Luke (4 page)

“For what?” The words held shocked amazement.

“All his promotional efforts, of course. Talking up my books in the bars at conferences. He was good at that. I just hope he doesn't show up at the conference this weekend to take up where he left off.”

Julianne muttered something extremely uncomplimentary about the mental powers and antecedents of ex-husbands in general and Martin in particular. Then she added, “So, have the affair. It will convince Martin you're not interested. Besides, with
any luck, you might get some nice research out of it. What do you have to lose?”

April stared at the woman across from her a frowning moment. Then as she saw the glint in Julianne's eyes, a laugh shook her. “You're impossible. People don't have affairs just to improve their writing.”

“And a darned shame, too. Inspiration for the love scenes might be so much easier that way.”

“There's more to romance than love scenes,” April said with some asperity.

“Too true,” Julianne agreed, her voice softening. “I wondered if you'd forgotten.”

“Not—quite.”

“On the other hand,” her friend continued with a flashing grin, “there's a lot to be said for sex. Some mighty hot affairs have begun with physical attraction that turned into something more.”

“That's the way it happens in our books, at least,” April said in dry disparagement.

The afternoon turned into evening as they talked. Beyond the windows, the lavender-rose light of sunset gave the Quarter rooftops a melancholy air. Shadows filled the courtyard below, sliding over the ancient bricks with their coating of green moss and niches filled with tiny ferns. A breeze from the direction of Lake Pontchartrain stirred the banana trees in a corner to a slow, tropical rhythm. Suddenly the light was gone and it was night.

Julianne insisted April stay for dinner, saying it would be no trouble since she would just whip up an omelet. The two of them puttered in the kitchen, chopping green onions and mushrooms, mincing
ham and grating cheese. The result, served with fresh crusty French bread and a marvelous Chardonnay, was light, golden brown and delicious, but it was the banter between the two friends that made the meal memorable.

April didn't linger afterward, since she needed to look over her notes for the keynote speech she'd be giving in the morning. To walk back to her hotel at night was not a good idea, even if she wanted to risk it. Julianne called a cab, then came downstairs to put her in it with a hug and a promise to show up at the conference. By the time April reached the Windsor Court she was yawning, almost done in by mint juleps and wine, good food, good conversation and the release of the last of her tension.

An hour later, she'd had a bath and wrapped herself in the thick terry bathrobe provided by the hotel. It was only then that she noticed the message light flashing on her bedside telephone and picked up the receiver to check it out. A floral arrangement had been left for her with the concierge. It would be delivered whenever convenient.

The flowers were a nice gesture from the organizers of the writers' conference, April thought. She asked that they be brought up immediately so she would know what to say when she saw the conference chairperson in the morning. She considered slipping into a pair of jeans and a knit shirt, but was afraid she'd be caught half dressed. Besides, the robe she wore was perfectly respectable.

The bouquet was lovely when it arrived, an elegant arrangement of peach roses amid spikes of blue Russian sage. April tipped the bellman and closed
the door behind him, then carried the flowers into the bedroom where she put them on a table. She was still searching among the foliage for a card when the suite's door chime rang again.

It was more flowers, this time a large arrangement of gladiola and daisies that obscured the bellman's face when she looked through the fish eye viewer of the peephole.

“I think you've made a mistake,” she called through the door. “You just delivered my flowers.”

“Sorry to disturb you again, Ms. Halstead,” the bellman said in muffled reply. “I didn't notice this second arrangement for you on the cart.”

It was a natural enough mistake. She unfastened the safety catch and opened the door. As the man stepped inside, she turned and moved ahead of him, intending to retrieve an additional tip.

The bellman set the flowers on the marble-topped console table against the opposite wall. Then he turned and slammed the door shut.

April spun around with her heart crowding into her throat. The bellman, tall and dark-haired, totally unlike the first deliveryman, stood watching her with a cocky grin on his face and satisfaction in his eyes.

Rage flared through her. “Damn you, Luke Benedict! You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

He put his wide shoulders against the door and leaned against it as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm glad to see you have sense enough to be scared.”

“Are you? You may not be so glad before it's over. What do you think you're doing?”

His smile and the look in his black eyes were both grim. “Showing you how easy it is to get to you, wherever you are.”

“What you're showing me is how big of an a—”

“Careful,” he mocked. “Romance heroines shouldn't cuss.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I'm the author, not the heroine, and some situations call for a curse word or two.”

“Fire away, then. I can take it.”

“On second thought, I'd rather not waste the breath or the time. Don't let the door hit you on your way out.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” he said with a slow shake of his head.

“Wrong,” she snapped.

“Can't do it.”

“Of course you can. Just put one foot in front of the other.”

“Then who will protect you from the next yo-yo who comes along?”

“I don't need protecting. What I need is peace and quiet—and your absence.”

He shook his head. “Funny, but seems as if I've heard all this before.”

“Exactly,” she answered with ice in her voice. “I could call hotel security and have you thrown out. How about that?”

“You wouldn't.”

She swung around so fast that the heavy robe flared open to expose her legs well past the knee. Luke noticed, she thought, but she was too incensed
to care. Striding to the phone on an end table, she picked up the receiver.

“All right,” he said hastily. “I guess this means I don't get to stay the night?”

The look she gave him should have turned him to a block of ice where he stood. “Don't even think about it.”

“Can't help it. The sofa looks fairly comfortable. I could bed down there.”

It looked too short to her, as if his long legs would hang over the edge. It would almost be worth it to watch him try to get comfortable enough to sleep. “I don't think so.”

“You're offering to share your king-size mattress?” He rubbed the edge of his square jaw. “I don't know, it could be dangerous.”

“I'm not offering anything, as you know very well!”

“Be reasonable, April.” His voice deepened to a more serious tone as he went on. “I'm here now. Why not let me stay?”

She looked at him in amazement. “How can you ask such a thing?”

“This isn't about me and you or any kind of attraction between us,” he said with a frown of exasperation. “I just want you to be safe.”

“And I will be, the minute you leave.”

“Oh, for crying out loud! I'm not going to attack you. It's not my style, thank you very much. I prefer my women willing, even eager.”

Color rose in her face and she lifted her chin. “I imagine you do.”

“Right. Imagine all you want. You ought to be
good at it. In the meantime, we're both adults and nobody's watching. Who's going to be taking pictures if we come out of this room together in the morning?”

“Is that what worries you when you spend the night with a woman, who'll be taking pictures? Funny, but I'd have thought you'd have other things on your mind.”

“What I have on my mind when I spend the night with a woman is not—” He stopped, took a deep breath. “Hell, April. Why do you have to be so damned prickly? This is no big deal. Believe me.”

“It's a big deal to me,” she said evenly. “I don't want you here. I don't want you anywhere near me.”

“That's something you've made abundantly clear, both now and thirteen years ago. What I want to know is, just what are you afraid of? Is it me, or is it yourself?”

She stared at him, unable to form an answer for the dangerous boil of emotions inside her. He watched her, his black gaze intense. The moment stretched interminably. In the strained quiet, she could hear the distant wail of an ambulance siren.

Abruptly, a firm knock came on the outer door. April started, then clenched her hands into fists. Luke turned quickly and looked through the peephole viewer. A flash of anger followed by resignation crossed his strong features. He motioned to her to answer the knock and she moved forward.

“Yes?” she said.

“Security, Ms. Halstead. We had a report of
unauthorized personnel seen outside your room. Just checking to be sure that you're all right.”

She reached for the doorknob and pulled the door open. To the man who stood outside, she said, “Thank you very much for your concern. It was just a joke, someone I know impersonating a bellman. He'll be leaving now.”

“Yes, ma'am,” the man said with a nod, then looked at Luke. “Coming, sir?”

The suppressed anger in Luke Benedict's eyes made April's heart constrict in her chest, but she only stepped back out of his way. He brushed past her, but turned as he reached the hall. “I think your conference is at a hotel off Veteran's Drive, isn't it? I'll pick you up early in the morning.”

How did he know that? And why had he been troubled enough to find out? She couldn't imagine, nor did she have time to figure it out just now. She said with a dismissive gesture, “Don't bother, I can manage.”

“No bother,” Luke said. “I'm going anyway. Eight be about right?”

To argue further in front of the security officer would be suspicious as well as embarrassing. Besides, with any luck at all she'd be gone by the time Luke got there. In something less than gracious acceptance, she answered, “All right then.”

Luke gave her a hard nod and a smile. Then he said good-night and walked away with the other man.

That smile remained with April as she shut the door. There was something in it she didn't like. She didn't like it at all.

L
uke made sure he was outside the Windsor Court, leaning on the hood of his Jeep, when April came out of the hotel. She was smiling as she returned a greeting from the doorman. Then she glanced toward Luke's Jeep.

The hostility that surfaced in her eyes was like a blow to the stomach. Luke didn't let it deter him. Walking forward with calm assurance, he took her elbow.

“This is the lady I was telling you about,” he said to the uniformed attendant. “I can handle it from here.”

The doorman appeared undecided about interfering, which was hardly surprising considering that one of the hotel's star guests was doing her best to snatch her arm from Luke's grasp. Leaning toward April in a pose of loving greeting, he brushed her cheek with his lips. At the same time, he said, “You can come quietly, or I'll pick you up and cart you off right here in front of God and everybody.”

Resentment and a promise of retribution seethed in the look she gave him. After a bare second of scanning his face, however, she allowed herself to be handed into the vehicle. Luke heaved a sigh of
relief as he closed her door and moved around to the driver's side.

“What did you say to that doorman?” she demanded the minute he was in his seat.

Luke started the Jeep and pulled out of the brick-paved courtyard onto the street. It seemed like a sensible precaution since he didn't want her trying to jump out when he decided to answer. “I told him I was your live-in lover, but we'd had words—you'd told me to buy the ring or get out. I'd decided this morning to go for the ring.”

“You didn't!”

“Seemed better than telling him you were cracking up under deadline strain and I was your therapist about to sign you into a nice rest home.”

“As if he'd believe that,” she said with contempt.

He sent her crooked smile. “You don't think I look professional enough?”

Her gaze flickered over him, taking in his dark, conservative dress slacks and light gray oxford cloth shirt with a discreetly monogrammed pocket and the sleeves rolled to his elbows. It did wonders for his ego to watch her expression take on a modicum of respect. That lasted about two seconds.

“So, where are you going?” she inquired sweetly. “To a funeral?”

“I'm going with you.”

He braced himself for an explosion. It didn't come. Instead, she stared at him while swift consideration flickered in the golden depths of her eyes.

“You do know what kind of meeting I'm attending?” she asked at last.

“Along with half the population of New Orleans,” he said with a nod, “since it was in the morning paper.”

“But that's not where you found out about it.”

Annoyance for the disdain in her voice rose inside him. “No, I saw it in your newsletter.”

“I didn't know you cared about anything that happened outside of Tunica Parish, especially anything so strictly female.”

The look he gave her was straight. “There are a lot of things you don't know about me.”

She returned his gaze a long moment before she said in abrupt tones, “Why? Why are you doing this?”

“For the fun of it.” That much was true, even if it wasn't the only reason.

“You're really going with me to this conference where you'll be one of the few men among dozens of romance-minded women?”

“My kind of get-together.” He arched a brow at her.

“You don't know what you're getting yourself into.”

Luke didn't care for the grim anticipation in her eyes but did his best to conceal his uneasiness. “I'll find out, won't I?”

“You certainly will,” she answered. “You most certainly will.”

The conference appeared well attended, at least from Luke's point of view. There were females everywhere. Females unloaded cars in the hotel parking lot, females stood in line at the desk. There were females sitting in the lobby with purses and book
bags with the conference logo at their feet, females laughing and talking and calling to each other as they waited for the elevators. Most of them seemed to know April. Those who didn't give her a big hug or a wave watched her with faint smiles of recognition and interest in their eyes. She took it in stride, he thought, though he wasn't sure half the time whether she actually remembered the women who came up to her or only pretended for the sake of politeness.

Luke was both fascinated by the glimpse of April's other life and nervous of it. She looked so polished in a suit of periwinkle blue and with her hair in a smooth and regal coil on top of her head, had such an aura of success, that she was like another person. She was treated with what seemed to be genuine warmth, yet beneath it was a degree of admiration that made him stop and think. In a strange sort of way, it seemed everyone knew her better than he did. He wondered if it might be because everyone seemed to have read her books.

April allowed him to carry her briefcase and remain at her side, but she didn't introduce him. That the individuals who came up to her were curious about him was plain enough. Speculation gleamed in their eyes as they glanced from April to him and then back again. She paid no attention, just as she ignored him. It roused the devil in him, made him want to do something outrageous to make her acknowledge his presence. A plump little lady with white hair and a twinkle in her eyes saved him from it.

“Don't keep us in suspense any longer, my dear
April. Tell us about this good-looking man you've brought with you,” she urged. “You haven't gone and got married without telling anybody, now have you?”

“Heaven's no,” April answered without turning a hair. “This is Luke, and he's the cover model for my next book. Don't you think he's just the perfect dark and handsome, devil-may-care hero?”

Luke turned his head sharply to stare at her. She held his gaze, her own limpid with innocence. She meant to get his goat, he thought, maybe even embarrass him enough so he'd turn tail and run.

“Oh, my,” the white-haired lady said, reaching out to touch his arm as she took a deep breath that swelled her bosom to notable proportions. “I most certainly
do
think so! He's got Fabio and the Topaz man beat all to pieces.”

Luke had no idea who those guys were, but the worshipful look on the woman's face suddenly tickled his funny bone. At the same time, he saw that playing up to the image April had given him just might be the best way to turn the tables on her.

Taking the white-haired lady's hand, he raised it to his lips. In the sultriest tones he could conjure up on short notice, he said, “Thank you, ma'am. You're too kind.”

She leaned forward, eyes sparkling, to whisper, “Not half as kind as I might have been once upon a time.”

He laughed; he just couldn't help it. Suddenly he felt a little more in control. He was going to be harder to dislodge than April might think. With a little luck everything might yet turn out all right.
Leaning closer to the audacious older woman, he said, “If I'd been around then I might have been extremely grateful for the—favor.”

“Favors, you mean—or at least I hope you did,” she returned, her face crinkled in a thousand lines of enjoyment as she tipped her head coquettishly.

“Certainly I did. What else?” He sketched a bow that he devoutly hoped wasn't an insult to his gentlemen ancestors.

The elderly charmer giggled; there was no other word for it. Heads turned in their direction and people smiled. April didn't appear to think it was funny at all. Luke, watching her turn and stride away, felt his lips twitch in a barely controlled grin.

Later, however, as April mounted to the podium to give her keynote speech, his mood turned more somber. She was fantastic, speaking straight from the shoulder, telling it the way she saw it. At the same time she was self-deprecating and touchingly frank about her problems and insecurities. Her remarks drew applause several times. When she said her final thank you and stepped back from the microphone, the standing ovation she received seemed to surprise her as much as it delighted her.

Luke rose with the others, giving April Halstead the applause that was her due. She was a special lady, he thought; Roan had been right about that. He could still hear her voice reverberating in his mind as it had echoed through the room from the loudspeaker. Its soft yet clear timbre lingered deep inside him. It ignited a slow fire in his blood, yes, but there was more to it than that. Watching her,
listening to her, made him incredibly glad they were both alive here and now.

It also made him feel fiercely protective.

Standing there with his gaze on the glowing planes of her face, Luke took a solemn vow. Nothing ugly or painful must touch her, not now, not ever. He would see to that, no matter what he had to do to prevent it.

The conference agenda included a series of workshops. One of them, taught by April, was on career planning. Luke tagged along. The subject was apparently popular since the room was filled to capacity. By the time the session ended, Luke had a much better idea of how April spent her time, also of the dedication it had taken to get to her present position and the hard work she put in to stay there.

A number of attendees approached her with different comments and questions. She answered them with patience and humor, even those from a desperate-looking young woman with long black hair straggling down to her waist, skeletal hands, and a manuscript in her arms that was the size of a feather bed. She kept thrusting the bundle of paper at April as if she expected her to take it and read it before the end of the day, then send it off with a glowing recommendation for publication.

Luke was thinking of stepping in when April, glancing beyond the importuning would-be author, suddenly touched the young woman's arm. “Here is someone who can help you,” she said kindly. “She's a freelance editor for a local publishing house who enjoys helping writers who are just start
ing out.” April raised her voice a bit. “Oh, Muriel, here's someone in need of your services.”

The person April was addressing turned slowly to face her. A cornered expression hovered in the woman's hazel eyes and her movements were jerky, as if she had to force her angular, big-boned body to answer her commands. Pushing flyaway blond hair back from her face with one hand in a nervous gesture, she inquired, “Are you talking to me?”

As Luke watched, April explained the would-be author's situation to Muriel. The freelance editor did not look happy to have a prospective new client. With a shrill edge in her voice, she said, “Darling April should have told you that I conduct how-to-write seminars as well. Perhaps you'd care to sign up for one?”

“Oh, I don't need that,” the woman said as she reached out and caught the editor's arm as if grasping a lifeline. “But if you would only give me a few minutes, I'm sure I can convince you to take a chance on my book.”

“The publishing house I work with doesn't do romance novels.” The tone was as blunt as the words.

“I can write anything you want!”

“Local history?”

“Of course.”

The answer was given so blithely that it was obvious even to Luke that the unpublished author would have replied the same if the editor had asked for a treatise on the flora and fauna of the Amazon basin. Without pausing, she launched into a spirited description of her romantic opus interspersed with
questions that indicated she suspected Muriel of having New York publishing connections that she hadn't divulged.

Glancing at April to see what she thought of it all, Luke caught sight of a crooked smile she was trying to hide. The minute she saw that he'd noticed, color stained her cheekbones and she turned sharply away. A second later she was out of the room as if she were being chased, stopping for nothing and no one.

Luke was still staring after her when he heard a throaty chuckle at his elbow. As he glanced down, the woman beside him gave him a friendly nod. “Sneaky,” she said quietly, “but effective, wouldn't you say?”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, my mistake. Something about your expression—well, I thought you knew what was going on.”

“I don't, but I'd like to,” he said frankly. “If you'd be kind enough to enlighten me.”

The woman, in a purple dress like some kind of bedsheet, searched his face a long moment. Then she took his arm. “Walk with me to the next workshop?”

Luke went willingly enough, compelled by his own curiosity as much as the grip on his biceps. She led him toward the door through which April had disappeared, then into the carpeted hallway beyond it.

“You don't know who I am, do you?” his captor said. “I'm Julianne Cazenave, another of these ‘damned scribbling women,' as Dickens is supposed
to have called our kind in his day. And I suspect you're the man who's been causing April to lose sleep.”

“I doubt that,” he said dryly. “I'm just looking after her for today.”

“I know that,
cher.
Everybody knows that, I assure you, and have from the moment you stepped through the door. You are a very large blip on the radar screen of this conference. I'm sure April regrets bringing you with her or will before the day is out. Why did she, by the way?”

“Because I wanted to come and she couldn't figure out how to stop me.”

Her eyes narrowed a fraction. “Really? I was right. You are Luke Benedict, aren't you?”

“How did you—?”

“I've known April a long time,” she answered obliquely without taking her eyes off his face. “How…intriguing.”

He wasn't about to fall into the conversational trap set by the tell-me-more note in her voice. Instead, he said, “You were going to explain why you thought April was being sneaky?”

“Because she was,
cher.
Muriel Potts is not only a freelance editor but picks up a few dollars by doing reviews for the city paper. She panned April's last book unmercifully.”