Luke (10 page)

He smiled with a slow pleasure that tugged one corner of his lips upward. “It's a challenge then, a bet. I say I can entice you into bed, you say I can't. What we need now is a prize for the winner. I won't make it too hard on you, since I'm easy to please. Shall we say breakfast in bed?”

“Served while in a state of nature, I suppose.”

He quirked a brow. “I didn't expect that much of a concession, but if you like that kind of…”

“I don't. Nor do I intend to enter into any kind of stupid bet with you.”

“Because you know you'll lose.”

The quiet confidence of his smile was infuriating, but she wouldn't be goaded into something she'd regret. The words distant, she answered, “If you say so.”

“Chicken,” he said softly. “I wonder if you'd fight me right this minute if I decided to steal a kiss? Or would you poker up like a marble-cold statue and let me do my worst?”

She drew back a little, her gaze watchful. “I don't think you want to find out, not with the driver up front.”

“Oh, I don't mind Clay—do I buddy?” he called as he switched his gaze to the driver.

The man in the black suit of a chauffeur gave them a quick glance in the mirror followed by a jaunty salute. Seeing it, April felt her throat tighten. “If this is some kind of game, I don't see the payoff. You have no interest in me, and I've none in you. What earthly reason could you have for putting out so much effort?”

“Purest pleasure.” His voice was velvety and his gaze slumberous as he let it rest on her lips. With a smooth coiling of muscles, he levered himself upright and eased closer.

“Hardly that. Unless you get your kicks out of a lack of cooperation.”

“Who says you won't cooperate?”

“Who do you think?” She retreated slightly as he leaned even nearer.

“Sounds to me as if you mean you accept the bet,” he murmured, reaching out to brush her arm with the palm of his hand then smooth the skin in a slow circle.

“No—” she began, then stopped on a sudden catch of breath as a shiver ran over her.

“Oh, I think you did. And do. Or will if you don't want to lose right here and now in a nest of white leather upholstery and pink silk.”

“Peach,” she corrected, even as she felt her lashes quiver on the verge of closing. The allure of his black gaze was so strong that she couldn't look away.

“Peach,” he agreed in a whisper. “Sweet peach-flavored woman. Just a taste can't hurt, can it?”

But it could, and she knew it very well in that part of her mind where instinct stood armed and at bay. She drew a strangled breath as she sought something, anything, to use as a weapon. “Ego,” she said, her voice husky. “That's it, isn't it? You need to stroke your ego with one more conquest?”

“The final conquest?” he mused. “Now there's a thought.”

“Final?”

“You, my love, are the ultimate.” His smile was dulcet. “Roan called you the one who got away and he's not far from wrong.”

“How very flattering,” she said in dry disparagement.

“Isn't it?”

As he leaned closer still, she put her spread fin
gers on his chest to hold him back. “You'll have to excuse me, but I don't have time for this game, even if I had the inclination. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll find some other female willing to let you make a fool of them.”

He met her gaze a long instant. Something he saw there must have convinced him she wasn't going to play, for he drew back. “Maybe,” he replied as he returned to his familiar slouch, “but it won't be the same.”

As contrary as it might be, April was pleased to hear that much.

The reception, like Kane's Greek temple of a mansion, The Haven, was only elegant on the surface. Beneath the gloss of antique silver, fine china, lace and rose bowerlike decorations, was a down-home celebration. There was a plethora of good food and drink, great music from a country music band, and a fine company of relatives, friends and neighbors intent on enjoying themselves. In typical Benedict fashion, children of all ages from toddlers to preteens ran and yelled and stuffed their grinning faces. The more staid teenagers courted on the stairs, while the corners were occupied by the elder generation catching up with recent births, deaths, marriages and divorces.

After the cutting of the cake, Kane danced with Regina. The two of them moved together in such harmony, concentrating so completely on each other that it made April's heart ache to see it. The light from the candles on the bride's table gleamed in the ivory silk of Regina's dress and along the fiery strands of her hair. It shone on Kane's face and
warmed his gray eyes until they burned with promise. Love and devotion radiated from them in such waves that they seemed to shimmer with it. Their enjoyment of the moment was like a free-running river so deep and full it carried everything and everybody in its flood.

“I thought for a while there earlier in the summer that I'd never see this day.”

The deep drawl laced with humor came from behind Regina. She turned to smile at Roan who walked on up to stand at her shoulder. “Because Kane and Regina were at each other's throats from the minute she came to town?” she asked. “They were always right for each other, in spite of it.”

“Yes, but it's sometimes a little hard to see that kind of thing when you're in the middle of a fight. Sort of like you and Luke.”

“Oh, please,” she said with a grimace.

“You telling me there's nothing between you? Hard to believe, when I expect to see the place go up in flames every time he looks this way.”

“He's only outdone because I have better things to do than fall in with his little dramas.”

“Like what? Writing about the family?”

His question carried such disapproval that she gave him a sharp look. “Don't tell me you're against it, too?”

“Don't know, since I haven't seen what you're doing. The question is why you decided on us, and why now. If it's because we're a part of what you know and love, that's one thing. If it's to poke a finger in Luke's eye, that's something else again—especially if you mean to show us in a bad light.”

“All I'm doing is writing a story,” she protested. “No deep meaning, no ulterior motives, no personal agenda whatever.”

“You're sure?”

His voice was stern, his gaze more than a little judgmental. In some curiosity, she said, “That almost sounds as if you care more about Luke than about the family.”

“He's had a lot weighing on him these past few years. Farming isn't the most stress-free occupation in the world, you know, what with constant weather worries, genetically improved bugs and the sky-high cost of equipment. He has a lot of people depending on him, too, not only his grandmother but an elderly aunt or two and a couple of cousins he's putting through college.”

“I didn't realize that,” she said.

“He doesn't say a lot about it. That's not his way. But if you include the problem of outrunning his demons left over from the wreck all those years ago, it adds up.”

“Not to mention juggling his women,” she said with a grim smile.

“Luke likes women,” Roan agreed. “Young ones, old ones, short, tall, thin, plump—he likes them all. He gets a kick out of how they talk and the way they think, their softness and the way they go about things. Women sense it, and like him in return. It doesn't mean he uses them.”

“I never thought it did,” she protested.

“Didn't you?” Roan asked, and there was no smile on his stern, rough-edged features.

Perhaps he was right, perhaps she did consider
Luke as an insatiable and indiscriminate user of women. It was easier, and certainly more comfortable, than seeing him as a man seeking an antidote to pain in tender female arms.

In an effort to change what had become a difficult subject, she asked, “What about you? I've been wondering for some time why you have no steady woman. Aren't you interested?”

“I'm not immune, if that's what you mean.” He shifted a shoulder. “Truth is, I don't have much time for it.”

“But you'll make time when the right woman comes along and holds a gun to your head?”

“Any woman who puts a gun to my head will find herself flat on her back.”

She laughed at his instant reaction; she couldn't help it. “Could be that's where she'll want to be, if you're lucky.”

A rueful grin lighted the dark gray of his eyes as he answered, “Let's hope so. But a little firearm protection for a woman living alone isn't a bad idea, you know. You might want to think about it. Luke could give you a few lessons in how to handle a pistol or rifle. He's a pretty good marksman.”

Such praise from Roan could only mean that Luke qualified as an expert, though it wasn't too unusual in an area where most men were hunters. The skill was hardly a recommendation to her, however, though the sheriff didn't seem to realize that. “I appreciate the thought, but I don't think so,” she answered, and turned the conversation in a more comfortable direction.

The reception settled into a familiar pattern.
Kane's grandfather, Mr. Lewis, held a place of honor with his pretty new bride, white-haired Miss Elise, beside him. The elderly gentleman stood up with Regina after she danced the first dance with her groom and the second with her son. Kane led Miss Elise out onto the floor during the slow waltz, circling the floor with her as carefully as if she were made of fragile crystal that might break at a touch.

By tradition, the next dance was reserved for the members of the wedding party. April had forgotten this bit of wedding etiquette until Luke appeared to bow in front of her as yet another slow dance began.

He should have appeared comical as he enacted that bit of pomp and ceremony like some gentleman in tie and tails from a remake of
Gone with the Wind.
Instead, he carried it off with grace and style. April was the one who felt awkward and more than a little conspicuous as she accepted the arm he offered and moved with him to the floor. She'd have refused but couldn't quite bring herself to make that public a rebuff. Consideration for his feelings didn't enter into it. The manners pounded into her as a child were the main factor, but there was also the gossip mill to be taken into account. That kind of display would be enough to keep it in high gear for a week.

In the center of the polished floor created by pushing chairs against the wall and rolling up the antique rugs, Luke turned to April and drew her into his arms. It felt almost dangerous, as if she were doing something she might regret. It had been a long time since she'd been in such intimate contact with a man, but particularly with Luke. That night in his
hotel room didn't count. Tending his injuries while he lay flat on his stomach wasn't the same at all. She hadn't been quite so aware, then, of the width of his shoulders, the taut strength of his arms, or the latent power in the way his legs moved against her silk-covered thighs.

“I realize the bow tie I'm wearing is a thing of wonder,” he said in amused tones just above her ear, “but do you think you might drag your attention a little higher?”

Her upward glance was instinctive, as was her frown. “I'm glad you think this is so entertaining, because that makes one of us.”

The light faded from his dark eyes. “Well, don't let it ruin your evening. It's only a minute or two from your busy schedule.”

“Small mercies,” she returned automatically, but realized at the same time that she regretted the loss of his good humor. Perhaps because of the atmosphere of glowing happiness created by Kane and Regina, April couldn't quite hold on to her usual irritation. As a small gesture of truce, she asked, “How are the burns on your back?”

“Fine.”

“That's good.” Both his answer and her comment were meaningless, she knew, but better than nothing. All the same, she wondered how he was healing. As he swung her in a turn, she shifted her grasp on his shoulder slightly, seeking the edge of a possible bandage.

“I said they're fine,” he repeated, his voice a little rough.

Her lips tightened as she met his gaze again. She
might have known he would not only notice her small transgression but comment on it. “I know what you said, but it could have been machismo talking.”

“I could show you, if you like. Afterward.”

She stared at him, drowning in the black gulfs of his eyes while trying to ignore the tingling of her nipples and the drawing sensation in the lower part of her body. At last she said, “Why do you always say things like that? Why, when you know—”

His laugh was wry. “Because I like to see you blush. And maybe I keep hoping you'll take me up on one of my suggestions. I want you, anywhere and any way I can get you, and I always have. I thought you knew that.”

“No.”

“You knew it once, years ago.”

Maybe she had, though what she'd felt for him had been so much wider and deeper yet more nebulous. She had ached with a vast and stunning sweep of emotions from desire to an innocent generosity that urged her to give him whatever he wanted of her. She'd expected to spend a lifetime in his arms and to love and be loved through all the nights and days of that seemingly endless span of years. There'd been nothing in it to correspond to an “I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours” exchange.

“No,” she said again quietly.

“Oh, I think you did,” he answered, “and still do. Which is why you're afraid that I might be able to seduce you in spite of everything you can do to stop me.”

A winded sound left her, part shock, part laughter, part sigh. “You don't give up, do you?”

“Not ever,” he answered, his gaze intent. “Never again.”

“It's effort for nothing.”

He watched her, his gaze moving over her face. Then it centered on her parted lips. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled her closer and set his mouth to hers.