Luke (8 page)

He didn't move. He wasn't going to move. He was out of it, and it was her own fault for passing out medication. She should have let him suffer.

She put her fingers to her mouth as she stared at him, at Luke Benedict sleeping in her bed. A soundless laugh shook her, followed by a wave of weariness. What a thing to happen, yet she couldn't feel surprised. It was exactly the kind of incident that would have bedeviled the heroine of one of her novels.

So, what now?

It was her suite and she was exhausted. Whatever the fallout might be, she would deal with it in the morning. For now, she'd had enough. She was going to bed.

She'd also had enough of being harassed and threatened. On that subject, she'd just taken one of her “bathtub” decisions—the relaxation of bath time being when she saw things most clearly and often had her best ideas. If Luke Benedict had a hand in what was being done to her, she was going to find out. If that meant delving deeper into his family history or spending more time with him, then so be it.

Research was her forte. Putting together bits and pieces from many sources then reaching a conclusion based on logic and informed intuition was what she did for a living. How much different could it be to figure out who was trying to harm her, whether it was Luke or someone else?

There had to be some explanation. It wasn't ran
dom harassment; the events of the past few days proved that much. When she had the all-important
why,
then the
who
should be clear. Once that occurred, the person responsible was going to realize she was no helpless victim. She would see to that, no matter what it took.

There was one thing more. If Luke Benedict thought a night spent naked in her bed was going to change anything, he was much mistaken. He would know it, too, before he was another day older. She was also going to see to that detail.

A
s the lights clicked off in the suite, Luke lay perfectly still and allowed himself a few seconds of amazement. He was in; he'd made it. He was spending the night with April. The possibility had hovered in the back of his mind as he set out for New Orleans the day before, but he'd never really expected it to materialize.

Who would have thought it?

Not that he could claim to be sleeping with her exactly. She'd pulled the heavy bedspread from the bed and dragged it with her to the living room sofa. At least he thought that was where she'd gone; he'd check it out when he was sure it was safe to open his eyes.

She'd covered him before she left, though. She'd actually loosened the lightweight blanket on the bed and flung the extra width across him against the air-conditioned chill of the room. What did that mean? Or did it mean anything beyond simple consideration? He didn't care; he was still grateful.

Not that his acid burns were as big a deal as he'd led her to believe. They weren't exactly comfortable, of course, but he'd had worse. To have April hovering over him had just been such a novelty that
he couldn't resist playing the wounded soldier. He'd also been curious to see how far her concern would stretch. Now he knew.

He'd expected to be dragged off the big bed and sent on his way when she came out of the bathroom. That he hadn't puzzled him. Gratitude was one thing, but this was something else.

Or was it? Maybe he only wanted to think so. Yes, and maybe gratitude was a poor substitute for what he had in mind. What would she do, he wondered, if he eased off the bed, went and knelt beside the sofa, and…?

He was an idiot to even think about it. He'd gotten this far, hadn't he? The last thing he needed was to scare her away now. With a stifled groan, he wrestled his hormones back under control.

The pain medication she'd given him was stronger than he expected. He could certainly feel its effects. He might be able to fight it off, but there was little need given the hotel's superefficient security. He knew April had flipped the dead bolt on the door and set the heavy safety latch because he'd heard her do it. Still, he'd get up in a few minutes and ease around checking doors and windows, Luke thought. Then he'd allow himself a couple of hours of oblivion.

It was a fine plan and he even followed it up to a point. However, after a second patrol conducted as dawn fingered the edges of the thick, light-blocking window drapes, he dropped into a black hole and didn't come out of it until midmorning.

April was stirring a little, but not really awake. Luke climbed out of bed and dressed with care in
the bathroom. He grimaced at the ragged state of his shirt and its lingering sour acid smell. There was nothing he could do about it except wait until the last minute to put it on. He'd rather toss it into the trash, but wasn't about to march half-naked through the Windsor Court's lobby.

While rambling around at loose ends, he discovered a small electric coffeemaker and supplies in the suite's kitchen. He brewed a pot, then carried a cup of it with him as he went to squat beside the sofa.

April Halstead was a sight to behold as she lay sleeping. He'd known that in the old days, from naps on picnics or during the bus trips coming home from late football games. He'd watched entranced then as he was doing now. Her lips looked so smooth and soft, with their generous curves and tucked corners, that the need to test them made him light-headed. The rest of her seemed just as enticing as she lay with one hand flung above her head so he had a stunning view of the tender curves of her breasts under peach silk.

Taking an uneven breath, he glanced away an instant. Then used his free hand to waft the steam from the coffee cup toward her face. After a few seconds, her lashes flickered then lifted.

“'Morning,” he said with carefully controlled cheerfulness. “How about a peace offering since I took your bed last night?”

She stared at him for long seconds, her gaze soft and vulnerable. Then her lashes swept down. Pulling her bedspread higher around her, she flounced over on the sofa with her back to him. In a voice thickened by sleep, she muttered, “Go away.”

Luke gave a wry shake of his head as he lifted the coffee he held to his mouth. Back to square one. He should have known that last night's truce was too good to last.

It was almost checkout time when the two of them finally left the room. While April saw to those formalities, Luke stepped outside to see if their respective vehicles had arrived from valet parking. They had, thanks to an advance call from the suite. After collecting the keys to the Jeep and her Lincoln Mark and passing out tips, he went back inside.

April was just crossing the lobby toward him. She was truly an ice maiden this morning, with every hair in place where it was coiled on top of her head, flawless makeup, and a pantsuit of cool blue silk. Luke had about decided that such perfection was like a mask, something to hide behind. There was no way to know if he was right.

Suddenly a man sitting in the nearby salon rose to his feet and started in her direction. Luke moved swiftly to step between April and this new threat. Holding one hand up in a gesture for her to stop, he turned to face the man.

“April!” the guy called. “I knew you'd show up if I waited long enough. Can you believe they wouldn't give me your room number, even after I told them I was your husband?”

“Ex-husband,” she said crisply.

It was Martin Tinsley, the lowlife she'd married in a desperate bid to get out of Turn-Coupe, Luke realized. He'd classified Tinsley in his mind as a smooth operator when he first met him back then and saw no reason to change his opinion now. Of
medium height with dark hair and brown eyes, he was a sharp dresser with manicured nails, perfectly trimmed hair, and the kind of slick good looks that bowled over more impressionable females. It was gratifying to Luke to note that April's voice when she spoke to her ex was even chillier than when she talked to him.

“Yeah, all right, ex-husband,” Tinsley said with what he apparently thought was an engaging smile, “but that can be changed any time you say the word.”

As Tinsley tried to sidestep to get around him, Luke cut him off again. April's ex gave him a dirty look, but Luke shrugged it off. At the same time, he filed away under interesting information the fact that the guy wasn't happy with his divorce.

“What do you want?” April asked impatiently.

“You could act a little happier to see me,” Tinsley complained, “seeing that I drove all the way downtown to pay you a visit.”

She lifted a brow. “I prefer to wait until I know why you bothered.”

The question had also crossed Luke's mind. He wondered, too, what Tinsley had been doing the night before, and if he'd turned up today in the hope that April might be nervous enough to accept his company.

“I saw where you were in town and thought, well, why not?” Tinsley spread his hands in an expansive gesture as if to indicate that he was all hers. Still, his insouciance didn't quite reach his eyes. He appeared to be carefully assessing her reactions, and Luke's.

“I could have saved you the drive if you'd called first,” she answered.

“Which is why I didn't. Have you had brunch, or whatever?”

“Luke and I have eaten, yes,” April said in clipped tones.

That was a lie, as Luke knew full well. April hadn't touched a bite of the breakfast for two he'd ordered and paid for from his own pocket. At least it proved how little she wanted to linger in Tinsley's company. It also shifted her ex's attention to Luke.

“Benedict here?” The other man's gaze narrowed and he belatedly offered his hand as though April's speaking of him constituted an introduction. “I recognize the family resemblance though I can't say I recalled the first name.”

“We met at the wedding.” Luke kept his contact with Tinsley brief in spite of the ex-husband's attempt to turn the handshake into a bone-crushing contest. The guy remembered him all right, Luke knew. Denying it was just a part of the game of one-upmanship he seemed to be playing.

“Guess I was a little distracted at the time by my bride,” Tinsley said. “I just couldn't see straight for thinking about the wedding night. You know how it is.”

The need to knock the guy's head off his shoulders was so strong that Luke gritted his teeth while he fought it. Since it was impossible to reply with his jaws clenched, he didn't bother.

“So, you two are here together?” the former husband continued. “Strange, as I seem to remember that you don't get along all that well.”

“We do now,” Luke answered.

“We don't,” April said at the same time.

Tinsley cocked his head as he tucked a thumb into the waistband of his pants. “So, which is it? Do you or don't you?”

Luke made no immediate answer, but turned toward April with a brow quirked in inquiry. She wouldn't look at him. The expression on her face was remote, as though she wished herself far away from both of them.

If that was the way she wanted to play it, fine. Luke didn't mind carrying the ball. “Things change,” he said to Tinsley. “April just happens to need someone around for various and sundry reasons. Now, if you don't mind, we have places to go.” Turning toward April, he said, “Are you ready?”

She gave him a brief nod before swinging toward the entrance with him. They began to walk away.

“Hey, wait a minute…” Tinsley broke off what he was about to say as he took a quick step after them. Catching a ragged fold of the back of Luke's shirt in his fist, he exclaimed, “Lord man, what happened to you? Looks as if you've been in a cat fight.”

The sneer in the man's voice and its loud tone that drew unwanted attention their way was the last straw for Luke. He turned his head to give Tinsley a steady look. In deadpan tones, he said, “Something like that. Sharp fingernails in the heat of the moment. You know how it is.”

Tinsley turned a dusky red and glared as if he'd like to commit murder on the spot. April gasped in
outrage. Luke was past caring what either of them thought. He put his hand on April's arm and walked her toward the door without looking back.

She could have balked. She could have given him a piece of her mind the instant they were out the door. Neither happened. Instead, she took the keys Luke handed over and walked to where her vehicle was parked. Luke hesitated a second, then followed her.

“About what happened back in there,” he began in some discomfort.

“Nothing happened. Forget it.” She opened her car door and slid inside.

“I'd like to, believe me, but it doesn't seem in the cards. Where does Tinsley stand in all this?”

“He doesn't. Just like you.”

The glance she gave him held a warning before she turned away to put her key in the ignition. As she reached to close her car door, Luke put a hand on the frame to stop her. “What I'm asking,” he said, “is where he stands legally. Is the divorce final? Did you have a will naming him the beneficiary and has it been canceled? What about an insurance policy? In other words, would he benefit in any way if anything happened to you?”

“You make it sound as if you think someone's trying to kill me.” The gaze she turned on him was accusing, yet had a shadow of alarm in its depths.

“Somebody's up to something and I don't think they're planning an award for Author of the Year.” The endless chime warning of the car's over the open door wore on his nerves. It sounded like a warning for them as well.

“Well, Martin isn't behind it, so you can forget him,” she said with precision. “He's too certain he can talk me around to resort to crude scare tactics.”

“Would he use them to make you think you need him?”

“I doubt it, since being protective was never his strong suit. On the other hand,” she continued, holding his gaze, “that thought had crossed my mind about you.”

Luke's chest felt so tight it hurt, but he figured he might as well find out where he stood before this went any farther. “Did it, now? And what did you decide?”

“That anything is possible,” she declared in defiance as she tugged on her car door. “Would you please let go so I can leave?”

He didn't budge. “You don't really think I had anything to do with what happened last night?”

“I don't know what I believe,” she said a shade desperately. “I don't know you anymore. Sometimes I think I never did.”

“I'm the same,” he said in quiet certainty. “I've always been the same.”

“Well, I'm not! I'm not as stupid and innocent and trusting. Hard muscles, a cocky grin, and my own amorous impulses don't influence me anymore. I don't need protecting by anybody, and I certainly don't need you. Now get out of my way or I'll drive over you and never look back!”

She meant it. Now was definitely not the time to push her. “Yes, ma'am.” he said in deadpan agreement as he stepped back and closed the door. “Drive carefully. I'll be right behind you.”

“You'd better stick close or all you'll see is dust,” she answered as she turned the key.

Luke watched her put the Lincoln in gear and pull out of the hotel's front court. At the same time, the things she'd said echoed in his head.

No, she wasn't the same. Her armor was thick, and the razor-sharp words she used as protective weapons cut deep. She had become a beautiful woman of formidable intelligence and endless layers of protective reserve. Getting involved with her again could be dangerous to his heart as well as his ego.

All the same, he was going to try. He had to try, had to use all his hard-earned experience to entice her back into his arms, even knowing the effort could backfire on him.

So she'd noticed the muscles, had she? He had that much on his side. She had amorous impulses, too. Interesting. Especially if they might be, or could be, directed toward him.