Cherry Adair - Slow Burn

It was fascinating to hear his assessment of her. He’d rarely commented on her appearance over the years. She knew his preferences from seeing the women he dated. Petite blondes or brunettes. Not gangly, freckly redheads. So it felt odd to have Luke’s entire attention focused on her. Especially at such close quarters.

“I don’t need you to protect me, Luke. Although I appreciate the offer. The thought of half a dozen guys trying to coerce me into bed is incredibly appealing.” She grinned at him. “I’d like the chance to fight off a few of them myself.” She forced herself not to rub her wrist, where his touch seemed to have burned her skin like a brand.

Luke gave her a quirky look. “Am I going to have to impose a curfew?”

“You could try.” Catherine smiled sweetly. “Although I believe people are capable of having sex at any time of the day or night, aren’t they?”

“They, maybe. You, no. You aren’t the type to fall into bed with a sweet-talking man.”

“I’m not? Then why did you ask me who I was sleeping with after the party?”

He scowled. “I had to ask. Didn’t mean I thought... Cat, you’ve waited twenty-six years to shed your virginity. I know you. You’d have to be madly in love with the guy. That takes time. Years.”

“Years?”

“Hell, yes. Years.” Luke drained his mug and set it carefully on the table. He gave her a serious, now-listen-to-me-kid look. “You want more than animal coupling. More than lust. You want love, respect, understanding. Someone who knows you, who’ll allow you to fulfill your potential as a woman.” He looked so serious she had to smile.

“Can’t I go for a little animal coupling first?”

“Catherine.”

“Maybe you and Nick have the right idea. Maybe I should be like you guys for a while before I settle down.”

“Like...us? You mean be a...player?” His voice rose. “A lifestyle that’s risky, shallow, empty? A nowhere existence, just living for the moment?”

“Sure. Why not? It works for you. I’ll play the field, be a party girl. That’s a great idea, Luke.”

He scowled at the implication that it had been his idea. “You’re a woman.”

“There are women players. You date them.”

“And you’re about as far from a player as—as Bambi is from Caligula.” The light went on. “Aha! You’re just trying to muddy the issue.”

“I just thought while I look, I might enjoy living on the edge. Wild, uninhibited, unrepentant sex. Variety—”

“Over my dead body.”

“Sheesh, that’s a little drastic. I might as well wear a chastity belt.” Thank God he looked so appalled. She had no idea what she would’ve said next. She put up her hand. “Just kidding. Can we change the subject now, please?” Catherine rose from the table and yanked open the oven door. “You mentioned real food?”

“You throw something like indiscriminate sex into the conversation and then want to eat?”

“Sure. We changed the subject. Oh, yum. Eggs Benedict.”

She took the plate from the oven, feeling his gaze on her backside. That bit of conversation had thrown them both. She repressed a smile as she uncovered the plate he’d saved for her.

Catherine was amazed that the things Luke cooked turned out so well. He never measured anything, adding and subtracting ingredients to suit his taste buds, which just showed how different the two of them were.

She stuck religiously to the recipe, lined up the ingredients and utensils in the order they’d be used, and never varied anything by so much as half a grain of salt. If she had a kitchen it would consist of natural woods and a jungle of green plants. With a place for everything, and everything in its place.

The condo kitchen was a gourmet chef’s dream, with brushed-chrome doors, wide black-marble countertops and a ceiling rack laden with gleaming, well-used copper pots. The counters were cluttered with weeks’ worth of newspapers, fancy coffeemakers, a Cuisinart, all sorts of high-tech gadgetry, five pairs of sunglasses and a lonely sock.

In the deep windowsill, Luke had his only concession to plants. The window box Catherine had planted for him when he’d first moved in still flourished. She’d crowded it with various herbs he snipped for cooking. An automatic drip system hooked to the faucet guaranteed the plants’ lives.

“Delish,” Catherine told him, after swallowing. “Oh. I passed Nick in the lobby. He has a present for you.”

Luke set down his coffee mug. “Why?”

“Not what?”

“I know Nick. He’s a sneaky devil. If I know the why, I can guess the what.”

“You won’t guess what this is, I promise.”

“Hmm.” Luke’s glassy focus was in the vicinity of her chest. He must have zoned out, thinking about something, but it still felt as though he were looking. Her nipples peaked to full glory. She casually crossed her arms and leaned forward to brace them against the edge of the table, just in case he wasn’t as zoned out as she feared. “Luke?”

His head shot up. This wasn’t their usual comfortable conversation. It felt a little strained, she thought, but that was her problem. Luke didn’t know she’d heard him last night in the bedroom. Remembering his comments sent a chill skittering through her like dead leaves on frozen ground. Was he trying to find a compassionate way to tell her he wanted her to leave? He’d done it before with devastating effect.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I was thinking about—about the foundations for the house.”

Catherine looked at him blankly. “There’s something wrong with the foundation and you only realized this now?”

“Nope. Nothing wrong. Solid. Firm. Perfect.” He picked up his empty mug and brought it to his mouth.

“I think you’d better start taking vitamins.” She snatched his mug out of his hand and refilled it. “Here. I’m off to grab a shower.” She loaded her plate and cutlery into the dishwasher and avoided Luke’s eyes, miserable coward that she was.

“And then I’m going to pack.” Catherine nudged the door closed with her knee and resolutely turned to face him.

“Pack?” he asked blankly.

“Pack.” She infused as much chirpy good cheer as she could muster into the words. “Let’s face it. This wasn’t one of my better ideas, Luke. I’m going home.” Before I make a fool of myself and you tell me to go.

“Running, Cat?”

“That’s not fair.”

“What about finding a husband?”

“I can do that in Beaverton.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you sold the only home you’ve ever known. Where will you live, little sister?”

Her chest ached. “I’ll buy a condo, big brother.”

“Sounds like a giant hassle to me.” His knuckles whitened around his mug. “Besides, we decided you’d stay here. Why buy another condo when in a few weeks this one will be available? Consider it a favor, Cat. I can stay with you when I work late.”

“I’m sure my husband will be thrilled to have you tromping through our bedroom to use the bathroom,” she said dryly.

“You don’t have a husband.” He gave her a penetrating look. “It’s not like you to make impulsive decisions like this, Cat. What’s going on?”

“It’s my prerogative to change my mind.”

“Not when we have a bet going, it isn’t.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! You and your dumb bets! Who cares?”

His chair screeched across the glossy, black-vinyl floor as he shoved it back. “I care. It’s a matter of honor.”

Catherine rolled her eyes. “Give me a break, Van Buren. I admit I made a monumental mistake coming to you. I don’t fit in here. I don’t blend in with your yuppie friends.” She spread her arms. “Look at me—”