Susan Crosby - Bride Candidate #9

“I wouldn’t smoke in your house. Any other rules I should know of?”

“I don’t know if you would consider it a rule, but, just so that there’s no confusion, you will have a bedroom of your own. And this is a strictly platonic invitation.”

“Naturally.”

She swore she could hear him grinning. He had agreed to the stipulation way too fast.

“Okay, Ariel. I’ll be there. Thanks for the offer.”

“When will you arrive?”

“Wednesday night. I’d like to check everything at the Center ahead of time myself. I’m kinda curious, though, why you’re makin’ rules before they become issues. If you’re afraid of something, why don’t you just tell me now, and we’ll settle it before we see each other.”

“I’m not afraid of anything.”

“Doesn’t sound like it to me, Ariel.”

When they ended the conversation a few minutes later, she wondered the same thing. The answer was easy. She was afraid of him and his very public life. She was also drawn to the vulnerable side of him, the tough guy who she decided didn’t want the world to know how hard it was to leave his celebrity status behind, the identity of “football player,” a role he’d had since he was a boy.

But something stronger had pushed and shoved its way past all that. The acknowledgment that she needed him, too. Needed to feel like a woman, cherished and valued for who she was, not because she was a quintessential volunteer and the ultimate hostess.

She just wanted the fantasy for a little while.

“This is stupid,” Marguerite shouted as she ducked her head against the driving wind and rain bombarding San Francisco. “Just tell her the truth, Luke.”

He returned a quelling look, then climbed the next stair. And the next.

“If she’s any kind of woman, she won’t care about your disability.”

“I don’t want to be coddled. And I’m not disabled permanently. I just decided to put off the surgery until after this weekend. Keep your voice down now. We’re almost to the top. She’ll hear us.”

“Men,” Marguerite muttered, hefting a rain-splattered bag.

“Including me in that tone of voice, sweetheart?” Sam asked, adjusting Luke’s Pullman and suit bag as they ascended the stairs to Ariel’s second-floor apartment.

“For the moment. Talk to him, Sam.”

“It’s like talking to granite, and you know it. He’s—”

“Shh.” Luke came to a stop at the landing. He resisted rubbing his aching knee. “Just set the bags down and scoot on back to the rental car. I’ll take it from he—”

The door opened, spilling light on the three, who probably looked like five-year-olds caught playing doctor, Luke decided.

“Brought your entourage, Lucas?” Ariel asked, opening the door wider. “A big, strong man like you can’t carry his own luggage?”

“Hello to you, too, darlin’.” Lord, she looked good. He brushed past her, letting Sam and Marguerite follow. He got an impression of space and color and warmth as he glanced around her living room.

Ariel tossed a towel at Marguerite, then disappeared into a room and returned with a couple more for the men.

“Take off your jackets. I’ll fix something to warm you up.”

“They’re not staying,” Luke said.

“Don’t be rude.” Ariel gave him a direct look

“I spend fifty to sixty hours a week with Luke as it is,” Marguerite said. “You think I’d willingly subject myself to more?”

Sam chuckled. “Gotta get to the hotel” He passed the towel back to Ariel and placed a hand at Marguerite’s back.

Ariel’s brows lifted. “You have something urgent to do at ten-fifteen at night?”

“After the flight we just had, a hot bath and a stiff drink seem not only urgent, but a matter of life or death,” Marguerite said

“You flew here? I assumed you were so late arriving because the snowstorm in the Sierras made the roads tricky to drive.”

“Blizzard,” Luke corrected her, curious at her sudden pallor “We sat on the tarmac for a couple of hours waiting for a window of opportunity.”

“They should have canceled the flight.”

“Once the tower granted permission, it was my call, since I’m the pilot,” he said, then grabbed her arm when she swayed. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You’re a pilot? You flew yourself here?” she asked, her eyes huge and dark “In a blizzard?”

“It was clear when we took off. Ariel, I’ve been flyin’ for more than ten years. During the off-season I represented Titan all around the country. Flying myself saves a lot of time and hassle getting from place to place, but it’s also my recreation. You have a problem with that?”

She shrugged, the color returning to her cheeks as she pulled free of his hold. “Nope.”

“Good.”

Marguerite snorted.

“Come on, sweetheart. We should get going,” Sam said, tugging on her arm.

“Ariel.” Marguerite called over her shoulder as she was being physically removed from the house, “make sure he doesn’t climb your stairs too many times a day.”

Luke took three long strides to reach the front door He leaned around the jamb. “You’re fired.”

“Fine,” she yelled back. “You’re a pain in the butt to work for, anyway.”

He grinned as he shut the door.

“That’s funny?” Ariel asked.

“She either quits or I fire her once a week.”

“But she doesn’t leave, and you don’t replace her, right?”

“She’s engaged to my cousin. Where should I put my gear?”

Ariel blinked at the quick change of subject. She picked up the suit bag and led the way to the guest room. “What did Marguerite mean about not climbing my stairs?”

“Nothin’ for you to worry about. My knee’s been a little tender, that’s all. I’m tryin’ to rest it. Hadn’t counted on your being up a flight.”

She glanced at his legs, but didn’t see anything unusual. No sign of a knee brace, no excess bulk from being wrapped. His jeans fit him from hips to ankles nicely. Very nicely, indeed.

He filled up the room, Ariel thought as she hung his bag in the closet. An average-size room to start with, it suddenly seemed tiny now, the queen-size bed too small for his frame, the quilt too dainty, the curtains too frilly. It wasn’t that he was so big, actually. Although in comparison to herself, he was. He was just so...so much a man. One who was a little overbearing—well, maybe more than a little. And extremely appealing.

“Are you hungry?” she asked into the quiet that had settled between them. She didn’t want to feel so comfortable with him.

“If you’d share a pot of tea with me, I’d be obliged.”

“I never figured you for a tea drinker, Lucas. Coffee, black. Whiskey, straight. Steak, rare. That’s what I would have expected.”

“You got the rest of it right. Don’t care much for coffee, though. Why don’t I unpack, then I’ll join you.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, Ariel?”

She turned in the doorway.

“This is a real nice place you’ve got here.”

“Thanks. The view was the deciding factor for me. On a clear day, you can see the world from my front window. Well, at least a good portion of San Francisco Bay.”

Ten minutes later, he wandered into her kitchen and leaned against a counter. He’d exchanged his rain-soaked clothes for sweatpants, a T-shirt and socks. “I take it you were worried when I didn’t show on time,” he said.

“A little bit.”

“It does my heart good to hear that, Ariel. Real good.”

She poured a mug for each of them, not meeting his gaze. “I was afraid I’d have to find someone to take over all the jobs I’ve volunteered you to do.”

He chuckled. “Afraid you might spoil me if you ever let a compliment cross your lips?”