectantly. Luke squeezed her hand.
She blinked. “Oh, ah—I do.” What had she just promised?
She was losing it. She was truly losing it. What kind of woman didn’t even hear the words of her wedding service?
A terrified woman.
Maggie made herself listen carefully as the man who might or might not be a minister went through his spiel again with Luke. It sounded pretty standard…and awfully final.
Luke’s voice came out clear and strong. “I do.”
Then there were the rings, one for each of them, and more words to repeat. The double-ring ceremony had been Luke’s idea. She’d teased him about trying to buy a 24-carat bodyguard to protect him from all those man-and-money-hungry women who would soon be after him. She’d pointed out that even after they divorced, he could wear the ring sometimes to deter predators.
That had to have been one of the best performances of her life.
Her hand was shaking when she held it out so he could slip one of those rings on her finger. It stuck at the knuckle. “Uh-oh. My fingers are swollen from the cast.”
“No problem.” He grabbed her right hand. “You can switch it later.”
So he slid her ring onto the wrong finger. It doesn’t mean anything, she told herself. The ring meant nothing, just as the wedding meant nothing. And she was not going to throw up. She was definitely not going to throw up.
His ring, at least, fit perfectly.
The minister—if that’s what he was—managed to smile without splitting his skin. “You may kiss the bride.”
Luke’s hands moved to her shoulders, and he turned her to face him. There was a smile on his lips, but his eyes looked old and sad. Apparently this mockery of marriage didn’t scare him the way it did her. It just made him miserable.
He bent and brushed his lips across hers. “Buck up,” he whispered. “The worst is over.”
Her mouth tingled and her skin flushed from the brief touch of his mouth. Oh, help. What had she done?
This time would be different, she told herself firmly. This time she had nothing to prove—though she did have an agenda, one she hadn’t told him about. One she prayed she’d have the courage to act on.
And this time, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she wasn’t in love with him.
Three
11:58 p.m.
Five hours and several hundred miles later, Maggie was feeling a lot better.
The stars were blisteringly bright this far from the city, and the darkness was huge. It was cut by the twin beams of the truck’s headlights, interrupted here and there by distant dots of light from scattered houses. Inside the truck it was dark, too, save for the glow of the dashlights. And quiet, save for the low, bluesy throb of the music from one of Luke’s CDs. Luke liked country and western music for dancing, she knew, but preferred jazz or blues for listening.
He smelled good.
Maggie leaned her head against the window, her eyes closed, drowsily enjoying the music and the faint, familiar scent of the man she’d impulsively married. It was going to work. It was all going to work out just like she’d planned.
How silly she’d been to panic. On the plane ride back to Dallas turbulence had defeated her desire to escape in sleep. Instead she’d been forced to talk to Luke—and a good thing, too.
They’d talked about horses and horse people, riding and various events, and it had been blessedly normal. Like old times. She’d felt that flicker of connection again, just as she always did. Months could go by without her seeing Luke, but when they met again she’d feel that click of recognition, as if they hadn’t truly been apart.
A friend like that was worth a lot. She yawned, comfortable with the night and the man. An easy quiet had fallen between them, the kind that old friends could enjoy. Yes, a friendship like this was more important than the distracting hum of desire.
An uneasy little frisson went through her. What did that say about her plan?
But their friendship had survived last year’s mistake, she assured herself. And she’d learned her lesson. She’d keep her eyes open, her goals clear.
Feeling cramped and suddenly wide-awake, she straightened, stretching her legs.
“I thought you’d dozed off.” Luke gave her a teasing grin. “Doesn’t do much for a man’s morale for his bride to fall asleep on him on their wedding night.”
“You said that without even stuttering,” she said admiringly. “Bride, I mean.”
“I’m working on it. We’re almost there,” he added, slowing. The headlights flashed on the wintry skeletons of two enormous oaks as he turned onto the blacktop road they guarded.
“Good. It’s been a long day, what with getting married and standing up to my father. In absentia, of course. I’m not quite up to doing that in person yet.”
“We could have stayed in Vegas overnight.”
He’d suggested that, offering to get a suite so they could have separate bedrooms. Maggie had vetoed the idea. Staying in a hotel with Luke had sounded entirely too intimate.
She really was an idiot, wasn’t she? She was going to be living with the man, for heaven’s sake. “This way I can see Dandy as soon as I get up in the morning.”
“I imagine he’ll be glad to see you.” He glanced at her. “You’ve got one hell of a horse there, Maggie.”
She beamed at him. “He is, isn’t he?”
“I’ve seen the two of you compete. He’s not a horse who worries about pleasing his rider, is he?”
“No, you have to prove yourself to him. He loves to compete. To win. That’s why Walt told Father to get rid of him—he claims Dandy is too much horse for a woman.” She gave the last word an awful emphasis. “He said my fall proved he was right, that I couldn’t control Dandy.”
“All riders fall,” he said mildly. “What happened, anyway?”
“It was my fault, but it didn’t have anything to do with my gender. We were on a course I knew really well, just hitting it for practice, not speed, and I got sloppy. Didn’t place him right before a jump, then overcompensated.”
He nodded. “A familiar course can be more dangerous than a new one, because we stop paying attention.” He yawned and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s been a long day.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Luke had gorgeous hair. She’d always liked the way it curled at his nape. It was longer than his brother’s. Messier, too, which summed up a lot of the differences between him and Jacob. She liked his neck, too—it was strong and masculine, and the taste of his skin along the muscular cord that ran from jaw to collarbone, when he was slightly sweaty…
Down, girl. She shifted in her seat again.
“Maggie?” Luke’s smile was quizzical. “You drifted off on me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were nervous. You’re not having wedding-night jitters, are you?”
Why did he keep referring to wedding nights? “Don’t be silly. I’ve been traveling all day, I’m sleepy and I’m sick of sitting. And this isn’t a real wedding night.” No more than it had been a real wedding, even if the tight-skinned man who’d pronounced them man and wife had been a minister. Her ring wasn’t on the right finger, and it was loose. She fiddled with it, turning it around and around. “I’ve never been to your ranch. It’s funny to think I’ll be living someplace I’ve never seen.”
“The house isn’t fancy, but it’s comfortable. You’ll like the stable.”
He’d told her about his place on the plane—well, not about the house, but the important parts—the stable, the riding ring and the grounds. There was an area for dressage and a course that could be varied for fieldwork. And there were the horses, his horses, the ones he bred and the ones he trained. She was eager to see everything, but it would have to wait for morning. It was too late now.
Too late… “Hey, is that your place up ahead?” she said quickly. “I see lights.”
“That’s it. I wish you could see it in the summer. Winter doesn’t do the place justice.”
By summer, they might already be divorced. Maggie ignored the tight, funny feeling in her stomach. “You’ll have to ask me back to see it sometime, then,” she said lightly.
By the time they pulled up in front of a rambling ranch-style house, there were other lights to hold back the inky-darkness of the country. One glowed above the door to the stable; another rested atop a pole at the entrance to the driveway. Light poured from windows at the house, and Sarita had left the porch light on for him.
The welcoming lights, the familiarity, kindled a warmth in Luke’s chest. This was his. It was a good feeling.
Maggie hopped down from the truck before he could get her door, which didn’t surprise him. He did manage to snag her suitcase. The cast slowed her down.
“I can get it.”
“Enjoy my fling with chivalry while it lasts,” he told her, heading for the door. “Tomorrow, when I put you through your paces, you’ll be cursing me.”
“Tough trainer, huh?”
“Merciless.” He swung the door open. “Come on in.”
She wandered down the short hall to the living room.
“Wow.” She stood in the center of the long living area, turning slowly. “This is great. It isn’t what I expected, though.”
“I only put mirrors on the ceiling in my bedroom.”
Her laugh was low and husky. It ran through him like invisible fingers, making him itch. Making him want. He set her suitcase down and watched as she wandered around the room, investigating the entertainment unit, running a hand along the back of one of the leather couches. She paused at the mantel to study the gold medal that rested on a special stand beneath a glass dome.
She had no business having a laugh like that, not when she looked like a hundred pounds of girl-next-door. Though that, too, was deceptive. Maggie was an athlete. Her build might be small, but it was all muscle. He gave that build an appraising and appreciative eye. “You’re what—five-two? Five-three?
“Five-two.”
“How much do you weigh?”
“Luke.” Her sideways glance might, in another woman, have seemed flirtatious. But Maggie didn’t flirt. “Don’t you know better than to ask a woman her weight?”
“I’m your trainer.”
“Oh.” She flushed. “Right. One-twenty.”
“You don’t look it.”
“The freckles add ten pounds. I want one of those,” she said, nodding at the medal.
“Give it time. You’re not ready yet.”
The slight lift of her chin turned her suddenly haughty. “Oh? Walt Hitchcock thinks I am.”
“Yeah, but he’s an idiot.”
“If you don’t think I’m any good, why did you—”
“You’re damned good. I wouldn’t take you on if you weren’t. But you can be better.”
She met his eyes levelly for a moment, then nodded. “I will be.”
He smiled, liking her attitude. Maggie might have some problems with self-esteem, but when it came to riding, she knew her worth. “Come on,” he said, lifting her suitcase and heading for the bedroom wing. “It’s late. I’ll show you to your room.”
Hard to understand how a woman as sexy as Maggie could have such major doubts about her appeal. He wasn’t sure if her father was to blame, with his constant carping, or if the problem had started with that jerk she’d dated last year. Luke would have liked to blame it all on the jerk. She’d been looking for a friendly shoulder the night the man broke up with her. Unfortunately for her, she’d run into Luke. He’d ended up giving her more than his shoulder.
Well, he couldn’t change what he’d done, couldn’t undo the hurt, but he could make it up to her in other ways. He could give her Fine Dandy and see that she had a shot at the gold, but that wasn’t enough. A rider of Maggie’s caliber would do well with a number of trainers.
“That thing has wheels on it, you know.”
“Hmm?” No, what Maggie really needed was something he was particularly suited to give her. She needed to believe in herself as a woman.
“The suitcase,” she said. “You don’t have to play macho man and carry it. If you put it down and pull on the little strap, it rolls along nicely.”
“Smart-ass.” He stopped at the door to the largest guest bedroom. “You’re supposed to admire my manly muscles.”
She chuckled. “I just know how much you want to impress me with your manliness, too. You’ve already crushed one of my illusions, you know. I was expecting a lot of bachelor clutter, a little dust, but everything’s spotless.”
“Shame on you for stereotyping.” He opened the door and flipped on the light. “Of course, if Sarita didn’t put sheets on the bed for you, we’re in trouble. I have no idea where they are.”
“Sarita?”
“My housekeeper. You’ll meet her in the morning.” He put her suitcase down on the old-fashioned quilt that covered the bed. “I called her right after I made the plane reservations and told her to get a room ready for you. I think we can count on fresh sheets.” He turned to face her.
Maggie had stopped a foot inside the room. Her expression was cheerful, her posture relaxed and she had a two-handed, white-knuckled grip on her purse as if it was struggling to escape. “I guess you told her about us getting married and—and everything.”
“About getting married, anyway.” He moved toward her. “There won’t be any ‘everything,’ but I didn’t mention that.”
She flushed and, at last, moved farther into the room, circling him to put her purse on the bench at the end of the bed. She glanced around the room brightly, looking everywhere except at him. “Oh, this is nice. Homey and soothing, with all the blues and browns.”
“I can see how soothing you find it,” he said dryly. She was ready to jump out of her skin just from standing in a bedroom with him. “You know, when you blush, your skin and your freckles blend together.”
She rolled her eyes. “Thanks very much.”
“That was a compliment, Maggie. You look pretty when you blush.” He moved closer, cupped her cheek in one hand and touched softness. Gently, he reminded himself. He didn’t want to scare her. “Makes a man want to find out if your skin is as warm as it looks.”
She jerked her head back. “Luke. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but—”
“I’ll show you,” he said amiably. And bent and kissed her.
The charge that jolted through him surprised him—surprised him so much he forgot to pull away after brushing her lips once. He had to go back for another, deeper taste.
A small fist hit him squarely in the chest. Hard.
“Hey!” He stepped back. “A simple no would have worked.”
“You keep your hands to yourself!” Both her hands were knotted into fists, even the one on the casted arm.
He rubbed his chest, scowling. For a little thing, she packed quite a wallop…in more ways than one. “I didn’t touch you. I kissed you. There’s a difference.”
“I know what you did.” She made it sound as if he’d torn her clothes off. “I should have known when you kept mentioning wedding nights that you’d try something.”
Anger bit. “If I’d been trying to seduce you, Maggie, you’d be on your back in that bed right now. It was an impulse, not an attack. You looked pretty, so I kissed you.”
She glared at him. “You can’t go around kissing everyone you think looks pretty! No, wait—I guess you can. You do. But you can’t go around kissing me whenever the urge strikes.”
It occurred to him belatedly that her reaction had been perfect. If he forgot himself again when he was making her feel wanted, she’d punch him. Even through the remarkable haze of lust she inspired, that would get his attention.
He grinned, pleased with her. “I’m weak, but I can learn. If you clobber me like that every time I give in to the urge, maybe it will go away.” He turned. “Go ahead and sleep in, if you like—it’ll be your last chance for a while. After tomorrow, you’ll be up early, running laps.”
“I hate laps.”
She sounded sulky. It made her voice huskier than ever. His hand tightened on the doorknob as another wave of heat hit. “Tough,” he said, and shut the door firmly behind him.
Tomorrow, he thought, heading back to the living room, he’d start working with Fine Dandy and Maggie. He was looking forward to it. Dressage first, he thought, turning off the light. Dressage was the foundation for all the rest, and shouldn’t strain that broken wrist too badly.
Instead of going straight to his room, he paused to appreciate the way the huge, undraped window at the back of the house let the night in. Stars spilled over each other overhead, a vast nightly show he never grew tired of.
He ached. Still. In fact, he was log-hard and ready for something that wasn’t going to happen…not for several months, most likely. He thought about a cold shower and shook his head ruefully. How long would this marriage last? Four months? Six? Taking a cold shower once or twice a day for the next six months did not appeal.
It looked as though he was going to become more closely acquainted with himself in the next few months than he had been since Serena Sayers took him around the world in the back seat of her daddy’s Chevy. Lord, that had been a long time ago. A lot of years had passed. A lot of women, too. Some would say too many—Maggie would, and did. But Luke liked women. He liked the way they looked and moved and thought, their moods and quirks, the mystery of them. They were tough and fragile all at once, and never wholly predictable. He wouldn’t apologize for having enjoyed the women he’d known. And there was only one he truly regretted.
Thirst hit, quick and hot. He looked at his empty hands, and could almost see one of them curled around a glass half-filled with amber liquid. All too easy to picture that, to imagine the sweet burn of Scotch sliding down his throat. His mouth tightened.
It was the thought of Pam that did it, he supposed. Only rarely did he drink, and even more rarely did he crave a drink. Odd that he had such a distrust of the stuff, when it had been Michael’s mother, not his, who’d fought a losing battle with the bottle. But he didn’t handle alcohol well, never had. Drink made a fool of him, and he seldom indulged in more than a casual beer or glass of wine…except when the memories rose and choked him. It didn’t happen often these days. No more than once a year.
It had been on one of those nights, the ones when he felt too sorry for himself, with too much already lost, for it to matter if he lost some small piece of himself in the bottle, that he’d run into Maggie last year. And proved he was still more of a fool drunk than sober.
Luke sighed. Well, he’d do what he could to make amends. It was a relief, a big one, to know that Maggie would stop him if he lost sight of his little-used nobility and tried to take her further than he should.
Tomorrow, he thought, turning away from the window, he’d see about getting Fine Dandy’s ownership transferred to Maggie. Hitchcock was an idiot to have advised Malcolm Stewart to sell the horse. Maggie’s big gelding had the heart, the smarts and the strength for eventing. In the right hands, Dandy could be a champion.
Just like his owner. Luke smiled as he entered his bedroom.
Whether she knew it or not, Maggie’s training had already started.
Maggie sat in the middle of the big bed, the covers pulled up to her waist, her journal propped against her lifted knees. She was wearing her usual winter sleepwear—raggedy sweats. The pants had once been red; the top was violently orange. She was chewing on the end of her pen after recording the events of this extraordinary day.
All in all, she finished, I think my plan has an excellent chance of success. If one simple kiss can make me feel…
She lifted her head, staring into space. The feeling was easily summoned, though memory was a pale creature compared to the original experience. But she couldn’t find words for it. Not a tingle, no, nor an electric jolt…warmth? Yes, but the sun was warm, and this hadn’t felt all light and pleasant, like sunshine.
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