Beth Ciotta: Anything but Love

“What are you doing?” he asked as she dug in her purse.

“Thank you for saving me from an awkward moment with Geoffrey. Have a safe flight home, Luke.”

Rae leaned forward and passed the driver two fifties then shoved open her door and swung out with as much grace as she could muster. Apparently she was doomed to a lifetime of crappy birthdays. This was the worst by far. To hell with Luke. To hell with going back to her mother’s mausoleum of a house. She’d treat herself to a night of pampering. A deluxe room with a flat screen TV and a stocked minibar. Dinner at Wolfgang Puck. A full body massage. Maybe a swim. She could purchase whatever she needed in the Boutique. Her fortune couldn’t buy her happiness, but it could certainly buy her comfort.

“What the hell?” Luke watched as Rae strode toward the doors of the luxury hotel. Stunned by her hasty exit. Mesmerized by her sensual body. Call him a dog, but Luke had a longtime obsession with the female form. Rachel Lacey had hidden her considerable assets beneath baggy ankle-length dresses, whereas Reagan Deveraux showcased her curves. Not in a slutty way, but that almost made things worse. Rae was class on designer heels.

And she just called him a judgmental jerk.

“Son of a—”

“LAX?” the driver asked.

“What?”

“Still going to the airport?”

“Yes. No. Not yet.” Luke unbuckled his seat belt.

“Want me to wait?”

“Yes.” Luke noted several taxicabs parked near the lobby. “No.” He hadn’t flown all this way to get the bum’s rush. “How much do I owe you?”

“Your lady covered it.”

“She’s not my lady.”

She’d duped Luke and all of Sugar Creek. She’d run off and left them all to worry. Where did she get off giving Luke attitude? She hadn’t given Luke a straight answer to any one of his questions. “How much did she give you?”

“A hundred.”

She’d paid his entire tab. As if he couldn’t afford it. Luke’s pride reared. He passed the man a generous tip, nabbed his backpack and jacket, and hit the pavement. He blew through the doors of the swanky hotel feeling severely underdressed.

Damn.

So this was how the other half lived. Even though the lobby had a cozy vibe—hardwood floors, comfortable furniture, raging hearth—this hotel reeked of sophistication and money. Similar to Rae’s house. Or rather her mom’s house.

He’d been so angry when he’d first confronted Rae, he hadn’t paid much mind to her posh digs. He’d been too focused on the gorgeous redhead with the kickass curves and impeccable style. He still couldn’t believe the extent of her physical transformation. Jayce Bello, Luke’s almost brother-in-law and an ace private eye, had not only, finally, traced this woman to Bel Air, he’d also filled Luke in on her real background and had shown him a “pre-Rachel” photo. Luke had barely recognized the stunning woman. Reagan Devereaux was hot . Even more so in person. Luke hated that he’d noticed and kept on noticing. On their short cab ride it was all he could do not to stare at her sexy legs. And now those sexy legs had taken her … where?

Luke did a three-sixty. No Rae. He approached the concierge. “I’m looking for a woman who just came in. Gorgeous redhead in a green dress?”

The man raised a brow and Luke realized he probably sounded like a stalker.

“Reagan Deveraux,” Luke added. “I was supposed to meet her in the lobby.”

“I believe the woman you’re looking for went into the lounge.”

Luke thanked the man and headed toward where he pointed. He found Rae sitting at the bar throwing back a shot of tequila. He had no idea she did shots. He’d only ever seen her sip beer. Now she was licking salt from her hand like a pro. He watched, transfixed, as her red lips closed over a wedge of lime and sucked.

He wasn’t the only man watching.

Luke felt a jab of jealously when a designer-suited dude eased in and offered to buy her a drink. Then a surge of relief when Rae turned the man away. Luke cursed his whacked-out emotions. He shouldn’t be feeling anything for Rae aside from betrayal and confusion.

He joined her at the bar. “What are you doing?”

“Treating myself to a birthday drink.” She barely cast him a glance while attacking her second shot.

Luke clenched his jaw as she repeated the ritual. Salt, tequila, lime. Lick, drink, suck. Not overtly sexy, but sexy all the same. He gestured to the bartender. “Two Coronas, please.” Then he looked back to Rae. “Drinking alone on your birthday is sort of pathetic.”

“I’m not alone.” She met his gaze. “Unfortunately.”

Luke searched her eyes, his gut clenching when he caught a glimpse of Rachel Lacey, the same vulnerability that had intrigued him all those months ago. He had a weakness for women in need. Hell, he had a weakness for women period.

The bartender served two longnecks.

Luke waved off the glasses.

“Put it on my tab,” Rae said.

“It’s on me.” Luke paid cash for two of the most expensive beers he’d ever bought in his life. “As for the cab,” he said to Rae, “thank you, but I can manage.” He pulled five twenties from his wallet and when she refused, he shoved the money in her purse. “Three months ago you were desperate for money. Or so you said. Jayce called you a trust fund baby. You might not have inherited your fortune until today, but you must have had access to a monthly allowance.”

“I didn’t want to touch that money.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t believe you had me investigated.”

She sounded somewhere between hurt and outraged. Luke knew the feeling. “I had you tracked, which I wouldn’t have done if you had had the decency to say good-bye.”

Gaze averted, she sipped her beer then ordered another shot. “I felt awful about hurting Sam. Plus I was compromising the success of the Cupcake Lover’s recipe book by refusing to participate in any publicity.”

“So you ran away?”

“I didn’t think I’d be missed.”

What the freaking hell? “Are you that insecure or that oblivious?”

“People come and go all the time, Luke.”

“You’re missing the point, Rae.” He nabbed her wrist as she reached for the salt shaker. Her pulse raced beneath his thumb. His own heart bucked. He’d always had a talent for reading and finessing women. He had no clue how to handle Rae. Did she have the tolerance to withstand a third shot? He didn’t want to take the chance. He grabbed her shooter and downed the Cuervo himself. “Why don’t we sit at one of those tables and talk?”

“Why aren’t you on your way to the airport?”

“Why won’t you tell me why you paid for a false identity?

She glanced away, picked at the label on the beer bottle. “I needed to be someone else for a while.”

“Why?”

“It’s personal.”

One thing hadn’t changed. Reagan Devereaux was every bit as aloof as Rachel Lacey. Luke wanted to shake the crap out of her. Kissing her came to mind, too. He’d never been so angry and turned on at the same time. He told himself it was because she was smoking hot and he’d been celibate for weeks. Aching to jump her bones was natural. It wasn’t because he was jonesing to re-create the magic he’d felt the one and only time they’d locked lips. Who needed that kind of misery? Having a thing for a woman beyond his reach. A woman of privileged birth. A woman who’d earned a master’s degree. A woman worth a freaking million!

Hit the road, Monroe.

He wasn’t getting the answers he wanted so why was he wasting his time? As it was he’d be lucky if he got home before Christmas morning. Part of him had been desperate to see for himself that Rae was okay. She was more than okay. Except for her obsessive lying and the tension between her and her mom and that dickhead Geoffrey Stein. Every family had drama, right? The Monroes certainly had their fair share. More often than not, Luke played mediator. He should be home making peace, not here waging war. Besides, reasoning with this woman was a losing battle.