Cherokee Marriage Dare
Sheri WhiteFeather
The press labeled coed Maggie Connelly young, reckless, impulsive. Actually, she was a woman in love. With Lucas Starwind. But the hardened Cherokee P.I. hid his battered heart behind a macho bravado. Maggie horned in on his case–and his life–and boldly promised: I'll heal your heart, then you'll have to marry me.Luke didn't believe in love, but he knew desire. Maggie Connelly–almost half his age–dared him to feel, to want, to hope. But Luke had to resist her, for if he took her in his arms, he feared he'd never let her go….
AROUND CHI-TOWN
As the trumpeters blare in the Grand Cathedral halfway around the world, our own Daniel Connelly is about to become crowned king of Altaria. Plans are under way for the coronation, set to take place right after Christmas. All of Chicago’s own royal family, the Connellys, reportedly will be there for the event.
Including the latest Connelly in the news—Maggie. The youngest Connelly has recently made a splash of her own in the tabloids. Reckless, impetuous Maggie has been seen around town and in—shall we say?—compromising positions with the P.I. on the Connelly case—hard-boiled Cherokee Lucas Starwind. A surprise? Not really. Chicago has come to expect the outrageous from young Maggie.
But trouble still rages for our most beloved family. The professional hit man arrested last month confessed he had the Connellys in his sights and allegedly detailed an organized-crime smuggling ring targeting the billion-dollar Connelly Corporation. Police are keeping the details close to the vest.
As Christmas approaches, the paparazzi—including yours truly—will flock to Altaria for the elaborate coronation. The eyes of Chicago will be watching closely, as there is one hit man still at large….
Dear Reader,
’Tis the season to read six passionate, powerful and provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire!
Savor A Cowboy & a Gentleman (#1477), December’s MAN OF THE MONTH, by beloved author Ann Major. A lonesome cowboy rekindles an old flame in this final title of our MAN OF THE MONTH promotion. MAN OF THE MONTH has had a memorable fourteen-year run and now it’s time to make room for other exciting innovations, such as DYNASTIES: THE BARONES, a Boston-based Romeo-and-Juliet continuity with a happy ending, which launches next month, and—starting in June 2003—Desire’s three-book sequel to Silhouette’s out-of-series continuity THE LONE STAR COUNTRY CLUB. Desire’s popular TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB continuity also returns in 2003, beginning in November.
This month DYNASTIES: THE CONNELLYS concludes with Cherokee Marriage Dare (#1478) by Sheri WhiteFeather, a riveting tale featuring a former Green Beret who rescues the youngest Connelly daughter from kidnappers. Award-winning, bestselling romance novelist Rochelle Alers debuts in Desire with A Younger Man (#1479), the compelling story of a widow’s sensual renaissance. Barbara McCauley’s Royally Pregnant (#1480) offers a fabulous finale to Silhouette’s cross-line CROWN AND GLORY series, while a feisty rancher corrals the sexy cowboy-next-door in Her Texas Temptation (#1481) by Shirley Rogers. And a blizzard forces a lone wolf to deliver his hometown sweetheart’s infant in Baby & the Beast (#1482) by Laura Wright.
Here’s hoping you find all six of these supersensual Silhouette Desire titles in your Christmas stocking.
Enjoy!
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
Cherokee Marriage Dare
Sheri WhiteFeather
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To the editors on this series, thank you for your hard work and dedication. And to the other authors who made the Connelly family come alive—your emotional and creative support was truly appreciated.
SHERI WHITEFEATHER
lives in Southern California and enjoys ethnic dining, summer powwows, and visiting art galleries and vintage clothing stores near the beach. Since her one true passion is writing, she is thrilled to be a part of the Silhouette Desire line. When she isn’t writing, she often reads until the wee hours of the morning.
Sheri also works as a leather artisan with her Muscogee Creek husband. They have a son, a daughter and a menagerie of pets, including a pampered English bulldog and four equally spoiled Bengal cats. She would love to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 5130, Orange, California 92863-5130.
MEET THE CONNELLYS
Meet the Connellys of Chicago—wealthy, powerful and rocked by scandal, betrayal…and passion!
Who’s Who in
CHEROKEE MARRIAGE DARE
Lucas Starwind—His new “partner” on the case is an innocent who needs protection…and is a woman who threatens his heart.
Maggie Connelly—The youngest Connelly is never taken seriously…that is, until she embarks upon the seduction of Luke Starwind.
Rocky Palermo—The professional killer takes pride in his work. Nothing—and no one—keeps him from completing a job.
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
One
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.
Two
Maggie exited the house, then shoved her hands in her coat pockets to ward off the chill. Luke stood quietly, a lone figure surrounded by a winter garden, his face tipped to the sky.
In the distance, boxwood shrubs created a maze—a mystic castle of green. The maze was Maggie’s favorite spot at Lake Shore Manor. To her, it had always seemed dark and dangerous. Haunted yet beautiful.
Like Lucas Starwind.
He wore black jeans and a leather jacket, the collar turned up for warmth. On his feet, a pair of electrician-style boots crunched on the frozen grass. As she approached, he turned to look at her.
She continued walking, and when they were face-to-face, she waited for him to speak.
But he didn’t. Instead he let the wind howl between them.
Maggie had never met anyone like Luke. He had an edge, she thought. A dark and mysterious edge, like the maze. She used to play hide-and-seek there as a child, and as much as the twists and turns had frightened her, they had thrilled her, too.
Luke, she realized, produced the same staggering effect. He looked powerful in the hazy light. His cheekbones cast a hollow shadow, and his eyes bore permanent lines at the corners. From frowning, she decided, or squinting into the sun. In his hair, she could see faint threads of gray, so faint they almost seemed like an illusion.
“Are you cold?” he asked. “Do you want to go back inside?”
She shook her head. The air was sharp and chilled, but she didn’t want to break this strange spell.
“It’s going to snow,” he said. “By Friday. Or maybe Saturday.”
The weathermen claimed otherwise, but Maggie didn’t argue the point. Luke seemed connected to the elements. She attributed that to the loner in him, to the man who probably spent countless hours alone with a winter sky.
Although Maggie wanted to touch him, she kept her hands in her pockets. Luke wasn’t the sort of person you placed a casual hand upon. But, then, she knew what sparked between them was far from casual.
“Did Rafe talk to you?” he asked, looking directly into her eyes.
“Yes. He said I’m supposed to listen to whatever you say.” That, of course, had rubbed her the wrong way. Rafe had made her feel like a child rather than a grown woman. Then again, she had behaved badly in front of her brother, her Irish temper flaring.
“That’s right. You’re supposed to follow my direction, and I’m supposed to keep a close eye on you.”
“Really?” Somehow that pleased and irritated her all at once. She liked the idea of spending time with Luke, but she didn’t appreciate having him as her keeper.
He lowered his chin, glaring at her through narrowed eyes. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“No.” She decided she would turn his guardianship against him. She would use every opportunity she could to make him smile. To save that tortured soul of his.
“Good. Then I need some information from you.”
An angry breeze blew his hair, dragging it away from his face. He had a natural widow’s peak, which gave him a rather ominous appeal. Like the maze, she reminded herself. The silver earring caught a glint of the gray winter light.
“How many residences do you have?” he asked.
“Me or my family?”
“You, Maggie. Where do you sleep?”
The question had been posed in a professional voice, but there was still a note of intimacy attached. She couldn’t seem to ignore the tingle it gave her.
“I have a room here,” she told him. “But most of the time I stay at a loft downtown. I own the building.” It was her sanctuary, her home and her studio. Maggie was an artist. She painted because she needed to, because the images she created stemmed from her emotions.
Luke shifted his stance, and she imagined painting him where he stood, the wind ravaging his hair, daylight reflecting the torment in his eyes, the silver earring catching a glint of gray from the sky.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Do you have a current lover? Someone who has access to your loft?”
A sensuous shiver streaked up her spine. “No.” She wanted him as her lover. She wanted him thrusting inside her, clawing at her with the heat and power she knew he possessed. She met his gaze, felt her heartbeat stagger. “Do you have a current lover, Luke?”
He squinted, causing the lines around his eyes to imbed themselves deeper. “This isn’t about me.”
She tossed her head, but the image she’d created in her mind wouldn’t go away. “So you get to pry into my life, but I have to stay out of yours?”
“That’s right. And do you know why that is, Maggie?”
She didn’t respond. There was no need. Clearly he intended to enlighten her.
“You’re too young and too emotional,” he said. “You don’t observe the world through calculating eyes. You wouldn’t have the slightest idea if the person following you was a cameraman or a hit man. So it’s my job to know where you are and who you’re with.”
Counting silently to ten, and then to twenty, she suppressed the urge to fire her temper at him. “Which basically means I’m a thorn in your side.”
“You’re not exactly the partner I would have chosen.”
Maggie saw a shadow cross his face, and she knew he was thinking about Tom Reynolds. Luke had left town for a while after his partner’s funeral. He had seemed enraged at the time, barely in control of his pain.
“You’re emotional, too,” she said.
“Not like you. I’m not playful one minute and pissy the next.”
No, she thought. He was never playful.
“Come on.” He motioned to the courtyard, his demeanor stern and strong and businesslike. “Let’s sit down, and I’ll fill you in on the case.”
Ten minutes later, they occupied a glass-topped table, each with a hot drink in front of them.
Maggie’s mocha cappuccino tasted rich and sweet, flavored with a splash of raspberry syrup. Luke drank his coffee strong and black. Which suited him, she thought.
He lifted his gaze and looked directly into her eyes. For an instant she held her breath. Lucas Starwind never failed to accelerate her heartbeat.
“We’re dealing with the possibility of a biological weapon,” he said.
The air in her lungs rushed out. “That’s what’s on the CD I discovered? Some sort of scientific formula that could kill people?”
He gave a tight nod. “We’ve recovered six CDs in all, including the one you have, but there’s more out there. The files they contain were pirated from the Rosemere Institute.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” Maggie’s grandfather, King Thomas, had founded the Rosemere Institute in hopes of discovering a cure for cancer. “How could the Institute have anything dangerous in their files?”
“Because they’ve been focusing on viral genetic research,” he explained. “The idea is to tailor a virus that will destroy cancer cells without debilitating the patient the way radiation and chemotherapy do.”
Waiting for Luke to continue, Maggie placed her hands around her coffee cup, drawing warmth from the porcelain.
“Last year the Institute made a breakthrough in their research,” he said. “But they also explored a number of dead ends. And one of those dead ends led to the accidental creation of a virus that stimulates a fast-growing cancer. A virus that’s vectored through the air.”
Momentarily stunned, Maggie stared at him. “They created a cancer? Did King Thomas know?”
“Yes. He made sure the original virus was destroyed, along with the final codes needed to fabricate it. But if a top-quality lab had all of the Institute’s data, they could figure out the final codes and re-create it.”
“How many of the CDs are still missing?”
“Enough to worry about. Whoever has them intends to sell them on the black market. That’s what this whole scheme is about.”
Her pulse pounded in her throat. Biological warfare wasn’t what she had expected. “So this is why King Thomas and Prince Marc were killed?”
Luke paused, gauging Maggie’s expression. She looked pale, sad and worried. He decided now wasn’t the time to tell her that Prince Marc had most likely been involved in stealing the files. In a roundabout way, her uncle’s treachery had cost him his life.
“Rafe and I aren’t clear on all the details,” he said. “We know the Kelly crime family is responsible, and even though they’re in prison now, they still have ties in Altaria.”
She lifted her coffee with both hands. “So solving this case means recovering the rest of the CDs and putting the Altarian traitors behind bars?”
“That’s exactly what it means.”
A moment of silence stretched between them, but Luke assumed she needed to absorb the harsh reality of what she’d just learned.
The courtyard didn’t provide much of a wind block. Maggie’s hair blew wildly around her shoulders, each light-brown strand tipped with gold. She wore a camel-colored coat, the collar lined with a faux-print fur. The effect was stunning. And distracting, Luke thought.
She seemed vulnerable, and that made him want to touch her.
She replaced her cup with an unsteady hand. “This is so awful. King Thomas founded the Institute because his wife died from cancer. He was trying to do something good for mankind, not destroy it. He loved his queen very much. It broke his heart to watch her suffer.”
Luke nodded. He had seen firsthand how terribly cancer patients suffered, how the disease ravaged. He had lost his father to colorectal cancer. But Luke wasn’t going to tell Maggie about his past or the ache that came with it. The burden was his, and his alone. And so was the broken promise he’d made to his dad.
He stared at his coffee, into the void of nothingness. He wanted to drop his head in his hands and mourn the mistakes he’d made.
But he couldn’t. There was no turning back. He had to live with what he’d done, face himself in the mirror every day and despise the reflection.
“Are you all right?” Maggie asked.
Instantly, he locked away the pain. “Of course I am.”
Their eyes met and held. Hers were a pale wash of blue, flecked with tiny sparks of green. Her incredible, ever-changing eyes.
“Are you sure?” she pressed. “You seem troubled.”
“It’s a troubling case,” he responded.
“Yes, it is,” she agreed, her gaze never wavering from his.
Once again he longed to touch her. They sat side by side, their shoulders nearly brushing. He resisted the urge to lift his hand, to stroke her cheek, to feel the warmth radiating from her skin.
Luke reached for his coffee and sipped the bitter brew. This investigation was too critical to get sidetracked by a beautiful woman. Especially since she was the lady he had vowed to protect.
Rey-Star Investigations was located in a dramatic tower overlooking the city. Maggie took the elevator to the ninth floor and entered Luke’s office through double-glass doors.
A blue-eyed blonde sat behind a mahogany reception desk. Focusing on a computer screen, she pursed her racy red lips, forming a provocative pout.
She was stunning—in a bombshell kind of way. A sweater, the same notice-me shade as her lipstick, stretched across her ample bosom.
Maggie frowned, irked that Luke had a blow-up doll working for him. She cleared her throat and waited for the receptionist to acknowledge her.
The blonde looked up and flashed a thousand-watt smile. That, too, managed to irritate Maggie. Apparently the other woman, who probably shared Luke’s bed whenever he beckoned, didn’t see her as a threat.
Clearly Luke wasn’t as lonely as he appeared.
“May I help you, Ms. Connelly?” the receptionist asked.
“Yes, thank you.” She wasn’t surprised the other woman had recognized her. Maggie’s celebrity rarely went unnoticed. “Is Mr. Starwind available?”
“I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Within minutes Maggie was escorted into Luke’s office. He stood beside a window, gazing out at the city. The room was furnished with an ebony desk, leather chairs and a lacquered bar. A slim marble table held a bronze eagle, its enormous wings poised in flight. Stone and metal, she thought, with a blend of masculine elegance.
Luke turned and met Maggie’s gaze. Dressed entirely in black, he looked as striking as the decor.
He shifted his gaze to his receptionist. “Thank you, Carol.”
The blonde nodded and closed the door behind her.
Luke and Maggie stared at each other for what seemed like an endless amount of time.
“She’s quite the bombshell,” Maggie said finally.
He moved away from the window and sat on the edge of his desk. “Who? Carol?”
Yes, Carol, she thought, wondering why he bothered to play dumb. “I wasn’t aware busty blondes were your type.”
He crossed his arms, his mouth set in an unforgiving line. “So you analyzed her, did you?”
“Women notice other women,” she replied in her own defense. “We’re quite observant in that regard.”
“Really? Then why don’t you give me your evaluation of her?”
Maggie removed her coat and flung it over a chair. Luke remained where he was, perched on the edge of his glossy desk.
“Let’s see.” She walked to the bar and poured herself a cherry cola. Rattling the ice in her glass, she took a sip. “Carol takes long lunches, wears cheap perfume and keeps her boss entertained on cold winter nights. She has an average IQ, and buys more clothes than she can afford.”
Luke uncrossed his arms and tapped his chin in an analytical gesture. “That’s very interesting, but you’re wrong on every count. First of all, she works her tail off. Second, most perfumes, cheap or otherwise, give her a headache. She also happens to be sharp as a tack, frugal to a fault and happily married to a man who adores her.”
Maggie wanted to sink into the carpet. “I suppose they have children?”
He nodded. “Two little boys. Whose pictures are prominently displayed on her desk. But you didn’t notice them. Just like you didn’t notice the absence of a fragrance or the gold band shining on her finger.”
Mortified, she lowered herself to a chair. “I’m a lousy detective, aren’t I?”
“The worst.”
Maggie winced. Blond hair. Big breasts. Luke’s bed. Her evaluation had stemmed from a catty scratch of jealousy. Which was something she had never experienced before.
“I’m sorry,” she managed to say, thinking she owed Carol an apology as well.
He shrugged, and they both drifted into what she considered uncompanionable silence. She certainly wasn’t doing a very good job of making Lucas Starwind smile. And that was something she would have to remedy. Maybe not today, but soon.
“So, am I going to work with you here at the office?” she asked.
“Don’t you have finals this week?”
“I can come by afterward.”
“Then you’re welcome to use Tom’s old office.”
“Thank you.” She wished this wasn’t a baby-sitting effort on his part. Maggie preferred to earn her keep. But that rarely happened. No one gave her any credit, not even her own family.
Thoughtful, she studied her companion. Sooner or later the brooding detective would figure her out correctly. He would see her for who she really was. Wouldn’t he?
“What is your type, Luke?”
He blinked. “What?”
“Your type of woman,” she clarified.
He drilled her gaze, and their eyes clashed. Her pulse skipped like a stone, and she decided they were perfect for each other. No other man challenged her the way he did. Or made her care so deeply. She needed him as much as he needed her.
“I don’t have one,” he responded steadily.
Oh, yes you do, she thought. And I’m her.
Detective work, Maggie decided, didn’t live up to its TV image. They weren’t tailing bad guys, lurking in trench coats on a shadowy street corner or dodging bullets in a high-speed car chase. Instead they faced mounds and mounds of paperwork.
It was Saturday afternoon, a light snow blanketed the ground, and she and Luke were holed up in his town house, poring over files, cataloging information about individuals and corporations known to have even the slightest association with the Kelly crime family. Luke was searching for someone, anyone, who might have an interest in the missing CDs. Locating a potential buyer, he claimed, could lead them to the Altarian traitor.
“Aren’t the files encoded?” she asked. “How can they sell encrypted CDs?”
“The encryption can be broken. Not easily, but it can be done. The Kellys tried to get the encryption program from the Connelly Corporation computer system, but they failed.”
“Does the Chicago P.D. know about the cancer virus? Didn’t Rafe have to tell them when they arrested the Kellys?”
“No,” Luke responded. “He didn’t have to tell them. He led the police to believe the Kellys stole valuable data relating to the Institute’s purpose—a cure for cancer. The fewer people who know the truth, the better. We don’t need an international scandal on our hands.”
Maggie nodded, then studied Luke’s profile. He sat beside her in his home office, tapping away on a laptop.
“Why don’t you send some undercover agents to Altaria?” she suggested. “There must be someone you can trust to keep an eye on things over there.”
“I’ve already done that. I’ve got some former military men on it. Guys I served with. I planted someone at the castle and at the Rosemere Institute. And I’ve got another man watching the textile mill.”
Maggie thought about the CD that had been accidentally forwarded to her. If the syndicate had discovered their error, her life would have been threatened. She understood how dangerous this case was, and she appreciated Luke for his skill and dedication. “Sounds like you’ve got everything under control.”
“I’m trying to stay one step ahead of the game.” He rolled his shoulders and nearly bumped her arm. The desk they shared was barely big enough for two. “But unfortunately the men I sent to Altaria haven’t uncovered any leads.”
He stopped typing and turned to look at her. His face was close enough to see the detail of his skin, the faded scar near his left eyebrow, the slight shadow of beard stubble. She was tempted to touch him, to run her fingers over those stunning cheekbones. As an artist, she was fascinated by his features. As a woman, she couldn’t help but admire his rugged appeal.
“I need to tell you something about Prince Marc,” he said.
Instantly Maggie braced herself. There was always something to be said about her uncle. Prince Marc had been a charming, dashing playboy. Considered one of Europe’s most eligible bachelors, he’d juggled lovers the way he’d juggled his finances. He’d also fathered a daughter out of wedlock, but unfortunately hadn’t proved to be much of a parent.
Nonetheless, Maggie had loved him. He was still her blood.
“Prince Marc had an association with the Kellys,” Luke announced.
For a moment she only stared. Her uncle, the free-spirited prince, had been involved in organized crime? A man the media often compared her to?
Her stomach knotted. “In what capacity?”
“He owed the Kellys money. His gambling debts were eating him alive.” Luke sighed. “We believe he was part of the smuggling scam, Maggie.”
“That can’t be.” She jumped to her feet, paced a little. “He was murdered in the same speedboat accident as the king. They were together.”
“Think about it. Prince Marc hadn’t originally planned on being on the boat that day. He’d gone with his father at the last minute. Therefore, he wasn’t the intended hit.”
She stopped pacing. “So what’s your theory?”
“Prince Marc needed to get out from under his gambling debts, so he formed an alliance with the Kellys. In fact, I think they killed King Thomas because they wanted Marc, a man they could easily manipulate, to take the throne.”
“But they accidentally killed Marc instead.” Which meant that her uncle hadn’t known that the Kellys meant to murder the king. But someone at the castle did. Someone who had kept the Kellys informed of the king’s whereabouts, someone who had sent a hit man to the dock to tamper with the boat.
She blinked, fighting tears she wouldn’t dare cry in front of Luke. King Thomas had been her salvation, the only person in the world who truly understood her, who knew how diligently she struggled to earn her family’s respect.
Frivolous Maggie. The temperamental artist. The spoiled Connelly baby. No one seemed to care that she was earning a double major in business and art.
Damn it, she thought, missing the king’s keep-your-chin-up encouragement.
She worked as hard as she played. Harder, she decided, staring at the stack of paperwork on Luke’s desk. She’d studied for finals in the midst of all this. And now she had to contend with images of her traitorous uncle.
Weary, she shifted her gaze to Luke. He rubbed his temples and went back to the laptop. She could see the strain on his face, the headache forming beneath his brow. He worked hard, too. Only he never gave himself a break. He never had any fun.
Maggie gazed out the window, at the perfectly beautiful winter day, at the snow Luke had predicted. “Let’s get out of here,” she said. “Let’s ditch these files and go build a snowman.” With a big, carrot nose, she thought, and a smile made of twigs.
He gave her an incredulous look. “I’m not going to waste valuable time goofing around. I’ve got a schedule to keep.”
Not easily deterred, she moved away from the window and devised a brilliant plan. One way or another, she and Luke were going to play in the snow. “How about lunch? You have to eat, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “I suppose.”
“Then let’s go out for lunch.”
He agreed, albeit reluctantly, to take an hour off for a meal. Precisely one hour, he stipulated, sounding like the ex-military man that he was.
Maggie buttoned her coat and slipped on a pair of kidskin gloves. Luke reached for a leather jacket, then pulled a hand through his hair, smoothing a few stray locks into place.
Dressed for the weather, they exited the house, and he locked the door behind them. As he turned and strode toward his SUV, Maggie knelt to the ground. And then, as quickly as her hands would allow, she formed a snowball.
Rising, she took aim and heaved it. The snowball sailed through the air and hit Luke in the back, dissolving into a white burst as it made the connection.
He spun around, and Maggie swallowed her triumphant smile.
The first thing out of his mouth was a curse. The second was a complaint.
“Damn it. I dropped the keys.” He kicked the fresh powder. “And now I’ve got to dig through this mess to find them.”
She offered to help, thinking he had to be the biggest grump on earth. The snow wasn’t that deep. How far could the keys have gone?
Luke put on his gloves, and they sifted through the powder, neither uttering a single word. Disgusted, Maggie turned her back and searched in another spot.
And that was when a huge clump of snow fell right on top of her head.
Stunned, she wiped away the moisture dripping onto her face. The sound of keys jangling caught her attention. She turned and saw Luke standing above her, a dastardly grin on his handsome face.
“You’ve been had,” he said, shoving the keys back into his pocket, where they had apparently been all along.
“Oh, yeah?” Maggie wanted to hug him breathless, but instead she packed another snowball, making her intentions clear.
Instantly he ducked for cover, choosing a battle station on the other side of the car.
The war was on.
Three
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.
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