Cherry Adair - Slow Burn

“Say that so I can believe it. Because I swear to you, Nicolas Stratton, if Luke gets a hint that he’s the one I’m trying to catch before I’m ready to tell him, I’ll...I’ll tell him about you and Babsie.”

“That was in twelfth grade.”

“Want to bet he won’t still be mad?”

“I give you my word,” he said with utmost sincerity.

“Good enough.” She squinted at the dash clock. “He’s probably sleeping, and we’re sitting here like idiots in the dead of night, freezing in the car.”

“We could’ve gone for coffee.”

“Nick, you’re a lunatic, and I adore you. But if I drink one more cup of anything, I’ll float away. Please, can I go home now?”

* * *

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Catherine cried as Nick picked her up in his arms. The elevator pinged as it stopped on the twenty-second floor. “Nick, you’re going to give yourself a hernia carrying me.” The doors slid open. He staggered playfully as he strode down the corridor leading to Luke’s condo.

“Put your head on my shoulder, your arms around my neck and close your eyes,” Nick said softly. “I’m going to give you the opportunity to be a fly on the wall. Hmm, interesting. The front door’s wide open.”

Catherine looped her arms about his neck and snuggled against Nick’s chest. A nice chest. Unfortunately, not Luke’s chest.

“Where’ve you been?”

Ooh. Luke’s dragon roar. Catherine kept her eyes closed, her features lax. She imagined flames spewing from his nostrils. This was a good sign. Nick’s plan might just work.

“Hey, old son,” Nick whispered. “Princess here is sleeping. Lower your tone to a dull bellow, why don’tcha?”

“Why is Cat sleeping?” Luke demanded, with deep suspicion. She could feel the blistering heat of his gaze focused on her.

“You said you wanted to introduce her to some of our...well, let’s just say we did a little par-tay-ing.”

“I told you to bring her straight home.”

“We came straight back.”

“Via Hong Kong?”

“We stopped for a bite to eat. Then she wanted a look at my boat.”

“For six hours?”

“Gorgeous day for a sail. Look, she’s kinda heavy,” Nick said over her head. “Mind if I...oh okay, fine, if you want to stand there bitching at me while you get the hernia, that’s cool.”

Luke’s arms tightened around her. Bliss. Catherine’s head found the natural and perfect hollow beneath his chin. As long as he didn’t get that promised hernia, she was content to lie in his arms and enjoy the moment.

“Poor Princess, she needed the break. The last few months have been tough on her.”

“She talked to you?” Catherine heard deep suspicion in Luke’s voice. His fingers tightened on her upper thigh. “Catherine Harris the clam, the little crab?”

“It’s not a state secret, is it?” Nick asked. “Hey, it’s great standing here at one-thirty in the morning, in your open doorway shooting the breeze, a comatose woman between us, but how about a drink?”

“I’m only holding her so I don’t rearrange that smarmy, pretty-boy face of yours,” Luke snarled. “Next time I tell you to bring her right home, you’d better bring her...no, forget it. You keep your grubby paws away from her.”

Don’t get overexcited, Catherine warned herself as her heart did a little somersault. What she hoped sounded like jealousy might just be Luke in his defensive big-brother mode. But at this point, she’d consider the glass half full.

“Hey, chill. What’s your problem? She’s over twenty-one and single. You aren’t her father.”

“No,” Luke said grimly over her head. “I’m her brother.”

“You aren’t that, either,” Nick said softly. “Are you, old son?”

CHAPTER FOUR

THIS ENTIRE SITUATION was untenable, Luke swore. How was he going to hide how he felt about Cat?

From her?

From Nick?

From himself?

He’d done it before with some success. But her power was stronger now. He felt himself sailing directly into the Bermuda Triangle at warp speed.

Luke carried her into the dark bedroom, settled her on the bed and heard the front door close behind his ex-best friend.

He pulled off her shoes and tugged the comforter over her, then left the room and stalked back into the kitchen, where he poured a mug of brandy-laced coffee. Morosely, he sat at his small kitchen table and stared at the oil slick on top of the black liquid before reaching for his PalmPilot. The handheld computer was the nineties version of the little black book.

A. Paul Abbott. Brian Andrews.

Luke transferred names into another file labeled PARTY with all the enthusiasm of a man anticipating a train wreck. Robert Kingston. Cy Kronin...Luke paused. The guy had shifty eyes. Really shifty eyes. He deleted Cy’s name. Steve Manfield. Good guy. Quiet. A possible. Bob Nelson? Owned his own company. Had a couple of dogs. A full set of parents...

Luke’s folks had been divorced about three years, and he had lived with his mother when Cat and Faith had moved in with his father. He’d disliked both females at first sight. Cat had been tall for her age, with enough wild red hair to cover a small horse, and wall-to-wall freckles. She’d looked sweet, and sad, and a whole lot of trouble. And worst of all, his father had adored her, and Nick thought she was a little doll. His for the taking.

Luke took a swig out of his mug, ashamed as the flood of memories spotlighted his own less than sterling behavior.

Okay, face it. I was jealous as hell back then. He’d been secretly thrilled when, a year later, his father had informed him of his impending divorce. Good, Luke had thought with satisfaction. He’d never warmed to Cat’s mother, Faith. The irony of her name was not lost on anyone.

There was only one little glitch to Luke’s joy at her departure. She’d left behind The Kid.

What kind of mother left a seven-year-old girl with her ex-husband? His father had been delighted. He’d doted on Cat, included her in everything he did. Luke hadn’t wanted a sister. He sure hadn’t wanted her. And he’d told her so in no uncertain terms. On numerous occasions. With all the arrogance of youth, and with no consideration for her feelings.

Later, he realized she’d wanted the same things he had—a father, a mother, a family. To be loved. A place to belong.

Luke felt the sting of shame all over again. To be fair, he’d been a kid himself. He’d felt abandoned and shoved aside. He hadn’t, at thirteen, thought or cared about how The Kid felt.

Luke got all the way to the end of his address book. Allan Zukker. Even eliminating those he thought unsuitable for one reason or another, there was still a decent selection. But because the criteria for females wasn’t nearly as stringent as those for males, Luke ended up with an unbalanced list—more women than men. Which suited him just fine, except the party wasn’t for him. It was for Cat.

He pushed the computer away. He’d even out the list later.

Luke buried his head in his hands. He didn’t want the party. He didn’t want to introduce Cat to a man who might not appreciate her, might not treat her right. She’d been hurt enough in her life. Cat needed to be loved. Cherished.

Luke pushed his chair back and strode into his living room. Nope. There were no two ways about it. He’d made his bed. Now he had to lie in it. No matter how damn uncomfortable it was. He tossed a pillow and blanket on the black leather sofa and turned out the light.

Yep, he thought, flinging himself down on his back, fully clothed. He was going to have to bite the bullet and help Cat find the man of her dreams.

Even if it killed him.

* * *

THE PARTY WAS a roaring success. At the moment, E.L.O.’s “Don’t Bring Me Down” was competing with raised voices and the din of heels on bare wood floors. Cat had rolled up the area rugs for dancing.