Two classic stories of tantalizing seduction—and uncontained desire

SEDUCING MR. RIGHT

Catherine Harris has been head over heels for Luke Van Buren for as long as she can remember. But he’s always regarded her as a kid sister, not a mature woman who knows exactly what she wants. When Cat asks Luke to help her meet—and seduce—Mr. Right, the request stirs up feelings in Luke that are definitely not-so-brotherly. But he’s never been able to say no to Cat, and now he’s finding her more irresistible than ever….

TAKE ME

Jessie Adams knows exactly what she wants. Long nights of incredible sex and a baby to call her own. Then she’s moving on.

A sizzling affair with no strings attached suits business executive Joshua Falcon just fine. He’s used to getting what he wants, both at work and at play—and gorgeous Jessie is too tempting to resist. But the pair share a surprising past. One that’s poised to take their no-obligation arrangement somewhere they never dreamed….

Slow Burn

Cherry Adair

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

SEDUCING MR. RIGHT

TAKE ME

SEDUCING

MR. RIGHT

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

THREE THINGS OCCURRED to Catherine Harris as she jerked out of a dead sleep.

One, she was stark naked in Luke Van Buren’s bed.

Two, he was about to enter his bedroom.

Three, he wasn’t alone. A woman’s throaty laughter mingled with Luke’s deep baritone in the hallway.

Luke wasn’t supposed to be back in San Francisco for a couple more days. Catherine tried not to panic. Suddenly years of planning didn’t seem like nearly enough time.

She leaned up on one elbow, squinted into the darkness and remembered she’d thrown her bra over the clock to block the red LCD light. Catherine flopped back on the pillow, several options, none of them viable, flashed through her sleep-fogged brain. Hiding under the bed while bedsprings bounced was too hideous to contemplate. As was the picture of the fire department rescuing her from the ledge outside Luke’s bedroom window, twenty-two stories above the street.

She heard a soft thud. A shoe? The sound of her own rapid pulse did nothing to block out the next thump. The swish of clothing. An impatient sigh. A hungry kiss pressed to bare flesh. Framed in the open doorway, barely discernable, was Luke’s white shirt, which the woman’s hands were rapidly removing. Catherine saw it flutter to the carpet. Heard a click.

Oh, God. His belt buckle?

“Speak up, Catherine,” she whispered.

There was the distinct rasp of a zipper.

The sound of a juicy kiss.

“Oh, Luke!” The woman giggled. Then there was more rustling, more heated murmurs, breathy sighs. Catherine’s cheeks flamed, blood pounding in her ears. Anticipating the fireworks to come, she felt hysterical laughter bubbling up in her throat.

“Make love to me, Luke. Oh, yes...I adore when you touch me...yes. Mmm. Oh, yes.”

Oh, no. Catherine tried to slither out of the way before the woman flopped onto the bed. Too late.

The weight of two full-grown adults squashed the air out of Catherine’s lungs. Grunting, she tried to wriggle out from under, but couldn’t get any traction on the satin sheets.

The woman rolled to the side, shot to her feet and let out a bloodcurdling scream. With a thump and a curse, Luke landed on the floor beside the bed.

“What in God’s name—”

“There’s someone in your bed!” the woman shrieked.

Catherine heard Luke get to his feet, then fumble for the switch on the bedside lamp.

Showtime.

She sat up, tucked the slithery sheet under her armpits and tried her best to appear nonchalant. Chances were she looked like the wild woman of Borneo. She hadn’t braided her hair before she’d gone to bed; it frothed about her bare shoulders, tickling the tops of her breasts. The bedside light snapped on just as she blew a particularly stubborn hank out of her eyes. As she squinted in the brightness, her gaze clashed with a pair of narrowed gray-green eyes boring a hole into the middle of her forehead.

“Catherine.” Luke zipped his pants, then raked his fingers through his disheveled dark hair. His broad, hairy chest expanded with the ragged, frustrated breath he dragged into his lungs.

Reluctantly she tore her gaze from his splendidly naked chest and waited for the dragon to roar. He appeared twice as tall as six foot three, and three times as irritated as he’d been when she’d backed his new sports car into the mailbox years ago.

“I might have known.” He plucked her bra off the clock. “Yours?” The black sports bra hung like a limp piece of licorice in his large, well-shaped hand.

Catherine leaned forward just enough to take the bra without losing her grip on the safely tucked sheet. “Thanks.” The brush of his fingers sent an electrical charge up her arm. She cleared her throat, then decided to live dangerously and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Does this mean I have to get dressed now, honey?”

Catherine gave his friend a wide smile, which the woman didn’t reciprocate. Drop-dead gorgeous in a little black number hardly wider than a belt, she had long legs and an ample bosom, displayed to advantage in the skimpy dress. Expensive, high-maintenance, honey-colored hair cascaded seductively over one shoulder. Catherine sighed. Another pocket Venus. Without a sense of humor. Figured.

Into the tension-laced atmosphere, Catherine asked brightly, “Is it your birthday?”

“What is she talking about?” the blonde demanded, hand splayed across her chest to hold up her dress. Keeping her eyes firmly fixed on Catherine, she turned her back so Luke could zip her. The twin lines between her plucked-to-a-fare-thee-well eyebrows would become permanent in short order if she persisted in scowling like that. The woman had the kind of looks that would go rapidly downhill the moment gravity took over, and a slight overbite that made her, in Catherine’s opinion, look a little like a hamster she’d once owned. She also had the same mean-eyed look Scamper used to give just before he gnawed her finger.

Narrow-eyed, Luke scrutinized her. “What are you up to?”

Catherine opened her eyes so wide her lashes tickled her eyebrows. “Didn’t you bring her home to play, Luke, sweetums?”

“Catherine...” he warned.

She gave him an apologetic little smile, filled with as much sincerity as she could muster, and spoke normally. “I thought you were out of town. Honestly, I wouldn’t have—”

“Who the hell is she?” the woman demanded, slipping her dainty feet back into high-heeled mules, her mouth unattractively pouty.

Luke strode to the highboy against the far wall, then glanced over his shoulder. “Cat Harris. Elizabeth Wyrech.” He jerked open a drawer, yanked out a sage-green cotton sweater and pulled it over his head. It did wonderful things to his eyes.

“Hi.” Catherine didn’t offer her hand, for the sheet was in danger of slithering into her lap. “Look, you don’t have to run off. Does she, Luke? I mean—”

“Cut it out, Catherine,” Luke said, clearly not amused. “Explain to Elizabeth who you are, then shut up.”

Catherine stared at him. “Everything? Are you sure? Doesn’t she know you get bored with just one lady in your be—”

“A ménage à trois? This is really sick, Luke.” Elizabeth scooped up her purse and held it in front of her like a shield. “I’m calling a cab.”

“She’s my sister, for God’s sake!”

“Oh, really?” No matter how beautiful, the woman had a nasty mind and an ugly sneer. Catherine narrowed her eyes at her. Elizabeth narrowed hers back.

“You have different last names.”

“Different mothers,” Luke said.

“Different fathers,” Catherine said at the same time.

“She’s my stepsister!” Luke strode across the room and wrapped his strong fingers around Catherine’s clenched jaw. “Siblings. Right, Cat?” His hand moved her head up and down to acknowledge the statement.

“Right.” Catherine gave Elizabeth the Wretch a tight smile and pretended that arrow hadn’t pierced her heart. “His sister.”

“That’s even sicker,” Elizabeth said coldly before storming out of the bedroom.

Catherine gripped the sheet tighter, a hard knot in her throat. She couldn’t drag her eyes away from Luke, and her face flamed hotly enough for her to damn her pale skin. His sister.

From six years old she’d dreamed, wished, prayed he’d accept her as family. When she’d been older that wish had come true. But by then sister was no longer the relationship she craved.

Usually pragmatic and sensible, Catherine had made a gigantic leap of faith in coming to Luke. This was not an auspicious start to her plan.

“I’ll take Liz home and be back in twenty minutes.”

“I’ll be here.” If she didn’t take a cowardly leap from the balcony first.

He turned when he got to the door and glanced back. “Don’t go to sleep. We’re going to talk. Tonight.”

Did they have to? She checked his eyes. Absolutely.

“Be dressed when I get back.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Catherine saluted. The satin sheet glided like water over her naked skin, baring one breast.

She froze and stared at Luke.

White-knuckled, he gripped the doorknob.

A beat later he slammed the bedroom door behind him.

* * *

I’M IN DEEP, deep trouble here, Luke thought on his circuitous, I-need-more-time-to-think-about-this drive home an hour later. How in heaven’s name was he ever going to be able to forget the sight of Cat’s bare b— His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Oh, man...

His dad had married Cat’s mother nineteen years ago. So there wasn’t a drop of familial blood between them. Thank God. But Luke could never forget what a mean, nasty jerk he’d been to Catherine for years. It had taken even more years before he’d been forced to realize just what his cruelty was costing her, and he’d sworn to himself he would always love and protect her to make up for the years he’d done just the opposite.

The way he now felt didn’t negate the promises he’d made.

He’d sworn to his dad, just before he’d died, that he would take care of Catherine. More important, he’d made Cat a promise to be her big brother. He’d assured her he would always be there for her. To protect her, to keep her safe, to have him to depend on, for anything and everything. Luke considered these promises sacrosanct, unshakable and nonnegotiable.

Too bad his libido wasn’t as ethical as his brain. He reluctantly turned his decrepit Jaguar into the basement parking lot beneath his building. Just because his feelings had changed dramatically was no reason to disillusion her. He had to remember that to Cat he was no more than her big brother. Her safe, dependable big brother. End of story.

* * *

HER FACE STILL hot, Catherine speedily dressed the second the front door closed behind Luke and what’s-her-name. Her goal had seemed so simple and straightforward back home in Beaverton. Get Luke to see her as a desirable woman and act on it. Of course, she hadn’t planned on him seeing her naked in his bed. At least not yet!

Catherine padded into the living room and flung herself into the squishy black leather chair she’d bought Luke with every penny of her savings when he and their friend Nick had gone off to New York to become architects. The chair smelled like Luke. She snuggled her cheek against the skin-smooth leather and closed her eyes. She’d thought of little else but him for years. She could do this. She would do this.

Perhaps it wasn’t so bad, after all, that Luke had had a sneak preview....

* * *

WEARING JEANS AND one of his old Pratt Institute sweatshirts, Cat’s five-foot-ten frame was curled up in the big black leather armchair in the corner of the living room when Luke returned.

Thank God she’s dressed, he thought, and thank God she’s tamed that hair. Catherine Anne Harris had the reddest, wildest, most touchable hair he’d ever seen. It had a life of its own.

Seeing her naked in his bed with that electrified mane, like living flame gone berserk, had almost given him a coronary. He wasn’t quite so tempted to bury his hands in it when she had it scraped back in her usual French braid. And if he concentrated very hard for the next three or four hundred years, he might forget how the light had sculpted, in shadows and highlights, the satin sheets on Cat’s naked body. And the sight of one plump, perfect, pale freckled breast. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and sauntered into the living room.

“Hi.” Cat sat up and rubbed sleepy hazel eyes, her cheeks flushed under a generous sprinkling of cinnamon-colored freckles. She pulled her bare feet up and wrapped her arms around her knees. Even her slender toes had cinnamon dots.

There was a short, strained silence. “She seems like a nice woman,” Cat commented, offering a hopeful smile. Luke was caught by the humor in her eyes and the lushness of her wide, soft mouth.

He shook his head. “Not particularly.” He sat on the edge of the coffee table facing her. Thank God she had no inkling how much it cost him to sit this close and not jump her bones.

Cat frowned. “I don’t get it. If you don’t like her, what were you doing sleeping with her?”

“A, I hadn’t slept with her. Yet. B, I like Elizabeth just fine. C, don’t change the subject. Not that you aren’t welcome, Catwoman, but what are you doing here?” he asked mildly.

“I thought you’d gone to New York this week.” She rested her chin on her bent knees. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her you have a warped sense of the ridiculous, but that basically you’re harmless.” About as harmless as dropping a centerfold into a maximum-security prison block.

“I was embarrassed. It was awkward for all of us. I guess I made it worse by trying to joke about it. I’m sorry to have put you in an uncomfortable position, Luke. Really. If you want me to call her—”

“There’s no need, Cat. Don’t worry about it.” Elizabeth had the sensitivity of a newt. Anyone else would have seen Catherine’s embarrassment. “I came home from New York early.”

She wasn’t wearing a bra. He could see her full breasts move gently as she shifted. He frowned. “Don’t distract me, answer the question. What are you doing here?”

Cat yawned, then rubbed the tip of her nose with her palm. “I was in a rut in Oregon. I needed a change, so here I am.”

“You aren’t going to stop day trading, are you?” Luke asked, horrified. Self-taught, Cat had become a market wizard. She enjoyed the challenge of figuring out which stocks were about to go up, and buying and selling them on the same day to immediately profit on the stock’s rise in value. This enabled Cat to multiply her money many times over the course of a day. Plus she’d been able to do it from home, on her own computer, while she took care of his dad. With her canny knowledge of the stock market, and uncanny intuition, she’d made a bundle of money trading stocks for Luke over the years. If it wasn’t for her, he and Nick would never have been able to afford to open their own architectural business so soon. The business was doing well enough to afford them the luxury of owning their own building.

The woman had a mind like a steel trap and the Midas touch. There were several of his dad’s old cronies whose money she’d parlayed into small fortunes, just for the fun of it.

“Don’t worry. I brought my computer. Your future fortune is still safe in my hands.”

“Thank God. You can set up camp at Van Buren and Stratton if you like. There’s a spare office on the second floor you can use.” The thought of being with Catherine Harris 24/7 terrified him. He wondered where he could find large amounts of saltpeter.

“You don’t have to sound so unenthusiastic,” Cat laughed. “No, thank you, it would never work. We all know each other too well. You’re too much of a slob, and Nick and I would goof around and I’d never get any work done. If you don’t mind, I’ll work from here for a while.”

“Sure.” Cat would be here every night when he got home. A curse and a blessing.

“Did I mess up a beautiful relationship?” she asked suddenly.

Luke easily followed the non sequitur. Cat was nothing if not tenacious. “Probably not.”

“Will you see her again?”

“More than likely.”

“She could have given the situation the benefit of the doubt, you know.” Cat nibbled her bottom lip. He wished to hell she wouldn’t do that. “A little sense of humor would have gone a long way.” She sighed gustily. “Okay, it was stupid, and I’m really, really sorry.”

Ah, Cat’s innate sense of honor and fair play. “No harm done. Don’t worry about it.”

“Do you mind if I stay here until I find a place of my own?”

Don’t offer, he thought. Do not, the hell, offer. “No, not at all. I wouldn’t have given you a key if I minded your comings and goings.” He paused, then scowled, alarmed that his eyes kept dropping to her chest. “I told you when I came home for the funeral that you’d be welcome anytime. Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t happy there?”

Cat sighed. “Luke. How old am I?”

“You’re...twenty-three?”

“Try twenty-six, I’ve always been seven years younger than you. How come you never remember?” She shifted back in his chair, clearly uncomfortable under his close scrutiny. She’d always been a prickly little thing. “Life was passing me by. I want to stretch my wings a bit.”

“I know, honey.” He reached out and covered her hand. Cat had nursed his father for the five years preceding his death eight months ago. Luke had frequently envied Cat and his father’s close relationship. Now Luke was all Cat had left. Her flaky mother didn’t count.

She flushed and withdrew her hand. “I didn’t sacrifice anything. We were father and daughter by choice, not chance, and I loved him. Don’t go all big brother on me. It took longer than I thought to get his affairs tied up. I contacted a real estate agent and put the house on the market—” She put up a hand to forestall his usual rhetoric about the estate. “No, Luke, I’m not keeping the house. Besides, my moth—Faith is between husbands at the moment, and she’s been broadly hinting she might like to come ‘home to rest’ for a little while.”

“She’s run out of money.” It wasn’t a question. If Faith was between husbands or lovers, it was a given.

Cat’s smile broke his heart. “That, too.”

He’d like to wring Faith’s beautiful neck. “You should buy a nice condo with the money Dad left you.”

Those expressive tiger eyes of hers darkened. Ah, hell.

“It’s invested. If you don’t want me here,” she said stiffly, slender shoulders hunched, “just say so. I’ll go and stay with Nick.”

Nick. Their mutual friend, partner, fellow architect and ladies’ man? No way. “Does Nick know about this?”

“Not yet.”

At least she’d come to Luke first.

He and Nick had been next-door neighbors, and best friends, when Luke still had a matched set of parents. After the divorce, and his father’s remarriage, Nick and Cat had become friends. Luke wasn’t jealous of their close relationship anymore, but he was inordinately pleased she’d chosen to come to him instead of going to Nick.

“Hey! Mi casa es su casa. Finding an apartment in San Francisco is almost impossible. I was planning to keep the condo for the nights I work late. You might as well live here. In a few months the house should be finished, and I’ll be moving out of the city, anyway. Until then we can figure out who gets the bed and who gets the sofa.”

Her eyes clouded briefly. “Sure?”

He knew this particular insecurity well, and said casually, “Positive. But on one condition. This time unpack and spread out. Last time you came you kept your stuff in your suitcase stuck in the closet for two weeks. If you’re going to live here, live here. Okay?”

“Okay. Thanks.” Her shoulders relaxed. “The house is that close to being finished, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s coming along great. You can come and help me tomorrow, if you like.” He noticed her sleepy eyes and smiled. “Since you had the bed last, why don’t you finish the night there? I’ll take the sofa. We can work out our sleeping arrangements tomorrow.”

“I’m not sleepy. How about hot chocolate?”

“I don’t have any.”

“Yes, you do. I bought groceries on my way here.” She unfurled her long, long legs and stood. Luke rose at the same time, and they came nose-to-nose, inches apart.

He’d forgotten how tall she was. Her mouth was almost on a level with his.

If he bent his knees...

If Cat stood on her toes...

If she had been any other desirable woman, he would have slipped his arms about her slender waist, drawn her against his chest and kissed that soft succulent mouth until they were both gasping for air. He quickly shook off the thought.

He trailed her into his chrome-and-black-glass kitchen, observing the way her hips moved as she padded on bare feet. She had a loose-jointed walk that made Playboy centerfolds look like windup toys.

Luke settled at the small table under the window as Cat heated milk and made their drinks. She knew where everything was because she’d put it there when he’d moved in two years ago.

“Thanks.” Luke took the brimming mug she offered. Chocolate-scented steam tantalized his taste buds. He waited until she slid into the other chair before he spoke. “You were stifled in that house with Dad all those years, Cat. I understand you wanting to try something new and exciting. And San Francisco certainly is that. But don’t you think it might be a culture shock?”

She’d taken a tentative sip and already wore a chocolate milk mustache. She watched him over the rim of her mug. Transfixed, he watched her pink tongue come out and lick the creamy film off her upper lip. He was going to drop dead from a heart attack at age thirty-three.

Her eyes flickered away, then back again.

“Okay, Cat. What are you up to?”

“Me?” She was all wide-eyed innocence. “Nothing.”

“The first time you gave me that look was when you said you weren’t running away to join the circus, remember? We found you in the park two blocks away, panhandling for bus fare.”

Cat grinned. “I promise, I don’t want to join the circus.”

The chocolate must have burned the hell out of her throat, but she chugged it down, then cradled the empty mug. She had pretty hands. Slender, no-nonsense, with short, unpolished nails. He wanted them on him.

Luke’s heart took up an unexpected arrhythmic beat as he watched her. Despite her mother’s influence, Cat had always been a sensible woman. Somehow she’d remained refreshingly innocent. She was what was known as a “good girl.” More than likely the last of a dying breed. In spite of her lush, curvy body, she was wholesome. Natural.

Cat gave him a level, serious look. “I came because you’re the only man I trust, Luke. I have a problem.”

He felt sick. “Do you want him to marry you, or do you want me to punch him out?”

Cat looked at him blankly. “Marry? Punch? Who?”

“Cat, for God’s sake! The man who got you pregnant!”

She stared at him as though he’d lost his mind. “I’m a virgin, Luke.”

“Well, hell, what does that have to do with anyth—What?”

“Virgin? Unmarried woman? Untouched? Pure?”

“Jesus.” His breath gusted out, and it took several moments to get his heartbeat back to comfortable. He scraped his fingers through his hair, feeling ridiculously as if he’d stood perilously close to the edge of an abyss and survived. “Sorry, I tend to get a little carried away,” he admitted gruffly.

“I’ve noticed.” Cat’s voice was dry. Her mouth wore a small, tentative smile, but her eyes still looked as if she were about to tell him something he didn’t want to hear. He’d anticipated the worst and rallied. Relaxing, he leaned back in his chair.

“What do you need help with? Want to come and work out of our office? No problem, I told you we’ll find a spot for you—”

She watched him with big, serious eyes. “I don’t want you to find me office space, Luke. I want you to find me a husband.”

CHAPTER TWO

“WELL, SAY SOMETHING.” Catherine tried not to let her nerves show as he sat there gaping.

Even while she’d agonized over doing this, she’d hoped she’d have to go no further than to ask Luke for his help. It would have made life a whole bunch easier if he’d just cut to the chase and declared his undying love for her at the onset.

The Plan hadn’t gotten much beyond that. She wanted more, but with Luke’s attitude toward permanence, she was realistic enough to know she wasn’t going to get it.

Her biggest leap of faith had been to burn her bridges, and take the chance that he wouldn’t reject her outright. Again.

Ten years was a long time, she kept reminding herself. They’d both grown up since. She wasn’t that naive, impulsive kid anymore. She knew Luke better now. For her plan to work, this seduction was going to have to be his idea. Unfortunately, he was still staring at her, slack-jawed.

“Well?” she said with a shaky breath. “Say something.”

“I’m speechless.”

“Could you hurry up and get over it?” Catherine pulled a yellow scratch pad and a pen out of the canvas bag she’d slung over the finial of her chair earlier. She concentrated on writing “Prospective Husbands” at the top of the page in neat block letters, more to give Luke time to assimilate what she’d said than the need to make a list. She glanced up. His eyes were squinty.

“What?” she asked innocently.

“What do you mean, you want me to find you a husband? You have a phobic aversion to marriage!”

“No. That’s you.” Keep it casual, Catherine. “I have a phobic aversion to my mother’s marriages. What if poor marital judgment is hereditary? My apple might have fallen closer to my mother’s tree than I’d like. I just don’t trust my own judgment.”

“And you’d trust mine? I don’t believe in marriage, remember?”

How could she forget? “You’ll meet someone someday.”

“No,” he said unequivocally. “I won’t. And frankly, Cat, considering we’ve both seen your mother in action, I’m surprised that you’d want to make the same mistakes.”

“With your help, I won’t.”

“I don’t get it. Why?”

“Because I need someone to take care of, Luke. After Dad died I realized I liked taking care of someone. I love being a homemaker. I know it’s politically incorrect not to want a career, but I don’t. I enjoy trading stocks on the market, and as long as I have my computer and a phone line, I can do that anywhere. But if I had to stop that tomorrow, I wouldn’t care. I guess I’m a throwback, what can I say? I want a husband to love, and to be loved by. Eventually kids. I want a couple of dogs, and a house with a big yard. Is that too much to ask—where are you going?”

“To make more hot chocolate.”

“There’s still some. Here.” She handed him her mug and waited while he poured hot chocolate haphazardly from the pan. Catherine observed the motion of muscles flexing beneath his green sweater. She drew in a deep breath, then held it until her stomach behaved itself. Luke had never made any bones about his intention to remain a bachelor. She remembered him telling her just that, right after his own mother remarried for the third time. Luke didn’t believe in promises any more than Catherine did. The difference was she was willing to take the chance. Luke wasn’t.

He yanked open a cabinet and grabbed a bottle of something hideously expensive, using more force than necessary. She perked up. Wrenching the cap off, he sloshed liquor into his mug, then slammed the bottle onto the black granite countertop. Even better.

“Are we celebrating?” she asked as he placed both mugs on the table. She plucked napkins out of the holder to mop up the chocolate milk he’d sloshed onto the tabletop.

“What do you think, Catherine?” He strode back to retrieve the liquor bottle, which he slam-dunked onto the table between them. Then, scowling, he threw himself into his chair and raked his fingers through his hair until it stood up like a shark fin.

“Well, I think a celebration is a little premature right now...but sure.” She reached out to take the bottle. Luke removed it gently from her grasp. Which was fine with her. If it tasted anything like it smelled, she’d gag. Come on, Luke, she silently urged, let’s hear it.

“Are you out of your mind, Cat?” A vein throbbed in his temple. His eyes had turned a smoky green. “If you have this burning need to take care of something, get a poodle.”

“Not quite the same thing, Luke.”

Even with that look of total exasperation on his face he was the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on. Too sexy for plain Catherine Harris. But she wanted him anyway. Her and about a billion other women. Luke Van Buren was Mr. Confirmed Bachelor Playboy himself. He’d never had to look for female companionship. Anything female would spot him from a hundred feet away and be charmed. He loved women. He treated his girlfriends with care and consideration, and adored them.

As long as he was with them.

Lucas Van Buren epitomized the expression “out of sight, out of mind.” Over the years she’d witnessed the ebb and flow of Luke’s lady friends. None of the relationships lasted very long. Which didn’t bode well for her own future. But if she didn’t try, how would she ever know?

Luke was a freewheeling playboy. She valued security and stability above all else. He was a daredevil who considered variety the spice of life. She wanted marriage. He wanted affairs.

She wanted him. He didn’t want her.

When she’d first decided to come to San Francisco she’d considered asking Luke to find her a lover, not a husband. Since he wasn’t husband material, that would have been closer to the truth. But she’d immediately dismissed that idea. Luke would have choked out a resounding and unequivocal “N.O.”

“Did being stuck in that house with just Dad for company turn your gray matter into oatmeal?”

“Not that I know of. Look, this is quite simple, Luke. You must know a gazillion single guys. Lots of cultures have marriage brokers. Which, if you think about it, makes perfect sense. Look at the divorce rate when people find mates by random selection. It’s up to sixty percent. Our mothers probably had a lot to do with that figure rising.”

He splashed more amber liquid into his mug. His knuckles glowed white where he gripped the bottle. He hadn’t said a word in minutes.

“You’re intelligent. You know me, you care about me. You’ll make a perfect marriage broker. Pick a few friends you think would make good husband material and I’ll do the rest.”

Catherine grabbed the pen, ignored the thud of her heartbeat right under her breastbone, and gave him a perky smile. She set the tip of the pen in the left margin and wrote a large number one. “Any interesting prospects in your address book under A?”

* * *

HE’D DONE SOMETHING really bad in another life and God was punishing him, Luke thought as he silently opened the bedroom door several sleepless hours later. To get to the bathroom and a cold shower, he had to traverse the bedroom where Cat slept. He’d spent a miserable night on the sofa thinking about her—and her harebrained scheme.

The world was her oyster. She should be enjoying the bliss of singlehood. Besides, how could a woman whose mother had been married, at last count, eight times even consider marriage?

Variety was the spice of life. Why would anyone put all their emotional eggs in one basket? How could one person be everything to another person? It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t smart. And Cat was usually so sensible, so predictable, so...sane.

Last night she’d been too tired to listen to reason. He’d talk some sense into her today, he decided, as he sneaked into his own sun-washed bedroom on Sunday morning, averting his gaze from the bed—for half a heartbeat.

Sleeping the sleep of the innocent and still wearing his sweatshirt, Cat sprawled diagonally across his California King mattress, sunlight streaming across her smooth bare legs. His fingers itched to slide up the satiny expanse. He wanted to follow his hands with his mouth and taste those freckles.

He sped into the bathroom, closed the door and wilted against it in his relief to have made it this far unscathed.

An icy shower went a long way to making him feel halfway human. When he opened the bathroom door again the first thing he saw was Cat’s smiling face. His heart did a ridiculous and wholly inappropriate double axel as she sat up in bed, his bed, to smile at him.

“Good morning.” She yawned, stretching like a cat.

“Get your lazy butt out of bed, woman,” he told her sternly, digging through the chaos of his drawers for clean underwear while he held on to the towel around his waist with the other hand. “We have things to do and places to go.” He’d have to knuckle down and do laundry soon. He looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you awake in there?”

Cat shook her head as if to clear it, then scrambled over the edge of the bed. “You betcha, Bubba. Give me ten minutes and I’m all yours.” She shuffled into the bathroom. The door snicked behind her. He dropped the towel, dragged on underwear over damp skin and waited for the click of the lock.

He waited in vain.

The shower turned on.

He struggled to zip his jeans.

The bedroom smelled like Cat. Soft. Flowery. Permanent. He searched the upper shelves for a sweatshirt. Finding one he’d stuffed in there months ago, he held it up. Not too wrinkled. So he put it on.

“Hey, Luke?” she shouted over the noise of pounding water.

He closed his eyes. “What?”

“Did you come up with some names for me?” The shower turned off. “Hey. What happened to the towe—never mind, found them.”

People showered naked every day of the week. He wished to hell Cat wasn’t one of them. “We’ll talk about it.”

“What? I can’t hear... That’s better.” A billow of Cat-scented steam preceded her as she opened the door. “Well, did you?”

“I said...” He clenched his teeth, bending down to tie the laces on his boots. They were on the wrong feet. He removed, then switched them, before tackling the laces. “...we’ll talk about it.”

She came out of the bathroom wearing one towel around her body, another wrapped turban style about her head. Her face was scrubbed shiny, her skin like fresh cream sprinkled with cinnamon. Her legs went on forever. In his fantasies he joined the dots.

If she was any other woman... But she was Cat. He’d bite off his own foot before he’d hurt her. This was not a woman a man played with. Cat was a keeper.

There wasn’t a drop of blood in common between them. Their relationship was a state of mind. One he’d better keep remembering. She thought of him as her brother, he reminded himself grimly. Therefore Cat was off-limits. A no-no. Absolutely forbidden fruit.

“I hope it’ll be soon, Luke.” She pulled the towel from her head. “I’m not getting any younger, you know.”

“Who is?” He’d tied the laces too tight, but he walked to the door anyway. When he turned back he managed to look just at her hair. Wet and wild, it tangled around her face and bare shoulders, and lovingly clung, like wet flames, to the upper swell of her—

“Hurry up and dress, will you? It’s past ten and my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”

He closed the door gently behind him, feeling as though he’d just escaped something too terrifying to contemplate.

* * *

“OH, MY GOD, Luke, don’t take the corners so fast!” Catherine screamed as the Hideous Harley did a faster-than-a-speeding-bullet skim around another corner. Clinging to his waist, she gripped his belt buckle with both hands. The seat felt obscenely wide between her thighs.

“Lean, Cat. Lean.”

She leaned, sure her helmet must have brushed the gray asphalt as they cornered at an impossible angle.

Luke hadn’t given her time to dry her hair. The moment she’d dressed in jeans and another of his oversize sweatshirts, he’d hustled her down to the parking garage, ignored his well-preserved 1977 Jag, climbed onto his enormous black demon motorcycle, handed her the spare helmet, revved the engine and instructed her to hold on.

If she’d been holding him any tighter, she would have been in front. The speed scared her speechless, no easy feat. Nevertheless, she’d better learn to love the wind tugging her hair from the helmet, biting into her face and making her nose and eyes run. Luke loved his bike.

His house was an hour south of San Francisco, down narrow, windy, stomach-churning coastal roads. Catherine squeezed her eyes shut and buried her icy nose against his leather-clad back, remembering the first time he’d taken her up behind him. She’d been ten. He was seventeen.

He’d only taken her because Dad had insisted she get the first ride on his new bike. She’d been terrified. Luke had been furious at her for being such a baby and had screamed blue murder at her for three blocks. The wind had caused her eyes to tear. And Luke and Dad had had a huge, yelling, door-slamming fight when they got back.

“Loosen up a bit, Catwoman. I can’t breathe.”

Since Catherine hadn’t drawn a proper breath in more than an hour, she ignored his request. He felt warm and solid in her arms. “Are we there yet?” she whined like a five-year-old.

She felt Luke’s laugh vibrate through her body like dark, sinfully rich chocolate. Oh, yes. She’d made the right decision coming to San Francisco. Yes, indeedy.

* * *

“STOP HERE FOR a sec,” Catherine demanded an hour later as the bike turned from the tarred road parallel to the ocean onto the as-yet-unpaved gravel of Luke’s new driveway. The fog had burned off, leaving sparkling spring sunshine glinting off the Pacific in the distance. Catherine inhaled the fresh briny air deep into her lungs as she let go of him and flung her leg over the bike the moment he brought it to a stop.

She stood, took off her helmet, then shaded her eyes with one hand against the sun, waiting for her heart to take up its normal rhythm after being glued to Luke for miles.

While the soft whoosh of the ocean sounded behind her, she forced herself to check out his house, as opposed to analyzing which body part felt what from the close encounter of the third kind with Luke’s body.

Constructed of weathered redwood, tucked into the surrounding trees on a bluff overlooking a sliver of beach and the vastness of the ocean, the single-story house already had a look of permanence. Wonderfully gnarled, windblown cypress trees dotted the front yard.

“It’s going to be magnificent, Luke.”

Unaccountably, she felt the sting of tears, and rubbed the end of her nose with her palm. The house had been a goal of his for as long as she could remember. From the second he’d decided he wanted to be an architect, Luke had vowed to build his house from the ground up with his own two hands. A strangely permanent idea for a temporary kind of guy. Catherine wondered if Luke realized how at odds owning a house was with his playboy lifestyle.

While Luke loved the intricate curlicues and elaborate bits and pieces of Victorian houses, he’d explained to her once that he needed the clean, uncluttered lines of more modern architecture to cleanse his palate when he came home.

She noticed the enormous bay window in the living room. A window she’d suggested one rainy winter’s night as they’d pored over the first version of his blueprints years ago. She doubted if he suspected how many of her own dreams had been woven into his house plans.

Gravel crunched under his workboots as Luke came up behind her and rested his hands lightly on her shoulders. They stood silently for several moments looking up the slight incline to the house. Catherine was excruciatingly conscious of him behind her. She felt each finger on her shoulders, the warmth of his tall body shielding her back from the hair-ruffling breeze. The air smelled of salt spray and fresh lumber. But most of all it smelled of sun-warmed Luke in leather.

His proximity had already caused her stomach to coil into knots. After an hour of straddling his rangy body she needed to put some distance between them. She stepped out of reach and smiled over her shoulder. “Let’s walk the rest of the way so we can get the full ambiance.”

Luke grimaced and Catherine grinned. If Luke could ride instead of walk, sit instead of stand or call instead of write, he was a happy man.

“Exercise is good for you. It can’t be more than half a mile.”

“These are workboots,” he told her, “not walking boots. I have to save my energy for bossing you and Nick around.”

She shrugged. “Fine. I’ll walk. You ride. You should be an interesting-looking specimen once you hit forty. Flabby. Weak. Pasty. Probably sickly. That’s okay,” she said cheerfully, “you won’t be the first man to wear a waist cincher.”

Luke sighed, then knocked back the kickstand with his toe and rolled the bike beside her. “I go to the gym four times a week.”

Catherine laughed. “You go there to pick up women.” Luke’s indolence had been a family joke. Yet there’d been nothing soft about the stomach muscles she’d felt when she’d clung to him on the bike, or the hard, tight muscles in his behind pressed between her thighs. There wasn’t a flabby muscle on Luke’s six-three frame.

“I pay the dues. I can do whatever I want.”

He probably bench-pressed two blond gym bunnies. He might give the impression of being lazy, but Luke was no slouch in the flirtation department. Catherine had seen him in action. How many women, despite knowing Luke’s views on marriage, wanted him anyway? But she wasn’t going to dwell on that today. She was the woman he was with on this beautiful spring day. And she was going to enjoy every moment of it.

On either side of the slightly rolling topography, weeds, shrubs and vines tangled with thick trunks of oak, pine and cypress. There wasn’t another house for half a mile. The only sounds were ocean breezes and insects in the long grasses.

“Nick’s late,” Luke commented as he detoured to angle the monster bike through a patch of sand, parking it against a prefab shed off to one side of the half-finished front porch.

“You work the poor guy like a slave. We barely got here ourselves.”

“He’s cheap, but he’s good.” Luke squinted in the wind that ruffled his dark hair. He sent her a grin. “And he’s bringing lunch. Now, if I could just get him to give up some of his active social life, I might have this house finished next month as planned.”

“It’s a long commute,” she said casually. A month? My God, there was no way she could pull this off in a month. Could she?

“Well, the office won’t be practically across the street as it is now, but an hour’s commute these days is nothing. Come on, I want to show off everything before Nick gets here.”

Catherine followed Luke slowly as he walked up the wide, shallow redwood steps onto a deep porch. He bounced lightly, testing each tread. His fingers lingered as he trailed them up the simple banister beside the front steps. He took pride in his craftsmanship and it showed. Luke had a hedonistic pleasure in textures. He always had. She was jealous of the attention the wood was getting.

Catherine swallowed hard, remembering the night of her dateless junior prom. Luke had come to spend that weekend with his father. Exuberant as always, he’d burst into her room and found her crying. He hadn’t known what to do with a weepy female, and had plucked the hairbrush out of her hand. More, she’d been sure, for something to do with his hands than to console her, he’d ended up brushing her hair for hours as they talked. Luke looking at the back of her head, Catherine watching his face, unobserved, in her vanity mirror across the room. She never did remember what they’d talked about, only that it was the first time she’d experienced sexual awareness. For her, it was the night their relationship had changed forever.

That was the night she’d realized she loved him.

Her ponytail brushed between her shoulder blades and she shivered, remembering the sensual pleasure of Luke’s fingers in her hair, against her nape.... Get a grip here, she warned herself sternly, as she waited for him to unlock the massive oak door. Before she followed him inside, she bent to pull a weed that had managed to grow through the wood slats.

“Gonna plant that in a pot?” Luke turned, indicating the two-foot weed clutched in her hand, soil trailing from its roots.

His smile tangled up in Catherine’s heart. Sunlight stroked his dark hair and magnified his strong, unshaved jaw. His long, lean body looked breathtaking in washed-almost-white jeans and a short leather jacket. He looked handsome, disreputable and too sexy for a small-town girl from Oregon. Yet she wanted him more than her next breath. She held out the droopy weed. “Got a pot?”

“And a window,” he said dryly. “Here, give me that. I’ll take you on the twenty-dollar tour.” He took the plant, tossed it outside, then brushed off his hands.

“Twenty bucks, huh?”

“And worth every penny. Careful where you walk. Not all the nails are countersunk in the subflooring.”

The square entry echoed their footsteps as she followed him into a large room filled with sawhorses, paint cans, lumber scraps and other paraphernalia of construction. Sunlight streamed through the plastic-covered windows. The room smelled of fresh wood, mudding compound and dust. She sidestepped boxes of nails and a mountain of Sheetrock to cross the room.

“Wow. This fireplace looks great.” Catherine ran her hand lightly over the enormous natural stones, then glanced at him over her shoulder. “Did you carry even one of these monstrous rocks?”

He gave her a horrified look as he removed his jacket, tossing it onto a stepladder. “Are you kidding? What do you think Nick is for? Poor spindly fellow, he needed the exercise.”

Catherine shook her head. “You’re terrible. What was the bet?”

“Who could eat the most soft pretzels.” He puffed out his chest, stretching his black T-shirt over hard muscle. Catherine’s mouth went dry. “I ate twenty-three.”

“Gross. You must have been sick as a dog.”

“Well, yeah. But it was worth it.” His grin was infectious and her heart leaped ridiculously as he laid his arm across her shoulders and stood beside her, looking at the wall of stone with pride. “There are over two hundred fieldstones embedded in that thar li’l ol’ fireplace.”

Reaching to the cathedral ceiling, and about fifteen feet wide, it hardly qualified as little. She shook her head, used to Luke’s and Nick’s ridiculous but harmless bets.

“When are you two going to stop that nonsense? You’ve been betting on anything and everything since fifth grade.”

“We did a sealed bet when we’d stop.”

Catherine shook her head again and slipped casually from under his arm. The back of her neck tingled and her knees felt wobbly as she strolled over to the plastic-covered bay window.

“Oh, Luke, this is absolutely glorious. Look at this view. Are there any deer out there, do you think?”

“Several. I saw a doe and her fawn last weekend.”

He walked over and leaned against an exposed stud, his arms folded as he watched her from hooded eyes. A stud leaning against a stud. How appropriate. Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, she shifted without looking at him.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course,” she said brightly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just seem...I don’t know...different.”

“Different? How?” Since when?

“I don’t know.” He looked as puzzled as he sounded.

Excruciatingly aware of him watching her, she didn’t know where to look, what to do with her too-large hands and feet.

“There’s Nick! Is that his new car? I’ll go out and help him carry whatever he’s brought for lunch.”

If she took a breath in there, Luke didn’t hear it. She dashed out of the room, fiery ponytail bobbing against her shoulders, her sneakers echoing in the vast, empty room. Luke stared at her retreating back, avoiding the view of her tight little butt in retreat.

He shook his head and followed her outside. Just in time to see her fling herself into Nick’s open arms.

Scowling, Luke jogged down the stairs, gave a cursory glance at the screaming red BMW parked beside his bike, and dug into his back pocket. When Nick caught his eye over Cat’s head, Luke flashed him the twenty in his hand. The top of Cat’s head reached Nick’s jaw. Luke didn’t like the way they had their arms looped about each other’s waist as they strolled toward the house together.

He’d seen that look in his partner’s eye about seven million times. Luke wanted to gently set Cat aside and pummel his best friend’s and business partner’s face into the dirt. Twice, for good measure. He settled for a meaningful glare.

Nick grinned. Still holding Cat under one brawny arm, he snagged the money out of Luke’s fingers. “Thank you kindly, son.” He chuckled, stuffing the bill into his front pocket.

Cat glanced from one to the other and raised one red eyebrow.

“License plate. Has two threes in it,” Luke explained, keeping abreast with them on the steps and porch, but unable to squeeze through the front door. He glared at Nick, whose mockingbird-blue eyes held the devil today.

All three of them paused on the threshold.

“We could try it single file,” Cat offered seriously, her head doing the tennis match waltz to see who was going to cave first.

“No,” Luke and Nick agreed. Nick pulled a quarter out of his pocket. “Call it.”

“Tails.”

The coin caught the light as it twisted in the air, then landed on Nick’s palm. “Step back, pardner. The lady’s with me tonight.”

Luke scowled as he followed them into the living room. There wasn’t that much heavy lifting to do. He could have done without Nick’s help today.

CHAPTER THREE

“WELL, HONEY, AREN’T you absolutely, outrageously gorgeous?” Nick released Catherine’s waist, only to capture both her hands. He held her in front of him, arms spread wide, their fingers entwined, as he checked her out from head to toe, and all ports in between. She gave him a frank stare back. She’d adored him for almost twenty years. Almost as long as she’d known Luke. It puzzled her why, when Nick was a truly delicious hunk of manhood, she’d never felt any of the sparks that ignited at just the thought of Luke.

“In eight months,” she teased, “I had two more calls from you than I did from Luke. I had to come and see for myself if you guys were behaving yourselves.”

“I gotta tell you, sweet thing, if I’d known you’d get even more beautiful, I would’ve called three times a day.”

Catherine pulled her hands free and gave him a mild look. “Three times a day, huh? What on earth would we talk about?”

“Your fantastic hair.” Nick reached out and fingered a few strands near her face, then lowered his smoky voice. “Your skin, your eyes, your mouth—”

“Hey, Stratton, give it a rest. Cat’s immune to your dubious charms.”

Although Catherine felt the pulse of Luke’s presence in the room, she managed to ignore him and to encourage Nick. “More. More.”

Nick’s answering grin revealed two long, sexy dimples in his lean cheeks. His dark hair had a tendency to curl. He kept it cut short, reminding her of the profile on a Greek coin. He was a clotheshorse, and his tall, spare body looked good in whatever he wore. Today he’d dressed in Dockers, his only concession to work a pair of immaculate workboots. His lavender golf shirt made his blue eyes look violet.

He grinned wickedly at Luke. “We’re going to have to keep Princess under lock and key while she’s visiting, won’t we?”

“I’m not visiting.” Catherine pushed his hand away from her hair, which he’d been absently fondling. “Dragon over there is letting me stay with him until the house is ready.”

Nick stuck his hands in his pockets and gave Luke a level look. “Is that so?”

“I’m not going to be moving in before the turn of the century unless you two get to work,” Luke told them shortly, dropping the last torn piece of sandpaper he’d been shredding to join the others at his feet. He cast Nick a mildly belligerent look.

“Please tell me my portfolio is still in your capable hands?” Nick begged with utmost sincerity. Four of Catherine’s savvy trades had made his new Beemer possible.

“Safe and sound,” she assured him. “Boy, I’d kill for a cup of coffee.” She edged past Luke, who didn’t like losing and was obviously still smarting over two losses in one morning. “Guys?”

The men followed her into the kitchen. The oak cabinets had been installed and gleamed in the sun streaming through the plastic over the kitchen window opening. The naked plywood countertops looked ready for tile. A card table shoved into the refrigerator opening held a coffeepot and several sealed jars. A commercial water bottle sat on the floor under the table. Catherine set about making coffee as Luke divvied up the assignments for the day.

“Plan on taking a short break,” Luke warned his helpers. “Here.” He handed her a how-to-install-tile book. “Bone up on this while you finish your coffee.”

“You’re trusting me to do this after glancing at a book?”

Luke shrugged. “How could a compulsive personality screw up?”

Catherine pulled a face. “Let me count the ways.” She tucked the book under her arm. “You’re nuts, but I’m game. Gimme my supplies, boss.”

“Get your coffee first, and I’ll stick what you need in the bathroom down the hall.” Luke accepted the brimming paper cup Catherine handed him. “Yo, Nick? Did you say you brought lunch?”

Nick went out to his car to retrieve the cooler while Luke showed Catherine what needed to be done in the guest bathroom.

“You’re not going to stay in here and watch, are you?” Catherine sucked in her stomach to make room for him to maneuver around her in the compact bathroom. With a neat knee bend, he set the box of tiles he carried on the floor. Catherine averted her eyes from his crotch. He looked up. Their eyes met and she blushed. She could’ve sworn she saw an answering heat in his eyes. But then, it was pretty dim in here. Much to her embarrassment, she’d mistaken that look before.

“Nick hasn’t gotten involved with anyone in the last couple of weeks, has he?” she asked, hoping to redirect her thoughts.

Luke rose slowly. “Why do you want to know?”

She laughed. “Gee, let me think. He’s tall, dark, handsome, owns his own business, is single and has most of his own teeth.”

“He owns half a business, and he’s the last man you should be looking at.” Luke bent to retrieve a large can of mastic from beneath the sink and used a screwdriver from his back pocket to open it. It smelled noxious. “You know Nick’ll never commit.”

“So? I like him.”

“Good.” Luke slapped a notched trowel down beside the can. “So do I. Let’s keep it that way.”

Catherine leaned against the doorjamb with her arms folded. Willpower kept her voice even as a bubble of laughter caught in her throat. “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!”

“Would you move...thanks.” His sleeve brushed her chest as he maneuvered past her to the door. “Think you can handle this, or would you rather paint?”

“I’d rather talk about Nick.”

“Yell if you get stuck.”

Catherine heard his workboots pound down the hall to the kitchen. She grinned.

* * *

“I SEE NO end of problems if she stays with me indefinitely,” Luke said morosely over his shoulder as he and Nick installed custom-milled molding in the master suite. “Why couldn’t she have stayed in Beaverton where she belongs?”

Nick, standing on the ladder, took a few whacks with a hammer as he drove a nail into the twelve-inch-wide oak. “By herself?”

“She has friends there,” Luke said, then hammered a few finishing nails into the baseboard. “And she sold the house.”

“It’s not like Catherine to burn her bridges. She means to stick around, I guess.”

“She asked me to help her find a husband.”

Nick’s teeth flashed in a devilish grin. “Whose?”

Luke snorted. “That’s the problem. Everyone we know is just like us.”

“What’s wrong with us? We’re good-looking, own our own business, have decent cars and can flash the cash.” He twisted on the ladder to look down at Luke.

Luke hadn’t liked the way Nick’s eyes had danced the moment he’d seen Cat this morning. He didn’t like the way his best friend had kept his arm wrapped about Cat’s slender waist, either. He gave Nick a pointed look.

“She’s got great girl parts,” Nick said with far too much enthusiasm. “I’d be more than happy to take her out.”

“Don’t you suddenly start ogling her parts,” Luke warned. “Everything from the neck down is strictly off-limits.”

“Her lips are fair game?”

“Consider her verboten from head to toe, and all parts in between. Does Cat look desperate for a date? She wants a lifetime commitment. Someone stable. Faithful. A guy who’ll see no one but her. You aren’t even on the D list of candidates.”

“Do you have an A list?” Nick asked, amused.

“You and I are going to work on it,” Luke said with grim determination. “At first I tried to talk her out of it. But you know Cat. Once she’s set on something she’s like a pit bull.”

“More like I know you,” Nick said. “When Catherine wants something, you bend over backward to make sure she gets it.”

“She’s never asked for much, and she deserves to be happy. I’m hoping it’ll be a case of be careful what you wish for. So...how many of our friends fit the ‘decent-guy, keeps-his-hands-to-himself, faithful’ description?”

“Catherine’s a beautiful, intelligent woman. She must’ve been kidding about finding her a husband,” Nick said. “Why would a woman who looks like she does, and makes money hand over fist, want to tie herself down to one guy? She’ll have to beat men off with a two-by-four as soon as word gets around she’s available.”

“I prefer she do it in Oregon.” Luke stood, dusting off his jeans. “I’m starving.”

The bathroom door was almost closed as they walked by. “Hey, Cat.” Luke rapped on the door. “Ready for lunch?” She was on her knees behind the door. He could just see her endearingly large feet poking out.

“Yeah, I’m famished. Almost finished here. Go ahead and start without me. Hey! Make sure you guys leave something edible.”

“See, that’s the problem,” Luke said, picking up their conversation as they entered the kitchen. He dragged the lid off the cooler Nick had left on the counter earlier. “It’s gonna be impossible finding someone whose intentions are halfway honorable. Do you want tuna or...what’s this? Mystery meat? Here, take it, whatever it is.”

Nick removed the wrapping and raised his roast beef sandwich to his mouth. “Tell her you don’t want her here.”

Luke sent his friend a level look. “I can’t do that again, Nick. You know that. I have a history of telling Cat she’s not wanted. Prince of a guy that I am, I started the day her mother left...” Luke scrubbed his jaw. “She cried herself sick for four days.”

“She was seven years old.”

“Yeah. And that was the last time I saw her cry. Think of all the times she didn’t cry when I embarrassed her by telling my friends I didn’t even know her. That was even worse.”

“Give yourself a break. You were a teenager. She followed you around school like a sad-eyed puppy. Hey, I told her to bug off on more than one occasion.”

“She used to scrunch up under that berry bush way in the back of the middle school playground, remember the one? Just scrunch up under all those thorns after I’d told her to get lost. I’d walk by and see her, and feel lower than the scales on a snake’s belly. That sad little face, and all that crazy red hair. And she refused to cry. I could see she wanted to, but damn her stubborn pride, she refused. And I’d walk away, laughing with my friends, and leave her there.”

Nick bit into his three-inch-thick sandwich, catching the sliced pickle before it hit his boot. He stuffed it back between the slices of bread, then licked mustard off his thumb. “And then there’s her seventeenth birthday.”

Luke’s head shot up. “Don’t go there, Stratton.”

Oblivious to the danger, Nick continued. “You kissed her, she puked. End of story. Fine. She’s a big girl now, odds are she doesn’t still throw up when a man kisses her. But who knows? Why take the risk of her upchucking on a friend? Hey, I’m sure she’ll understand if you tell her to get lost. After all, as you say, been there, done that, got the scars to prove it. Besides, just about everyone in Catherine’s life has abandoned her. Why should you be any different?”

Luke closed his eyes. He hadn’t told Nick more than the basics. The truth was he’d allowed his passions to get away from him that night, and in the process had scared Cat to death. She’d needed her brother. Instead he’d turned into Octopus Man with suction lips and a hard-on that wouldn’t quit.

No wonder she’d been sick. And embarrassed. And disappointed in him. Luke glared at Nick, grateful in a perverse way for the reminder. “It’s taken years for her to learn she can trust me again.”

The pain he’d caused her by switching roles midstream still tortured him. They’d never talked about that night, but it lay between them like the monster in a misty bog. He’d sworn not only to be her brother, but her hero, her protector. Her champion. In other words, he’d be what Cat needed.

“I’ve got a lot to make up for. I’m not going to blow it.” Luke tossed his uneaten sandwich into the box they used for trash. He wanted to pace, but that took up too much energy, so he leaned against the counter.

“Got a beer in here?” He dug through the ice and pulled out two cans. “Hey, Cat?” he shouted, handing Nick a beer. “Come and get it.”

He waited a beat for her faint answer, then popped the can and took a long swig. “If she wants help finding a husband, then I’ll help her find a husband. Between us, we must know a hundred eligible single guys. Hell, it can’t be that difficult.”

“Wanna bet?” Nick asked, looking up; his pale blue eyes weren’t smiling as he issued the age-old refrain. Polishing off his sandwich, he reached for another. “Engagement or wedding?”

Luke narrowed his eyes. Man. He hated this whole situation. “Wedding, I guess.”

“Four months.”

“Six. Payoff?”

“Milk in my oldest gym shoe?” Nick asked seriously.

“Get real, Stratton! This is Cat we’re talking about here.”

“Aah! A Major Bet. Mmm,” Nick rubbed his chin. “An all-expenses-paid trip to Vegas. For two.”

They shook on it.

* * *

“I’M ECSTATIC TO announce the toilet in the master bath flushes,” Catherine said to the room in general. She stumbled into the kitchen, then her knees folded and she sat down in the middle of the floor with a thump.

“First order of business—” Luke broke off abruptly as he turned from the window. “You look like hell. What’s wrong with you?”

“Your bathroom made me sick.”

At the speed of light, Luke came down on one knee in front of her. “How sick?” He pushed her hair off her clammy forehead.

Catherine gave him a look. “Barf sick.”

He rose, scooping her into his arms. Very manly, Catherine thought as he strode through the house, yelling for Nick to open the damn front door. She rested her throbbing head on his nicely muscled shoulder and closed her eyes to stop the world spinning.

“Take a couple of deep breaths,” Luke demanded, stomping to the edge of the porch and sitting down on the top step. Right, like she could draw a breath while sitting on Lucas Van Buren’s lap.

“Cat? Breathe, dammit.”

She took a shuddery breath. His splayed hand on her rib cage moved with her lungs. She tried it again. It felt good. She couldn’t figure out now if she was still dizzy from the glue or if it was Luke’s touch making her head spin.

Catherine squinted her eyes open as Nick settled himself on the other end of the step and leaned against the post, a beer can in one hand. He gave her a small, one-dimple smile. “Glue?” he asked Luke, swallowing his amusement with a gulp of brew.

Luke’s hand slipped a fraction of an inch down her rib cage as his breath fanned the top of her head. He was probably getting a mouthful of her unruly hair. His hand shifted up again. Up, Catherine silently ordered. Move up more.

“Fool woman, I told her to open the window.”

“The one you painted closed last weekend?” Nick asked.

“Why didn’t she say so?” Luke’s chest huffed under her cheek. His hand was directly under her right breast. If he’d just move his thumb...

“Perhaps because you weren’t listening when she did tell you.” Catherine joined in the conversation. “Nevertheless, she is a big girl, and should have figured out a way to ventilate her workspace.” She tilted her head to look up at Luke’s very nice chin. “Aren’t I squishing you?”

“No.”

“The last time I sat on your lap, I was nine.” It hadn’t felt nearly this good. Or this dangerous. In fact, what she remembered was feeling safe for the first time in living memory.

“You were covered in mud.” Luke’s voice carried a reminiscent smile.

“You pushed me.” They grinned at each other.

Nick rose with a groan. “Oh, bliss, another trip down memory lane. I have molding to finish installing, then I’m outta here.”

Luke, as if suddenly realizing the position they were in, slid her unceremoniously off his lap and plopped her on the step next to him. The front door closed behind Nick.

“That was a stupid thing to do,” Luke told her. “If you’d passed out in there, I couldn’t have opened the door.”

“As much as I thrill at being called stupid, I have to admit I should have thrown my shoe through the window for ventilation. Point taken. Lecture over.” She rose, staggered and clutched the roof support. “Oh, ick.”

Luke shot up as if someone had lit a firecracker in his back pocket. He grabbed her upper arm and pushed her back down. “That’s it. You’re useless to me now. I’ll never get a lick of work out of you if you keep toppling over and I have to stop what I’m doing to hold you up. You’re going home.”

* * *

THERE WERE EXACTLY twenty-six paces from one wall in his condo to the other. Luke knew. He’d counted them off about nine zillion times. He strode across the living room to glare at the clock near the TV. It was after 1:00 a.m. He’d about worn a path in the carpet. Where in the hell were they?

He cursed taking the Harley to the beach house. With Cat asphyxiated by the damn glue, he’d been afraid she’d fall off the bike coming home. But he hadn’t wanted her to go in Nick’s brand-spanking-new Beemer, either. Luke did the nine paces from the wall unit to the window like a one-minute mile.

The vertical blinds clattered against the wall as he peered down into the dark street. Unless Cat and Nick were the couple blatantly boinking under the streetlamp on the lawn in the park across the street, they still weren’t back. And if they were, he’d kill Nick.

He yanked the cell phone out of his back pocket and punched redial. It rang. And rang. If they were hiding down on the nineteenth floor, at Nick’s place, his business partner–ex-best friend was dead meat. Luke slammed the phone off and into his pocket midring. He didn’t bother with the elevator, he simply jogged the three floors down, then three floors up again.

Irritated that he was so damn irritated, out of breath and out of ideas, Luke threw himself into his favorite chair. The black leather smelled like her and annoyed him even more. He glared at the open front door, willing Cat to walk in before his murder plans were fully hatched.

* * *

“ARE YOU SURE we know what you’re doing, Nicolas Stratton?” Catherine yawned, barely awake, and rested her head on the padded headrest of Nick’s car, her eyes closed. They’d been parked near Fisherman’s Wharf, a good two miles from the condo, for an hour and a half.

“You want Luke to see you as a desirable woman, don’t you?”

“It’s what I’ve spent the last six hours telling you,” she grumbled, rolling her head his way. Catherine opened her eyes. “I want him to see who I am, but I’m scared. What if this doesn’t work? God, I couldn’t bear losing the relationship we do have.”

“Honey, I think you’ve only thought through part of this plan. Be brave, be daring, be bold. Moving in with him was a smart idea. But what’ll really do it is if he has the opportunity to see you through the eyes of someone else. I volunteered. Don’t worry, gorgeous, I have the plan well in hand. And my plans always work.”

“Yeah,” Catherine said, “except when they don’t. And Nick? I want you to promise on a stack of Bibles that you’ll never tell him how I feel. This has got to be Luke’s idea. He has to make the first move.”

“This is woman’s logic, right? Chase him until he catches you?”

“Basically. Just promise you won’t tell. Never. Do you swear?”

“Constantly.”

“Nick!”

He crossed his chest in the vicinity of his heart. “I swear I’ll never tell Luke how you feel about him.”

“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.

Earlier they’d gone into a cooking frenzy, each trying to outdo the other. The result was a rather eclectic amalgamation of foods and beverages. Luke’s Mexican salsa, tamales and Chinese egg rolls. Cat’s spaghetti and meatballs and Greek salad. Everyone was having a great old time.

With the exception of the host.

Cat was across the living room putting the finishing touches to the buffet with a huge leafy something in a red ceramic pot. She’d persuaded him to buy half a dozen plants at the store, insisting he lived a sterile existence without living things around him. No matter that Luke knew he’d never remember to water the things.

He remembered the alarming amount of plants scattered around his dad’s house, but had given up without too much of a fuss. Cat was a born nurturer. She needed to be needed, even if by just a few houseplants.

He felt as nervous as a mother bird pushing her chick out of the nest for the first time. Luke watched her without seeming to, and tried to see her as his friends would. With his luck they’d have the immediate hots for her.

At the moment Cat was the center of attention of a pack of chest-puffing, lip-smacking, posturing males. Luke monitored the behavior of his friends with a jaundiced eye. They might as well let her inspect their teeth, check their brokerage statements and call old girlfriends for references.

Mike leaned close to whisper in Cat’s ear. She laughed. The sound rippled just beneath the music. Luke felt it in his gut.

Her looks were addictive, her compelling, innocent sensuality impossible to ignore. God knows, he was trying. Her sassy mouth and sharp wit were destined to drive some lucky guy to the brink of madness. His friends circled her like sharks in a feeding frenzy. He intercepted a lascivious look from Ted, so busy flexing his muscles and trying to hide his receding hairline he didn’t even notice Luke’s warning glower from across the room.

“If you keep glaring like that no one will go near her.” Nick raised his voice to be heard over the music, and handed him a beer. “All they’re doing is talking about the stock market.”

Luke pulled the tab, then took a swig. “Allan had his hand on her ass.” Cat wore perfectly respectable, not-too-tight, black pants and a teal T-shirt. She wasn’t wearing jewelry, and hardly any makeup. And she outshone every woman there.

“And a very sweet ass it is, too,” Nick said. “Chill. The whole point of this soirée is for Catherine to meet people. She’s doing fine. Leave her alone.”

“I need to stick close. She was really nervous about tonight.”

“Nervous about what? Meeting our degenerate friends?”

Luke shrugged, covertly studying the dynamics of the group surrounding her. “I guess.” The guys were salivating as they watched her eat an egg roll. “She didn’t have much of a social life in Beaverton. I told her the city was too fast-paced for her.”

“Ho, boy.” Nick chuckled. “In other words, you challenged her.”

Paul elbowed Mike out. Decent guy, Paul. A good eight inches shorter than Cat. No one held that squint against him.

Luke turned his glare on Nick. “Challenged her? I was trying to protect her.”

Nick took a swig of his beer, eyeing his friend over the can. “By telling an intelligent, attractive woman she’d be out of her depth in the city?”

Across the room Cat did a quick sleight of hand, twisting and piling her hair on top of her head as she talked to Paul and the others by the open balcony door. All that hair around her shoulders must be hot. Still, he’d have to warn her how provocative the pose looked. As her T-shirt pulled across her moving breasts, Rob just about swallowed his tongue.

“She’s not as self-confident as one might think,” Luke muttered, not tasting the beer he chugged. Allan strolled up and formed another wall around Cat. He said something; she smiled, showing pretty white teeth and no desire to drop the hand she held provocatively on top of her head.

Nick smiled. “Doesn’t look the least bit nervous to me.”

An annoying tick started in Luke’s right eyelid. He scowled. “She’s biting her bottom lip. See? There,” he muttered. “She did it again.”

“God, yes,” Nick enthused. “Very sexy.”

“That’s a sign she’s nervous, you sex maniac.” Luke glared at him, then narrowed his eyes when he saw the way his friend’s eyes lit up with devilry. “What?”

“Huh?” Nick asked, all innocence.

“Whatever you’re plotting, forget it. I don’t want her hurt.”

“Got it.” Nick saluted. Without missing a beat, he asked mildly, “Sooo...what happened to Karen?”

“Karen?”

“The girlfriend du jour?”

“I know who Karen is. She’s around here somewhere.”

“Where’s Catherine?”

“Over by the CD flirting with... You’re looking at her, you lamebrain. Why’re you asking me?”

“Don’t you think it’s a little odd that you don’t know where your girlfriend is, but you know Catherine’s exact location in a crowded room?”

“No,” Luke said shortly. “I don’t. It’s my job to take care of her. Didn’t you come with a date?”

“Are you kidding?” Nick grinned. “And have to look and not partake of this delectable smorgasbord of single women? You invite me to a feast, then expect me to bring a bag lunch?”

“I wanted to give Cat a reasonable selection. It would’ve looked a little obvious if I’d invited just guys. Not to mention boring.”

“And I’m eternally grateful. You did good.”

“Putting this together was a lot of hard work.”

“Especially since Catherine was the one who did all the hard work,” Nick said dryly. “A ten spot says Ted will be date number one.”

Luke snorted. “He’s showing her that stupid scar he got when he fell off my roof last summer. Probably spinning her some far-fetched tale.”

“Women go for that stuff.”

“Nah,” Luke said absently. The tick over his eye was really getting on his nerves now. “It’ll be Allan. Twenty, on...” He peered across the room. Ted had his hands on the back of Cat’s neck. “What does he think he’s doing? Excuse me a sec.”

“It’s just a casual massage.” Nick snagged his arm. “Uh-uh. Better change that plan, old son. Incoming. Karen at three o’clock.” His smile widened.

“Don’t you have moves to make?” Luke muttered.

“You betcha. I’m off to give the guys some competition.”

Luke swore under his breath as his friend threaded his way across the crowded room to Cat’s side. She gave Nick a wide, friendly smile and took his offered hand. He led her to the small area where a few couples were dancing.

Nick was a suave, good-looking guy. Women liked Nick. Luke himself was a decent-looking guy, and just as suave as Nick was. Women liked him, too. Which was why they were going to protect Cat from smooth-talking men like themselves. That’s what Nick had meant.

Competition? Luke watched them walk into each other’s arms and move to the dreamy music. Slowly. Competition? Nick? What a repugnant thought.

Ridiculous.

Out of the question.

Luke dragged his focus away from Cat snuggled in Nick’s arms to watch Karen shimmy closer. His date looked dazzling in a short, tight red dress, black hair streaming down her bare back, long legs showcased to perfection in red high heels. He didn’t feel a single solitary spark. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

Obviously he was a sick man.

Karen slid her arm about his waist. Her perfume, recently applied, smelled great. Unfortunately, it didn’t do a thing for him. She looked up at him with heavy-lidded, sultry brown eyes. “Hi, sweetie. Miss me?”

Luke bit back the truth. Karen was a nice woman. He’d invited her to the party. Now he couldn’t wait to take her home. And leave her there. Alone.

“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.

Her habits had been ingrained before the age of six. She and her mother had moved seven times, sometimes in the dead of night. If everything was in its place, she’d been able to grab her most precious possessions quickly.

She glanced at the clock on the stereo: 3:30 a.m.

They’d be asleep now. Cuddled together. Karen probably had one of those froufrou beds, all lace and pink pillows. Luke would look outrageously masculine and sexy, stretched out naked—

Catherine ruthlessly cut off the thought and groaned out loud. Living with Luke was going to either kill or cure her.

CHAPTER FIVE

LUKE SNEAKED INTO his own apartment like a thief in the night. He’d seen that foreign film so many times he swore he could now speak fluent German. He frowned. All the lights in the spotless living room were on. Unbuttoning his shirt, he pulled it free of his pants and felt a twinge of guilt for leaving Cat to do the cleanup. Then he considered how he’d have felt if he’d stuck around. Hell, he’d done the right thing.

He almost had a seizure when he saw Cat sprawled out on the leather sofa. She wore one of his favorite ratty T-shirts and a disreputable pair of pajama bottoms he swore she’d had since she was a kid. Her cheeks were pink; her eyes glittered.

“Nice of you to drop by, Van Buren. Pleasant evening?”

“Delightful,” Luke managed to answer cheerfully. Man, was she ticked. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his chinos as he walked around the arm of the sofa. “Hey, thanks for doing the cleanup. Did Nick give you a hand?”

“Yes. By leaving.”

Cat drew a leopard print pillow, which hadn’t been here a week ago, onto her lap, still glaring. Whoops. He did a quick scan through the open door into the darkened bedroom and lowered his voice. “Are we alone?”

Her cheeks lit up like flamingo-pink neon. “Other than the entire 49ers team naked, and exhausted, in the bedroom, you mean?”

Luke took his hands out of his pockets and sat on the opposite arm of the sofa. Out of missile reach. “It’s not out of the realm of possibility that you’d have a man here, Cat.”

Her fiery eyebrows shot up into her bangs. “Who are you? What alien life force took over Luke Van Buren’s body?”

“Huh?”

“Whose condo is this? I hadn’t met any of these people here tonight before in my life! Do you really think I’d sleep with a total stranger? In your home? In your bed?”

“Ahh, no.”

“Then don’t ask such asinine questions, you turkey.”

She curled her legs under her and bunched up her hair in her fist. She wasn’t wearing a bra. He remembered that brief, tantalizing flash of cinnamon and cream, and almost licked his lips. Yep, Luke thought. A good thing he’d stayed out.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” he asked mildly. What was the point in sitting in a movie theater all night only to came home and find her wide-awake, sexy as hell and in his face?

“I just finished shoveling everything into the dishwasher.”

The hectic color had left her cheeks. Her eyes looked bruised and kind of sad, Luke thought. They would have been looking a damn sight sadder if he’d hung around much longer at the party.

“I would’ve cleaned up in the morning, Cat.”

She hugged the pillow and snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“So what did you think of Ted?”

She shrugged.

“Allan?”

She did the so-so thing with her head.

“Either of the Bobs? Any of them?”

Cat unfolded her legs. She was close enough to touch. The scent of her body, warm, female, Catherine, made him dizzy.

“Come on, Cat.”

“Hey, don’t rush me. I’ll keep you posted. You’ve given me enough to work with for now.” She stood looking down at him. “How’d your evening with Karen go?”

“Great.” The pits. Karen had not been a happy woman when he’d left her at her door.

“She seems nice enough.”

“Pretty, smart. She’s a lawyer.”

“Lovely,” Cat told him coolly. “She can do your prenup if you two get married.”

“She knows that’ll never happen.”

Luke rose. They were no more than a foot apart. Desperate to steal a kiss from those sweet pink lips, he knew she’d deck him with the pillow she clutched to her midriff.

“Ever heard of common law?”

“This is the second time I’ve dated her. Besides, Nick and I have The Bet, remember?”

Cat shook her head, slapping him in the face with twenty pounds of hair. The honey-scented strands lashed his cheeks before springing back home. He wanted to grab her by that hair, wrestle her back to the sofa...and get a swift kick in the cojónes for his trouble.

“That is one of your more ridiculous bets, Luke. What if one of you falls madly in love and wants to get married before you’re thirty-five? It could happen, you know.”

“Being in love doesn’t necessarily mean marriage. Which is why I consider The Bet a sure thing. I have the edge. I’m never getting married, however old I am.”

“You mean you still believe that stupid ‘all your emotional eggs in one basket’ theory you had at fifteen? That, my darling dragon, is what we women call Lack of Commitment. You just haven’t met the right woman yet.”

“I meet the right women. Several times a year. Which has always been my point.” He frowned. “Are you going to bed?”

“Yes.” She stepped out of reach and turned to assess him over her shoulder. “Are we going to the house tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Late-ish. Take the bed again.”

He watched her walk to the bedroom. Even in the too large T-shirt, she moved like music. Fluid, graceful and too sexy for his peace of mind. Luke closed his eyes. He needed something else to focus on when Cat was around. Something that wasn’t soft, smooth and cinnamon flavored. Something like—

“Sweet dreams, Luke.”

“Yeah, you too, honey.” Something like—construction. Yeah. That was it. Instead of seeing Cat, he’d imagine building the house. From the foundation up.

“Are you okay?”

He glanced up. She was standing at the bedroom door with a little V of worry between her brows, one slippered foot perched on the other. He wanted to stride over, pick her up, carry her into the bedroom, lay her on his nice, wide bed...

“Just tired.”

Excavating the foundation. Lots of dirt. Big piles of dark soil—soft pale, freckly mounds tipped with pale apricot nipples... “See you in the morning,” he said gruffly, getting up to click off the light and plunge the room into darkness.

He heard the door shush closed.

Yeah, this visualizing concept stuff was going to work well. Yeah, right!

* * *

AN HOUR LATER, still wide-awake, with excavating the furthest thing from his mind, Luke had to go to the bathroom. To get to the bathroom, he had to go through the bedroom. He dreaded walking through the room with Cat sleeping there. Why had he decided to combine two bedrooms into one? Why had he thought a bigger kitchen warranted removing the guest bath?

Because he hadn’t expected Cat to be sleeping in his bed. That’s why.

She’s sleeping, you moron, Luke told himself, tiptoeing into the bedroom. She’d left the light on in the bathroom. A sliver of golden light slashed across her figure on the bed.

“Ah, Cat,” he said softly.

She was sprawled facedown across the bedspread, her hair covering her face and half the pillow. Out like a light. Beside her, tucked up to its furry little armpits by the blanket, was the teddy bear he’d given her years ago. That was Cat. She hung on to things. Treasured things. Coddled things.

He noticed she’d changed his satin sheets for plain white cotton. He sighed and bent to take off her slippers.

The smart thing to do, Catherine decided as she felt Luke’s hands removing her left fuzzy slipper, was to turn over and say hi. The sensation of his warm hands on her bare foot sent little electrical currents up her leg.

Pretending to be asleep now was almost as bad as when she’d hidden under his bed on one of his weekends at home. She’d been about nine. Even then she’d wanted to be as close to him as she could get. Eventually he’d discovered her, and hadn’t cared that she was faking a deep sleep. He’d hauled her out, dragged her screaming into the hallway, then slammed the door in her face.

The housekeeper had reported the incident to his father, who in turn had punished Luke, and in a natural progression, Luke had refused to talk to Catherine for a month.

Bad idea then. Bad idea now.

He drew off the other slipper, then massaged her instep with strong, sure strokes. She’d never felt anything more erotic in her life. Goose bumps broke out on her skin as he cradled her foot before gently settling it back on the bed.

She felt the drag of the covers under her as Luke carefully pulled the spread and blankets down to her feet, trying not to wake her. Her breasts tingled as if he’d touched them directly. She imagined the glide of the blankets were Luke’s hands skimming slowly down her body. Eyes squeezed shut, she pictured his hands on her. Large, hard, long fingered. Smoothing, cupping, claiming.

Moisture pooled between her thighs. Her pulse pounded strategically. She gritted her teeth at the thick, syrupy pleasure her imagination created. She felt the brush of fur, and realized he’d settled Hubert back beside her cheek.

“You’re a real pain, Catherine Anne Harris, you know that?” Luke murmured. “I wish you’d stayed in Oregon where you belong.”

It took a moment for her overactive hormones to assimilate what he’d just said. A real pain. Stayed where you belong.

The delicious sensations left her body in a dizzying rush.

Her heart ached in her chest; the back of her nose tingled. She clamped her teeth together so tightly her jaw ached. So much for wanting Luke to make the first move. He didn’t want her. Biblically or otherwise.

No matter how Luke presented his invitation for her to stay, the bottom line, as usual, was that she was in the way. All her life she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time where Luke was concerned.

Catherine wanted to run. She wanted to go home. To her own bed, with her own safe things surrounding her. But she’d burned those bridges by selling the house and putting everything she owned into storage. At the time that had taken more courage than she’d thought she could muster. But selling and closing up the only real home she’d ever known had been child’s play compared to this.

Luke tucked the covers around her, brushing aside her hair. For a brief, electrifying second, his hand lingered on her nape.

She couldn’t help it. She shivered.

He swore under his breath.

For several seconds he didn’t move. She could feel him standing there beside the bed. Looking at her. Then she heard his footsteps as he went into the bathroom. The lock snicked. The shower turned on.

Catherine stared up into the darkness, eyes dry, chest aching.

* * *

LUKE FINALLY EMERGED from a restless sleep. He hadn’t bothered with a sheet. The leather sofa had glued itself to his skin all the way down his left side, and he had to peel himself off like a giant Band-Aid. Thoroughly out of sorts, he yanked last night’s chinos over his briefs and staggered reluctantly through the bedroom to get to the bathroom.

The bed was neatly made. How nice. One of them had slept well. He glanced at the bathroom door. Open. He shot a look at his watch. Great. He’d had about three hours’ sleep. And where was Cat at eight on a Sunday morning?

After a quick, hot shower, he dressed in his favorite denim cutoffs and a faded red tank top, then headed for the kitchen.

Wherever she’d gone, Cat had unloaded the dishwasher and put everything neatly away before she’d left. He hadn’t heard a sound. He searched around for a note. She hadn’t left one. Vaguely miffed, he started coffee and decided on eggs Benedict for breakfast. He didn’t just save his culinary masterpieces for The Morning After. Although he usually cooked this particular dish for two. And served it in bed.

* * *

AS SOON AS she walked into the kitchen, Catherine knew she should have stayed out longer. There was a twenty-four-hour movie theater two blocks away. She could have spent the morning there, reading subtitles.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said cheerfully, setting a bag of doughnuts and the Sunday paper on the counter to avoid looking at a lot of naked Luke. Tanned, taut, terrific body. Not a freckle in sight. He had the naturally long, lean physique of an athlete without having to do the maintenance. It wasn’t fair. But then, what in life was? A familiar tightness gripped her chest.

She turned and reached up to find a mug in the overhead cabinet. “Fun party. I like your friends.”

“The feeling was mutual.” Luke eyed her black biker shorts and white tank top without comment. There were no secrets between fabric and skin, and despite having been outside jogging in the park, Catherine suddenly felt self-conscious in her skimpy attire. Luke’s gaze traveled the length of her legs and back up again to her sweat-damp hair scraped back in a ponytail.

“Been running?”

“Yeah. Across the street in the park.”

Even at 7:00 a.m. Marina Green had been crowded with bikers, runners, mothers with little kids, people on in-line skates. None of them had looked at her the way Luke was doing right now. None of them could make her shiver with a mere glance. She filled her mug with cool tap water, drank it down, then casually picked up the half-filled carafe of coffee and poured herself a cup.

Golden sunlight bathed Luke as he sat at the table in the alcove. His skin looked like bronze satin, a cliché, but true. Muscles he’d acquired from hard physical labor, not weights, covered his bones in a fascinating display of hills and valleys. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on the man anywhere. And Catherine could pretty much see everywhere.

That faded red tank top didn’t hide much. She tried not to stare at a flat brown nipple, showing because he’d twisted to watch her, and the wide armhole had shifted.

She found the milk and sugar and doctored her coffee, then grabbed the white paper bag off the counter.

“There’s a gym on the ninth floor,” he reminded her as she sat down opposite him at the table.

“Ah, yes. Where you go to pick up babes. I prefer being outside in the fresh air. Want a doughnut?”

Luke shook his head. She shivered as his hair brushed his neck. “I just had breakfast. I left yours in the oven.” He looked her up and down. “You’re in pretty good shape.”

“Pretty good shape?” Catherine pushed aside the greasy bag and rose from the table to flex the biceps in her right arm. “I’m in my prime, pal, and don’t you forget it.”

He snagged her wrist and held it up. “Look at this, your bones are as delicate as a bird’s. I could snap this wrist with no trouble at all.”

Catherine disengaged her hand. “If you snapped my wrist you’d have trouble, all right. You’d be wearing the coffeepot around your neck.” Goose bumps shot up her arm.

“See, that’s what I mean. You look fragile enough to break in a man’s hands, but you have an amazing resilience—” He broke off and gave her a look she couldn’t hope to interpret.

“Mix fragility with all that firehouse red hair, and a man would have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to want the whole package in his be—life. You’re a lethal combo, Cat. They’re going to kill themselves falling over their feet, and each other, to have you. And I’m here to make sure the right guy gets the prize. I’m going to keep you by my side, and protect you from the predators, until you make your choice.”

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—”

Luke squeezed his eyes shut as if he were in pain. “Go take a shower. We’ll discuss this when you’re dressed.”

* * *

“SHE WANTS TO go back home,” Luke hissed, eyes fixed on the slammed-shut bedroom door. He stuck his bare feet up on the coffee table and glared at his friend. “What happened last night at the party?”

“Other than the host being eighty-sixed?” Nick asked as he reached for another doughnut.

“I had to take Karen home.”

“And Catherine got in a snit when you were gone all night from your own party.” Nick shook his head. “Women. Go figure.”

“So? My entire social and sex life has to come to a screaming halt because Cat’s here?”

Nick put up a powdered-sugar-coated hand. “Hey, that’s your choice. Personally I wouldn’t want to see anyone else. Not with Catherine around. In case you hadn’t noticed, old son, that’s one hot babe you have sharing your— Oh, excuse me,” he drawled as Luke cleared his throat pointedly.

“I’d switch places with you in a heartbeat, and so would half our friends. Didn’t you see them salivating around Catherine last night? Or were you too busy getting it on with Karen?”

“She’s a beautiful woman.”

“Cat? I know. She’s gorgeous.”

“Not Cat. Karen. And of course those degenerates were all over Cat like bears over honey. They’re idiots, not stupid.”

“What idiots aren’t stupid?” Cat asked, emerging from the bedroom wearing white shorts, a black crop top and strappy black sandals. She’d even put on makeup. Nothing overt, just enough to make her look...more. She’d done something to tame her hair, then swooped it on top of her head in a sexy tumble held up by gravity. A forties pinup. Nick shot up from his seat and crossed the room in three strides.

“Let me take you away from all this, my lovely Princess Catarina.” He grabbed Cat around her waist, touching her bare skin as he swirled her in a circle.

Luke watched through narrowed eyes, wondering where he could hide Nick’s body after the homicide. His friend brought Cat’s hand to his mouth, then theatrically kissed her fingertips before nibbling his way up her arm, reeling her in against his chest and making her laugh. Cat wrapped her arm around his waist and Nick smiled down at her.

“I brought you a present.”

“I thought it was for me,” Luke said, as a laughing Nick pulled Cat over to the new gate-legged table by the front door.

“Nope. You get yours later, old son. This one’s for Catherine.”

“Oh, Nick! Thank you.” She picked up the old-fashioned, round fishbowl in both hands, then looked at Nick with shining eyes. There was only one ordinary little goldfish in the bowl, not an entire freshwater aquarium, Luke thought sourly as he watched them.

“This is so sweet of you.”

“Hey, I’m a sweet guy—”

“You’d better change into jeans,” Luke informed her, cutting Nick off. Preferably at the knees. “We’re going on the bike.”

“I’m not going on the bike. Allan’s taking me.”

Luke gave her a blank look. “To my house?”

“Is that a problem?” One hip cocked, she leaned into Nick, holding the bowl with the lonely little fish against her chest.

Lucky fish.

“The sooner the house is finished the sooner you move in, right? Allan’s a great painter. He told me so last night. Consider him free labor.”

The two of them strolled across the living room like frigging Siamese twins. Nick dug in his pocket. Luke absently took the twenty his ex-best friend handed over as he passed.

“Yeah, I guess.” He stuffed the money into his front pocket.

Cat didn’t sound as if she were packing her bags anytime soon. Something inside him unwound a little.

“I’ll make some calls and round up more people,” he said. “We can make a day of it.”

Cat glanced at her watch. “Well, an afternoon, anyway. You bet on Allan, did you?” she asked, then glanced at Nick. “Who was your call?”

“Ted.”

“You should have told me. They both asked me out today.”

“That would be cheating,” Luke informed her, not amused that she was amused.

“Oh. Excuse me. I didn’t realize there were rules.” The doorbell rang and she disengaged from Nick. “That’s Allan. Get the lead out, Van Buren.”

She handed him the dumb fishbowl and went to the door.

CHAPTER SIX

NICK HAD GIVEN him a two-by-four. To beat back the guys who were going to swarm over Cat. No kidding. At the rate things were going Luke was going to need it. He didn’t like the ratio of men to woman: three to one. In Cat’s favor.

He liked women, and considered flirting one of life’s greatest pleasures. But it was one of his unwritten laws that he never strung them along. Luke made no secret of his opinion of marriage or any long-term commitment.

The second Cat had left on the arm of good old Allan, Luke called a woman he hadn’t seen in months. Suzette was an attractive, petite brunette. Intelligent and witty, she made no bones about being available and she liked his rules just fine.

Half the twenty or so people spread throughout the house were working. The others had taken the grill across the street to the beach for an impromptu barbecue. Luke had posted a work schedule, and despite the moaning and groaning from his press-ganged crew, work was actually being accomplished.

Cat and Allan were painting the guest bedroom. They’d been in there for hours with the door closed. Of course, Luke thought, digging in one of the coolers for a liter bottle of soda, there was no furniture in there yet. But how long could it possibly take two people to paint a small room?

“Trying to use telekinesis to open the door?” Nick strolled into the kitchen and caught him glowering down the hall. Nick levered himself up onto the counter. “I thought you came in here for sodas.”

“On my way.” Luke held up the bottle and a short tower of paper cups. “Ladies getting twitchy?”

“Suzette and Kirsten wonder why everyone else is slaving serflike while you wander from room to room bossing us around.”

“Meticulous planning.” Luke shot another look toward the closed door down the hallway. “Bad idea leaving the two women unsupervised, Stratton. Who knows what devious plot they’ll hatch while we’re not paying attention? Back to work.”

Nick slid off the plywood-topped counter. “Has Catherine said anything about leaving since we got here?”

“Nope.”

“She and Allan look good together. What’ya think?”

It had been Luke’s ridiculous reaction to Cat dragging Allan along that had induced him to invite five million people here in the first place. The house was overrun with bodies. Feeling incredibly beleaguered, he had to be in seven places at once to oversee what everyone was doing. “I think Allan’s been in there with her long enough to paint the Sistine Chapel.”

“Yeah? Go in there and supervise, then.”

Luke swore. “Here, take these in to the ladies, I’ll be right back.” He handed Nick the soda and cups, then stalked out of the kitchen and down the hall.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Catherine glanced over her shoulder as the bedroom door flew open. Luke. She groaned dramatically and rolled her eyes, making Allan smile.

“He’s back! Quick, look busy before he gives us another project.”

“Har-dee-har-har.” In one glance, Luke assessed the freshly painted walls and half-painted trim. “Looks good. Nice job,” he told Allan, then said to Catherine, “Can we talk a minute?”

She put her paintbrush down on the edge of the paint pan, then flexed her fingers as she rose. “Anything, as long as I can rest my poor abused arm.”

Naturally, Luke was immaculately dressed, while she was covered from head to toe in cream-colored paint. Pounding music, the buzz of a Skil saw and manic hammering assaulted them from every direction as they walked through the house.

“What’s up?” she yelled, following him out onto the front porch. Luke made a walking motion with his fingers and led her down the steps and across the scraggly front yard, then crossed the narrow street to the beach. The noise from the house dimmed, overshadowed by the whisper of waves curling up the beach. The gorgeous day was made absolutely perfect because she was with Luke.

Catherine removed her sandals and inhaled the salty air deep into her lungs. “Glorious. Beats paint fumes.”

Several cheap laborers off to the right pretended to hide behind the sea grasses when they saw Luke coming down to the water. “Isn’t lunch over?” he yelled.

“We haven’t even lit the barbecue, Captain Bligh!”

Several of the men called out rude comments, which Luke volleyed back with laughing ease. People naturally gravitated to him. It was one of the things Catherine loved about him—that easy, relaxed warmth he exuded without even trying. He was such an extrovert, so charismatic that he made people happy to be near him. People always seemed to want to do their best when Luke was around.

Together they walked down the beach in the opposite direction of the rowdy lunch crew.

“You’re lucky to have such great friends.”

“Yeah. A good bunch. You fit in nicely. All the guys think you’re hot. The women like you, too.”

Catherine felt a warm glow. In the years she’d been taking care of their dad, she’d lost contact with many of her friends. She’d almost feared she might have lost some of her social skills. More than the words, the approval she heard in Luke’s voice put a lump in her throat. She was glad she’d put off leaving for another day. She’d have one more Luke memory.

“Where are we going?” She skipped to keep up with his long strides. “Not, mind you, that I object to a break from slaving over a dripping paintbrush for a while.”

“Let’s sit over there in the shade.” Luke pointed at a small sandy dune shaded by a wisp of a tree and tall sea grass. He leaned against the frail, gnarled tree trunk and stared out at the flat blue horizon for a few seconds without saying anything. Catherine’s stomach clenched.

She concealed the frisson of unease that coursed through her, the sensation familiar and annoying. Old history. She usually managed to control it, but it still blindsided her every now and then. She’d felt it when her mother had left her with Peter Van Buren. She’d felt it every time Luke had tormented her as a child, insisting she was no relative of his. She’d felt it most profoundly the night of her seventeenth birthday, when Luke had rejected her amateurish advances. And she’d last felt it when the man she considered her father had died, eight months ago.

She didn’t need a psychiatrist to tell her she had a fear of abandonment. Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself, no one is abandoning anyone. Luke was everything he’d always been. A typical big brother. It wasn’t his fault her feelings had grown and changed. And it would be unfair to blame him because his hadn’t. Luke would never hurt her. At least not intentionally. Pulling her shell around herself like a crab and wanting to hide was a knee-jerk reaction. Get over it, she told herself firmly. She’d already decided to leave.

“If this is going to be a lecture about something, save your breath.” Catherine sat gingerly on the hot sand and circled her bare knees with her arms. Wriggling her toes, she buried them in the dry, hot granules. “I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Look, it’s not like you have to go, is it? The house is sold. You said yourself you wanted to make a fresh start. The Bay area’s great. In a month or so I’ll be living out here, then you can finish turning the condo into the Amazon. Why leave now?”

She scratched a flake of cream paint off her shin. “I’m in the way.”

“No you’re not, Cat.” Luke dropped to his knees beside her. He took her chin in his palm and made her look at him. “You’re not in the way at all. I like having you with me.”

His touch burned like a brand. Catherine shifted enough to dislodge his hand from her face. Her emotions were already on overload. All the old fears and doubts about making him see her differently came rushing to the fore.

The sun turned the short hairs on his arms the color of coffee; his skin shone with vitality. He was close enough for her to feel the brush of his shorts against her bare thigh. Close enough for Catherine to inhale his unique scent.

She loved him so much it hurt.

“It’s a one-bedroom, Luke. And I’m in it. You can’t even go to the bathroom without tripping over my stuff.”

“I don’t trip over your stuff. In fact, if I hadn’t insisted you unpack, you’d still be living out of your suitcase. You’re so neat I hardly notice you’re there.”

“You can’t bring anyone home.”

“At the moment I don’t want to. And in the unlikely event that changes, I’ll handle it. I’m not a sex fiend, Cat. As much as I’d like to tell you I have a smorgasbord of women who sleep over, I don’t. Not nowadays.”

“What about Suzette. Or Elizabeth the Wretch?”

“Both charming and delightful, but nothing serious.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Stay, Cat.” He slung a brotherly arm around her shoulders. “Honest to God, I enjoy having someone to cook for. Besides, look how pink my nail beds are.” He stuck a broad hand in front of her.

Catherine’s lips twitched. “Your nail beds?”

“All that oxygen your rain forest is producing is good for me. And what would I do if I had the use of all my saucers again, or if I couldn’t see the carpet because you weren’t there to pick up my socks?”

“You could get a maid, Van Buren.”

The temptation to lean into him was overwhelming. His skin felt hot, and the sensation of having it touching hers zipped through her like expensive French champagne.

“A maid wouldn’t keep me centered, or laugh at my jokes.”

“Just promise me something, okay? If it starts getting to you, just come straight out and tell me. No hurt feelings.”

“Never happen. You’ll always have a home with me. Always.”

She rested her head against his shoulder, hoping he couldn’t see her moist eyes. “I love you, Luke Van Buren, do you know that?”

“I love you, too, Catwoman. A guy couldn’t ask for a better baby sister.”

Zing. Direct hit. After a stunned second, Catherine pressed her fingertips into her eye sockets. Hard.

Luke shifted beside her. “Are you okay?”

“Sand,” she mumbled into her wrists. “Darn, that stings.”

Not her eyes. Her heart.

“Want me to look?”

No, he wouldn’t be able to see anything. He didn’t have twenty-twenty vision where she was concerned. “I’ll be fine in a moment.”

Give or take fifty years.

* * *

LUKE RETURNED TO the house alone. Cat had decided to go for a run on the beach. He shook his head. The woman was insane. It was hot out there. He found Nick in the kitchen.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just had a little chat with Cat. She’s staying.”

“I’d have made book on that.”

“Let’s get some work done, Stratton.” He and Nick crossed the entry hall side by side, their workboots vibrating on the subflooring. The front door stood open to catch the summer breeze, bringing with it the scent of briny air and the mouthwatering aroma of the beach barbecue. A couple of guys were out on the wide porch sanding, and the sweet smell of the sawdust mingled with the scents of tung oil, paintz and wallpaper paste.

Two different radios blared from opposite ends of the house, each on a different station, naturally—salsa from the back, hard rock from the front porch. Luke inhaled deeply as he stepped through the wide double doors into the great room. Home. It was becoming home.

Suzette and Kirsten, Nick’s date du jour, a statuesque blonde of awesome proportions, glanced up as they strolled in, but the music was too loud to have a conversation, and they went back to staining the baseboards.

Nick poured more soda for the two women, then leaned back against the hearth to chug down his own drink before hunkering down to do a little hammering on the floor.

The stone fireplace soared to the cathedral ceiling. Dusty sunshine shone through the plastic-covered windows onto the oak plank floor. The plastic billowed with the breeze like an animal breathing.

Luke envisioned the room filled with his furniture. Two black leather sofas framing the fireplace. The steel wall unit over there. The metal sculpture there. His slick, stylized, monochromatic paintings grouped on the far wall.

He frowned.

Suddenly, a jungle of plants materialized next to the windows and animal print cushions on the sofas. A bowl with a single goldfish appeared on the steel-and-glass coffee table placed between the sofas.

Suzette rose from her position on the floor and sauntered over to give Luke a hug. “I hope that fearsome scowl isn’t aimed at me.” She raised her voice and ran a finger between his brows. She had straight white teeth and a very pretty smile. She smelled of Obsession. She had a brain.

She bored him to tears.

“Kirsten and I are declaring mutiny for a couple of hours so we can eat, then go for a swim. We’ll come back in time to help you finish the floor in here, okay?” Suzette whipped her shirt over her head, exposing nicely tanned breasts and a flat midriff showcased in a minuscule white bikini. Luke’s eyelids didn’t even flicker. “Are you coming?”

He’d noticed the woman was barely dressed, but didn’t care. He pressed his fingertips into his temples and dredged up a smile. “Yeah. In a while.”

Coming? It was a dim memory....

* * *

“YOU DON’T HAVE to skulk. I’m awake.”

Luke looked adorably rumpled as he emerged from his cocoon of blankets to sit up the second she opened the front door the next evening. He’d left a lamp on for her, and the dimly shaded bulb cast a golden glow on his bare chest. He lay back against the arm of the sofa and eyed her yellow silk dress with approval. “You look very daffodilish. How’d it go with Ted?”

Catherine shrugged. “He knows a lot about fungus.”

“He’s a botanist.”

She set her purse on the end table and took off her shoes. “I might never eat a mushroom again.”

“Limiting, but not impossible. Will you see him again?”

Catherine shook her head, then picked up her shoes. “No sparks. Let me put it this way. You offered me white bread when what I crave is devil’s food cake.”

* * *

LUKE SAT ON Nick’s patio, a beer can balanced on his stomach, his bare feet crossed and propped up on the wrought-iron railing. It had been a swelteringly hot day, so they’d ordered pizza and taken a cold one outside. Now soft, damp fog misted around them as they sat in the dark and watched the lights across the Bay twinkle. Appear. Disappear. The fog oddly amplified, then dampened audio and visual details, making the foghorn sound close enough to touch tonight.

“Hey,” Nick said lazily. “Guess who called today? Rochelle Lemmon. She wants us to design the addition, after all.”

Luke glanced at his partner. “Our way?” The Lemmon’s Queen Anne Victorian was a magnificent lady. He and Nick had refused the commission the month before because the couple had insisted on modernizing the extension they wanted on the back of the house. Remodeling Victorians was not only Luke and Nick’s specialty as architects, it was their passion.

“Balconies, stained glass, roof finials and all,” Nick told him triumphantly, taking a swig of his beer. “I gave it to Christy to schedule.”

Luke’s mind raced ahead. He wanted their best craftspeople on this important job. There weren’t that many artisans capable of doing the detailed and intricate work required. The characteristic excesses of the style—projected bay windows, towers, turrets, porches, wall carvings and acres of decorative trim and elaborate brackets—required a sure hand and a keen eye for detail.

“Willie to craft the chimneys. Mike McGuire for the crestings.” Luke glanced casually at his watch. “If those two aren’t done on the Simpson job, the Lemmons will just have to wait.”

“They’ll wait,” Nick said with confidence. He and Luke had a sterling reputation, and their clients were prepared to wait. “Got a late date or something?”

“Cat’s late. Monday was Ted. Tuesday night she went to a Giants game with one of the Bobs. On Wednesday, Allan took her over to Ghiradelli Square. Tonight she’s at the symphony with Kevin. I’ve stopped asking who’s next.”

“That’s the whole point, right? Meeting guys?” Nick shifted on his cushion. “What’s the deal? Are you p.o.’d because she’s a big hit and can change her dates twice as often as her underwear?”

“Do me a favor.” Luke paused with the rim of the can poised below his mouth. He lowered the cold metal to his bare chest. “Don’t mention Cat and underwear in the same breath, okay?”

He looked out at the faint phosphorescent line of the waves breaking on the beach beyond the wide swath of the park across the street. Several people were out walking their dogs despite it being eleven at night. He wondered what Cat and Kev were doing right now. The show would be over. Coffee, he guessed. Hopefully in a crowded place.

“You know, old son, sometimes you sound more like a jealous lover than a concerned big brother. Why is that, I wonder?”

“You should write fiction, Stratton. I’m merely concerned that Cat makes the right choices.”

Luke felt as though he was going to jump right out of his too-tight skin. He wished to hell he could confide in Nick. He and Nick shared damn near everything. Not only did they own a business together, they were closer than most brothers. There was no one on this planet Luke respected and trusted more.

But Nick wasn’t the problem. Luke was.

This was one secret he’d take to his grave. The second his feelings for Cat broke free from their tightly sealed box, he’d be in a world of hurt. Once out, he knew he’d never be able to shove those explosive emotions back where they’d been forced to lie dormant for years.

“And have you seen my place lately?” he said, desperate to change the subject. Which seemed to go from Cat to Cat without missing a beat. “It’s overrun with foliage. If she buys one more plant I’ll need a machete to get in the front door.”

“She’s nesting.” Light glinted off the can as Nick lifted his beer to his lips by radar. “Look at all the antiques she’s suddenly acquired. Shoot, in three weeks she’s transformed the place. Plants, furniture, all those pillows, candles. Girl things. Hell, old son, if I didn’t know better... Nah. Nothing. Neither of us has ever shacked up with a woman. So how would I know what it all means?

“Oh, by the way,” Nick added lazily, “in case I didn’t mention it before, Catherine’s going out with me next week.”

“You?” Luke heard a strange noise, then realized it was his teeth grinding. “‘By the way?’ Since when have you and Cat had that sort of relationship?”

“Hmm. Relationship.” Nick’s voice came out of the misty darkness like The Phantom of the Opera. “I kinda like the sound of that.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Luke dropped his feet from the railing to the floor with a thump. “You keep away from Cat. She’s not sophisticated like the women we date. She doesn’t know how the games are played. She might fall for all your baloney, and you’ll break her heart.”

“I won’t play with Catherine’s heart. Trust me.”

“I don’t. Trust you, that is. And would you stop calling her ‘Catherine’ like that?”

“Like what? Her name is Catherine.”

Luke’s jaw hurt. “You’d better treat her as you’ve always done. Like a sister.” His voice sounded like gravel in the thick darkness. He didn’t wait for Nick to remind him that neither of them was Cat’s brother. “She trusts you. Behave accordingly.”

Their silence was punctuated by a mournful toot of the foghorn. A dog barked. A car shifted gears as it turned the corner. Ted and Cat? Impossible to see from this high up.

“How come you haven’t taken her out?” Nick asked lazily.

“Me? I take her out all the time.”

“I don’t mean to your house to slave, you jerk. I mean on a date.”

Luke crushed the can he held, then tossed it in the general direction of the pizza box on the floor. “That would be...not a good idea.”

* * *

OVER THE NEXT couple of days Luke couldn’t stop thinking about Nick’s question. Why couldn’t he ask her out? They lived together. They were friends. Nothing wrong with asking a friend to the movies or a ball game, was there?

Offhand, he could think of several very good reasons why it would be a bad idea.

The promise to his dad.

The promise to Cat.

The promise to himself.

His—thus far contained—all-consuming lust.

On an “official date” he’d feel as though there was a chance of having more. And the reality was that this was Cat’s time to shine. To get what she wanted. To get what she deserved.

She’d spent years cloistered in that big old house taking care of his father. Without complaint, without a murmur as life passed her by. She deserved every good thing there was.

A promise was a promise. It wasn’t in him to renege, and he’d rather jump off a cliff than hurt her. Yeah, Luke decided, feeling sanctimonious, the least he could do was keep a low profile, and give Cat what she wanted.

* * *

VAN BUREN AND Stratton owned an immaculately restored 1860s Italianate Victorian on the Avenues. It not only housed their flourishing business, it was a shining example of their talent as architects and restoration specialists. Every inch had been lovingly restored, then intricately painted.

There were memories for Catherine in every room of this house. There was a photograph of the three of them in Luke’s office the day they’d opened their doors for business. She was proud that it was thanks to her skills as a day trader that Nick and Luke had been able to afford the house when they’d gone into business five years ago. She’d just begun day trading, and despite her show of confidence, wasn’t sure at all whether she could make it in that volatile roller-coaster world. But she’d flourished. By trading with the trends, she’d made steady profits, never making a huge killing but never getting wiped out, either, like other traders she knew.

She and Nick sat in the beautifully appointed reception area, which had originally been the ladies’ parlor. She’d gone with Luke to buy the faded Aubusson area rug. She’d been with Nick when he’d found the camelback sofa in an out-of-the-way antique store.

“What I want,” Catherine told Nick, “is for Luke to give some indication he sees me as more than someone making his socks magically disappear.”

“Unless my friend has cataracts, I can’t see how he can miss the obvious,” Nick assured her, head down as he searched for something in the receptionist’s antique cherrywood desk.

Catherine had decided to drop in on Luke to see if he’d take her to lunch before she went shopping. He’d been out. But Nick had assured her he wouldn’t be long.

A perfect opportunity for a little strategizing.

Nick dumped a pile of file folders on Christy’s desk. Catherine winced. “What are you looking for?”

“The Stockton bids.”

“It’s in the file room in the blue file cabinet.”

Nick glanced up. “It is? How’d you know that?”

“Because all bids go in the file room in the blue file cabinet. Nick? Could you stop scrounging around for a sec?”

Catherine tucked one foot under her and eased back on the stiff horsehair sofa, spread her soft skirt over her knees and picked up the cup and saucer from the table beside her. She’d acquired a slight tan at the beach a couple of days before, and the scoop-necked, butter-colored linen dress showed it off to advantage. The linen jacket hung neatly over a nearby tapestry chair. She cradled the saucer.

“In the last three weeks Luke’s interrogated every single guy I’ve gone out with as if he’s Don Corleone,” she told Nick, exasperated. “He’s still acting like my brother. I want him to see me as a sexy, desirable female, not his kid sister. I don’t know how to make him see me as an adult woman.”

“You look all-woman to me, Catherine. Trust me,” Nick said dryly. “There wasn’t a guy at the party who didn’t sit up and take notice.”

Catherine shot a wary glance at the etched glass panels in the oak front door before turning back to Nick. “I don’t care about other men, Nick. I want Luke to love me.”

Nick gave her a searching look, then said softly and with regret, “Will that really be enough for you, Catherine? Having him return your love? Luke’s a great guy, but we both know he’s got some serious hang-ups about commitment. Those fixed ideas he has about tying up his emotions too tightly. Can you accept that he’ll never marry you?”

“Having him reciprocate what I feel will be enough.”

“For how long?”

She looked him dead in the eye. “For as long as it lasts.”

“Really?” Nick asked skeptically. “Then why did you ask him to find you a husband?”

“To throw him off the scent. Don’t look at me like that. It’s a given that marrying Luke would be a dream come true. But I know that will never happen. I know him, remember? I’m a lot more realistic than you give me credit for.”

“Why do you love him, Catherine?” Nick asked. “Because you’ve known him almost your whole life? Because he represents security to you? Because you’re alone now that your dad’s gone?”

“No...maybe. Possibly that’s part of it. A small part,” she added quickly. “I love Luke because he’s honest, and strong and ethical. Because he’s got a sense of humor I understand. I love him because when I’m with him I’m...a better me. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Nick said with a smile. “It makes perfect sense. Okay, gorgeous, you have a master tactician at your disposal.” He grinned, looking charmingly rakish. “Between us, he doesn’t stand a chance.”

“I want him, but not at the risk of destroying what we have now. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Luke’s right.” Nick smiled. “You are a little crab. You’ve got to keep advancing here, Catherine. No retreating allowed.”

“You’re sure, positive, no doubt about it, I have a chance?” Catherine hated her own insecurity. She fought it every day, but sometimes that feeling of abandonment would creep up on her unexpectedly and she’d find herself poised for flight. “If you’re sure I’m not making a total fool of myself...”

Nick came to sit next to her on the sofa and took both her cold hands between his. “You want Luke to see you as a woman, right? Then you have to make him stop seeing you as The Kid.”

Like she hadn’t been trying for the last decade. “And how do I go about doing that?”

Nick’s blue eyes lit up devilishly as he released one hand to brush her mouth with his finger. “You dare Luke to teach you the art of seduction.”

Catherine, in the process of lifting the delicate china cup to her mouth, almost choked. Her eyes went wide. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. Luke knows you don’t have vast experience. Ask him to teach you.”

Catherine carefully set the cup and saucer on the small fern table beside the sofa. “No one is that naive!”

“Luke thinks you are. Pretend, if you have to.”

“I’m a lousy actress, Nick. Jeez-Louise, I’m not even a good poker player. How am I supposed to pull this off?”

“You’ll figure it out.” Nick, still holding her hand, looked up as the door opened and Luke walked in.

“Ah, here’s our meal ticket.” He rose, tugging Catherine up beside him, then wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “About time you made it back, old son. Catherine and I are starving, and you’re buying lunch.”

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