Miss Perky chose that moment to light on the booth, as welcome as a plague of locusts. “Here you go—two burgers, two orders of French fried potatoes, a slab of peach pie, and a glass of milk.” She dazzled them with a grin. “Anything else?”
Steven forced a smile, jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. “Just the check.”
“Sure thing.” She placed the bill on the table and patted it for good measure. “Enjoy!”
Grinding his jaw, he grabbed his burger and bit in hard, singeing Annie with a glare.
She didn’t seem to notice, annoying him to no end. Lips pursed, she carefully cut her burger in half and took a dainty bite while perusing the menu with apparent fascination.
Halfway through his sandwich, he expelled a noisy breath. “Why are we arguing?”
She turned, chin elevated and brows raised. “Because you’re dim-witted and scared?”
He hurled his half-eaten burger on the plate. “Don’t start with me, Annie.”
“All right, Steven, how ’bout I finish with you instead? Just because I’m in love with you doesn’t mean you can bully me around like some . . . some snot-nosed kid fresh off the farm.”
“You are some snot-nosed kid fresh off the farm,” he hissed.
“Fine. Have it your way. There are plenty of guys who see me otherwise.”
A harsh laugh erupted from his throat. “Oh yeah, I’ve seen the kind of jokers you attract. Like that clown tonight with his hands all over you.”
She pushed her burger away, the anger in her tone matching her eyes. “He-was-consoling-me, you dimwit, and at least he’s man enough to take a chance on a girl that he likes.”
Her statement barbed, discharging his temper with another stony smile. “Sure, why not when he knows he can get what he wants?”
Her breath hitched, and he regretted the words the moment they left his mouth, but it was too late. Her face sagged from anger into hurt. Chin trembling, she silently rose, hands shaking while she groped for her purse.
“Annie, look, I’m sorry—”
Taking a step forward, she hauled off and slapped him so fast he never saw it coming, bells clanging in his skull as loudly as those from the door when it slammed hard behind her.
Muttering under his breath, he hurled payment and tip down before striding outside, finally spotting her running a half block away. “Blast it, Annie . . .” He took after her in a sprint, ignoring the stares of the few people who passed him on the way. He was heaving when he finally caught up with her, her heels clicking just a few feet ahead. “Annie—stop! I’m sorry . . .”
“Leave me alone!” she screamed over her shoulder, almost tripping in her effort to flee.
“I can’t do that,” he said. Breathing hard, he grabbed her from behind, and his gut cramped when a cry wrenched from her throat. She twisted and kicked like a wildcat and he pinned her close, restraining her until she finally went limp in his arms. Crickets crooned and cars whooshed by while couples laughed and music drifted, filling the steamy night with the rhythm of the city. But all he could hear was the sound of her weeping as her body shuddered against his, and he closed his eyes, heartsick at hurting her like he had.
Head tucked to hers, he gently stroked her hair, breathing in the clean scent of her shampoo and the pull of perfume that triggered his pulse. “Annie, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m an idiot, and that was a rotten thing to say. Please forgive me.”
Her weeping slowed, and he kneaded her back, jaw clenching at the thought of Eddie doing the same. Shaking the thought off, he pressed a kiss to her hair and pulled back, hands grazing down her arms to hold her at bay. “Can’t we put this behind us and still be friends?”
———
Friends? Annie’s gaze slowly rose to meet his, her eyes raw, but nothing compared to her heart. She stared, bleeding at the concern etched into every muscle of his chiseled face, the intensity in blue eyes that told her he was a man of integrity and passion. Her gaze followed the line of a hard-sculpted jaw that conveyed a quiet strength and iron will, full lips that made her ache for the want of them, and she knew “friends” would never be an option again. She stroked a hand to his face and felt the bristle of beard that now shadowed his skin, and her heart ached at the only choice she had. Shoring up with a deep breath, she released it again in one long, quivering sigh. “I forgive you, Steven, and yes, we can put this behind us . . .” She shook her head and stepped out of his hold. “But if it’s all the same to you, I don’t think I can be your friend right now. My feelings for you are—” her throat shifted—“deep, and I need some time and distance.”
Swallowing hard, he buried his hands in his pockets and she suddenly saw the shy, introspective boy he must have been so long ago. “I understand, Annie, but can I at least walk you home?”
She nodded and he slipped a gentle arm to her shoulders, drawing her close on the few blocks to Aunt Eleanor’s house. Neither spoke, and she was glad. She was tired of crying and there was really nothing more to say. Hand to the small of her back, he guided her through the iron gate to the half-moon brick portico where lush impatiens and ivy spilled from graceful stone urns. A brass sconce overhead cast a pale glow softer than moonlight while the music of tree frogs and crickets welcomed her home.
Fitting the key into the lock, she opened the door, leaving it ajar as she lifted her gaze. “Thank you for rescuing me tonight, Steven—again.” A pitiful smile trembled on her lips. She pulled the handkerchief from her purse and dabbed at her nose, her smile giving way to a weepy grin. “I suppose you’re right—I am a snot-nosed kid fresh off the farm. I’ll get this back to you, I promise.”
“No hurry,” he whispered, grazing her cheek with his thumb. “Good night, Annie.”
“Good night, Steven.” Turning away, she pulled her key from the lock and quietly stepped inside, desperate to shut the door before more tears could slip from her eyes.
“Wait.” It was a whisper, urgent and husky.
Her heart stopped, afraid she’d only imagined it. But when he blocked the door with his hand, her breath heaved still in her throat. “W-what are you d-doing?” she stuttered.
With a heavy exhale of air, he pulled her back through and prodded her to the brick wall, looming so close she almost felt the nerve that pulsed in his jaw. His voice was strained. “The last thing I want to do is get mixed up with a sweet kid like you. I’m no good for you, don’t you get that?” He backed away, stabbing at his hair while he paced and mumbled under his breath, a stream of garbled words she couldn’t decipher. Turning to face her again, he gripped her arms and gave her a shake. “I don’t want this,” he rasped, “don’t you understand that?”
She shrank back with a shaky nod, not really sure what else to do.
“Blast it, Annie, you’ve got me so crazy, I’m about to lose my mind.” He stared at her hard, almost wild-eyed, and then with a mutter, he wrenched her close and kissed her so thoroughly, her knees went to jelly. Breaking away with a groan, he butted her shoulders to the wall with a pained look in his eyes. “See? This is exactly what I mean. You’re this naïve and innocent kid, and I’m so crazy for you that if we ever got together, I wouldn’t be good for you, I swear. I know what I’m like. I’d push and push—”
“Crazy for me?” she whispered, heart thudding while a smile trembled.
He huffed out a loud blast of air, eyes fixed on her lips before rising to capture her gaze, lids heavy with a look that heated both her skin and the goose bumps on it. “Yeah,” he whispered, “and I have no earthly idea what I’m going to do about it.”
She didn’t dare breathe while he studied her intently for several moments, a muscle twittering in his cheek as if a battle waged in his mind.
His chest expanded and released with a slow, weary breath before he cupped her face in his hands. “But, God help me, kid, I think I’m about to find out.”
As soft as the summer breeze feathering her skin, he bent to nuzzle her lips, his touch so tender that it stol
e the breath in her lungs. “I want to start seeing you, Annie,” he whispered, his mouth warm against her ear, “but you have to promise me something.” Her breathing shallowed when he fondled her mouth with his own, so slow and deliberate that she had to stifle a moan. “Promise you’ll be strong, that you’ll stay innocent no matter what I say or do.”
Heart thundering, she tore herself away to lay her head on his chest. She could hear the wild beat of his heart, smell his familiar scent that never failed to trip her pulse, and joy pumped inside at the prospect he might someday belong to her. “I promise,” she said in a quiet tone that belied the frantic clip of her heart. “And not just you, Steven, but God too.”
His heavy sigh tickled her ear, and for the first time all evening, she sensed a peace had settled on his soul. “Good girl.” Pressing a kiss to her head, he reached behind and opened the door, nudging her through with a smile that fluttered her stomach. “Then I guess we’re officially dating now,” he said with an off-center grin, cuffing the back of his neck. He released a quiet breath. “G’night, Annie—I’ll give you a call tomorrow.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turned to go, wheeling halfway on the top step to shoot her a narrow gaze. He slipped a hand from his pocket to level a finger, his tone a playful threat. “Don’t make me regret it.”
She couldn’t help it—she slid him a sassy grin. “The only thing you’re going to regret, Steven O’Connor,” she said, brow arched while she eased the door closed in his face, “is that it took you so long to wise up.”
Okay, it was official—he was an idiot. Luke stripped his T-shirt off and tossed it on top of the hamper, ignoring it when it slid to the floor. He stepped out of his boxers and into the shower, turning the faucet all the way to the right till the water pelted, as hard and cold as he could get—he deserved it. Feeling dirty, he picked up the soap and scrubbed his hands with a vengeance, wishing he could do the same with this guilt that sullied his conscience.
Katie had been right. He should have been working alone, not with some starry-eyed coed who had the skill of flirting down to a fine art. He closed his eyes, letting the icy water freeze his body while her memory frosted his mind.
“Luke, I need your help,” she had said, smiling over her shoulder, tiptoe on a chair. In natural reflex, he’d scanned up mile-long legs, past the curve of her hips to the stretch of her torso as she tugged a heavy box of files off a top shelf.
“Lauren, what are you doing?” he had yelled, dashing to her rescue. But he’d known exactly what she was doing the moment he’d taken the box and helped her down. Fingers trailing from his neck to his arms, she’d slipped them to his waist while her body slid against his.
“Goodness, your body is like rock,” she’d whispered, a sense of awe in her tone, and not even the sleet raining down on him now could chill the warmth of his blood at how that had made him feel. Like a lightning bolt out of nowhere, temptation struck hard, reminding him how long it’d been since he’d made love to his wife, and how long he and Katie had been warring. No, she hadn’t turned him out of her bed for the last several weeks, but she may as well have. Barely talking, cool smiles for Kit’s sake, and then studying late till he was asleep before she’d slip into their bed. And even then, her body was as cold and unwilling as if she hadn’t been there at all. Making it easy—so easy—to feel the heat of Lauren’s hands at his waist, to hear the shallow breathing from parted lips, to see the hope in eyes so blatant with desire.
I am SUCH an idiot . . .
He’d always known women were attracted to him, but he’d prided himself on self-control and a level head. Hadn’t he proven that with Katie before they got married? And, yes, he supposed he’d noticed Lauren’s occasional stares or the playful banter that broke the grueling monotony of long days and nights, but he had almost the same thing with Bobbie Sue and Gladys, so why was this different? He closed his eyes with a silent groan, welcoming the punishment of the icy cold. Because deep down inside he’d had his suspicions, but he’d been too preoccupied with work, too grateful for the help, and too blasted cocky to think anything could trip up the invincible Luke McGee. But this, he was reluctant to admit, this had caught him off guard. Something evil and sinister he’d never seen coming—an invitation in a smile, drawing his lips to hers like a lamb to the slaughter. A blood sacrifice of his marriage vow on the altar of lust.
He swallowed hard, eyelids weighting closed from the burden of guilt. Not guilt over giving in, because he hadn’t. No, his anger had risen up inside so fierce, he’d literally pushed the woman away, toppling both her and a vase of flowers when she bumped into her desk. Carmichael’s friend or no, he fired her on the spot, sending her packing with her baggage and all.
And now he had baggage of his own.
He’d been so convinced Katie was wrong and he was right, seeing Jack as the proverbial speck in her eye while he completely missed the plank in his own. A man so proud, he’d trusted himself more than he trusted his wife, dead sure he was beyond temptation.
Yeah, right . . .
Yes, he’d turned Lauren away, but reality slapped him hard in the face when the “impossible” happened. Moral, upstanding Luke McGee, the man who loved God and adored his wife and family, came face-to-face with the ugliness of lust. And deep in his soul he had to live with the fact that in the single space of a heartbeat, he’d been attracted to a woman who wasn’t his wife. “Your body is like rock,” said the spider to the fly. His mouth went flat. No, that would be my skull. The cold water continued to badger and he washed his hands again, almost feeling the residue of temptation sticky on his palms as needles of ice prickled his skin.
Katie, forgive me . . .
Lauren had fled with the slam of a door, and he’d wandered into his office like a zombie, slumped in his chair with his head in his hands while his pride lay as shattered as the vase on the floor. And then in the innocent jangle of the phone, what was left of his pride had been neatly ground in by a call from his wife.
“I have my orals tonight and Lizzie can’t watch Kit. Can you be home by six?”
Not hello . . . how was your day? . . . or even Luke, I need a favor. And yet, somehow it didn’t matter, because it was the most important call he’d ever had, reminding him just how much he loved his wife. And how much she had a right to be angry. Because at the end of the day, when all the slivers and pieces of his pride were picked up and swept away, the truth was that she was married to an idiot . . . and a pompous one at that.
Turning the water off, he reached for his towel and stepped out of the tub, chilled by both the frigid shower and the prospect of a frigid night when he told his wife the truth. “Correction,” he said, lathering his jaw with Barbasol. “If I tell my wife the truth.” All Katie really needed to know was he was wrong and he was sorry, and not anything more. In his mind he’d already committed an unpardonable sin—a moment of lust—and the last thing he wanted was to hurt the woman he loved. Razor to skin, the blade nicked and he winced, staring at the blood on his cheek. He sighed and hung his head. Because heaven knows I’m bleeding enough for us both.
The clock in the parlor chimed nine as he slipped into his pajama bottoms and spiked fingers through his hair. Wiping down the sink, he tossed his towel over the rack and his clothes in the hamper, peeking in on Kit on his way to the kitchen. Chugging a glass of milk, he heard the front door open and close, and instantly it pooled in his mouth. He set the empty glass in the sink and sucked in a swallow of air, ambling down the hall as if it were a walk in the park.
She was bent over the coffee table with a stack of books in her hands, and his eyes automatically roved from shapely legs to the gentle curve of her hips, imparting a heated awareness of just how much he’d missed his wife. Gulping back the knot of pride in his throat, he folded his arms and slacked a hip to the wall. “You hungry? ’Cause I can fix you a sandwich.”
Emitting a tiny squeak, she whirled around so fast, half the books spilled on the floor. She slapped a hand to her ch
est, voice hoarse. “Good night, McGee, why don’t you just hide behind the door and jump out—you scared the living daylights out of me!”
Tamping down a smile, he strolled in and retrieved her books. “Sorry, Sass, but I do live here you know, as unappealing as that may be at the moment.”
He leaned over to kiss her, but she quickly turned away. “How’s Kit?” she asked over her shoulder on the way to their room. “Did she go to bed without a fuss?”
“Yeah, if you don’t count three glasses of water and six stories a ‘fuss.’ ” He followed her down the hall, eyeing her from the door as she unbuttoned her blouse. “How’d your orals go?”
“Fine.” She glanced up, color staining her cheeks as he watched her take off her blouse. Shifting her hip, she clasped the blouse closed with a tight purse of her lips. “Do you mind?”
No way could he stop the lazy grin that slid over his face. “Not at all, Sass, you go right ahead.”
Blouse bunched, she angled a brow. “Well then, do you mind turning around?”
He crossed his arms and leaned against the door, the slightest bit of edge to his tone. “Actually I do. You’re my wife, Katie Rose, and I can look all I want.”
Emitting a noisy breath, she snatched her nightgown and started for the bathroom.
He blocked her way with palms flat to the door, softening his tone. “Come on, Sass, can’t we talk this out, please? I have something I need to say.”
She parked her hands on her hips, blouse dangling at her side. “Well, unless it’s an apology, McGee, you’ll be talking to yourself.” She paused, tilting her head to the right. “Or as your wife, is listening something else I’m expected to do?”
He exhaled, feeling the heat of his pride creeping up the back of his neck. “It is,” he said quietly, “an apology, that is. Not something you’re expected to do.” His smile was contrite.