Cherry Adair - Slow Burn

“Sorry.” He cupped her cheek and smiled ruefully. “I’ve practically ignored you all night, haven’t I? It’s been so long since I threw one of these things. I forgot how much work it is. Let me change the CD, and I’ll give you my undivided attention.” As soon as he could manage to unglue his twitching eyes from Cat and Nick, who were like Siamese twins on the postage-size dance floor. Luke took Karen’s hand and led her to the state-of-the-art CD player, where he changed the selection of slow ballads to something loud, fast and energetic. His choice was met with a series of catcalls from his party guests. Tough.

He wrapped an arm around Karen’s bare shoulders and led her to the middle of the dancers. She moved into his arms smoothly and, despite the pulsing beat of the music, rested her head against his chest and twined her arms about his waist. She moved sensuously against him.

The problem was, Luke thought, enfolding her in his arms, she was just too...short. That was it. She was too short. She didn’t fit. Even wearing those heels, the top of her head only came to the middle of his chest. Which was really too bad. Karen was beautiful, smart, sexy. How unfortunate he’d never noticed how vertically challenged she was before tonight.

With fifty-plus bodies in it, the room was hot. Even with the door wide-open to the narrow balcony, the evening air was stifling. Luke wanted to unpeel Karen from his chest and stand under a cold shower. He concentrated on moving his feet.

Two yards away, Cat danced with Nick, laughing and chatting and having the time of her life. Luke would have to talk to her. He’d invited at least seven guys specifically for her to meet tonight. She already knew Nick.

Luke rubbed his hand down Karen’s smooth arm and turned her so that his back was toward Cat and he could give his date the attention she deserved. Karen slid her hands up his chest and around his neck.

“Too many people here.” She ran her long nails up and down the back of his neck. “Bet no one would notice if we snuck out.”

* * *

LUKE SAT IN the back row of the dark, all-night movie theater. He could have had his pick of greasy, red velvet seats. He was the only one there. Not surprising. It was 2:00 a.m. and an artsy foreign film flickered on the screen, the subtitles barely legible. At this very moment he should have been getting hot and sweaty with Karen. Instead he’d dropped her off, walked her to the door and driven back into the city.

He didn’t want to go home, because he wanted to go home so badly he could taste it.

Nuts. He was certifiably nuts. He wasn’t sure who he was doing this for. Cat or himself.

* * *

LUKE DIDN’T COME HOME.

He and his gorgeous, petite brunette with boobs out to there and legs up to here had disappeared over an hour ago. Catherine refused to speculate where they were or what they might be doing. Might? Ha! Did every woman he lusted after have to be so petite? So available? So...cute? She clenched her teeth.

Ducking out on his own party was rude as far as she was concerned. The condo was still jam-packed with Luke’s and Nick’s upwardly mobile friends, none of whom seemed to have noticed their host had gone AWOL. Everyone was having a blast.

Catherine’s head throbbed and the muscles around her mouth ached from smiling. She was tired of making nice. In fact, she’d pretended to hurt her ankle so she didn’t have to dance anymore. Which meant she was stuck sitting in Luke’s big black leather chair in the corner with her feet propped up. A captive audience for Ted, Allan, two Bobs and an ethereal blonde named Cheryl.

She let Cheryl entertain the four men while she zoned out, thinking unwillingly about what Luke was up to. Karen had beautiful skin. No freckles on her. Catherine glanced down at her own hands, fisted around a half-filled glass of warm soda. Her skin looked as though she’d been peppered. Ugh. She hated her freckles. Hated them.

One of the Bobs said something, and the others laughed. Catherine had enough presence of mind to smile. One thing she’d learned: there was no point in crying over things that couldn’t be changed. She was in this particular polka-dotty skin, and she had to resign herself to living with it. Disliking how she looked wasn’t going to change reality.

Besides, she thought, working herself up into a real snit, it was Luke’s fault. If he hadn’t always shown up with some creamy-skinned, pocket Venus, Catherine wouldn’t have grown up hating her freckles, her hair and her height.

She wanted Luke to come home and everyone else to disappear.

Eventually, finally, the guests left in dribs and drabs. Now it was after two, and Luke still wasn’t back.

The last to leave, Nick leaned over to kiss her forehead on the way out the front door. “Are you sure I can’t—”

“Go.” Catherine pushed at his wide chest. “Thank you for offering to help with the cleanup. I’ll take care of it next week when I wake up.”

“You did good, Princess. You were the belle of the ball.”

“I’m delighted to hear it.” Catherine didn’t bother to stifle a yawn. “Too bad Prince Absent wasn’t here to see me shine.”

“Oh, he saw enough. Trust me.”

“You’re a sweet man. Delusional, but sweet. Go home, Nick.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, Catherine felt the muscles in her shoulders sag. Overtired, that was all. She was just overtired. Overstimulated. Overloaded.

She imagined Luke in bed with Karen. The salsa and meatballs did a sickening dance in her tummy. She gathered several empty platters from the dining room table on her way to the kitchen for a Maalox.

After changing into plaid flannel pajama bottoms, one of Luke’s T-shirts and her ratty slippers, she shuffled back into the living room and turned off the CD player. Ah. Silence.

She surveyed the messy room, knowing no matter how tired, she wouldn’t be able to sleep. She almost had herself convinced it had nothing to do with Luke’s absence and everything to do with not waking up to this mess.

“You owe me, Van Buren. You owe me big.” She loaded dirty glasses onto a tray and wrinkled her nose. A sickening rush of memories assaulted her. She couldn’t smell beer without remembering that night nine years ago.

It had started harmlessly enough; her friends, fake IDs in hand, had surprised her with a visit to a strip joint for her seventeenth birthday. Catherine didn’t want to remember the rest of it. If she did, she’d be on the next plane back to Beaverton.

One thing was for certain—the next time she managed to get Luke to kiss her she’d make sure she was stone-cold sober. That was then. This was now.

Same objective. Different game plan. She’d chosen this path, and she’d stick to it. No retreating like a spineless crab. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Rah rah rah.

She looked down at her clothing and grimaced. Not exactly seductive. But if she suddenly appeared in a slinky black negligee and garter belt, Luke would run screaming for the hills. No. She had to take this slowly and methodically. She’d put the idea out there. Luke had to run with it.

She just had to have the courage of her convictions and not run when the going got tough.

It took more than an hour to clean up the party mess. Luke still wasn’t home. “Of course he isn’t. What did you expect?” she asked herself, drying the last platter and putting it away while the dishwasher hummed with the final load. “You aren’t the only woman who wants him. Duh, Catherine!”

She had to play her cards close to her chest. This time Luke had to make the first move. She just had to be patient. One of her better traits, and one not shared by Luke.

She checked the living room and narrow balcony one last time for stray glasses. Finding none, she went to turn off the kitchen light before going to bed. The place was now spotless. Luke called her a neat freak. Okay, so she was a little obsessive. He was just the opposite. For a man meticulous in his work, Luke was a slob at home. He’d happily leave the same pair of dirty socks, breeding and multiplying, under the coffee table until they walked to the laundry on their own.