by Maria Luis
Not, of course, that she would ever get down on her knees for a man like Luke O’Connor.
So wrapped up in her own salacious thoughts, she barely caught the tail end to his sentence, “You like it in missionary and that’s it, don’t you.”
Not a question.
Anna swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. “What’s wrong with missionary?”
“It’s boring.”
Maybe it was, but it was too late in the game to tuck tail and turn back now. “I like it when I can see my partner’s face,” she said, trying very hard to control the inconvenient breathlessness in her voice. “It’s romantic.”
He didn’t seem impressed. “There are other ways to see a partner’s face than just while laying on your back.”
“Yeah?” Curiosity had her sitting up straight in her chair. And squirming, too, because damn it, Luke O’Connor had the incredibly ill-timed ability to turn her on in her own office. “How?”
Something hot and heavy flashed in his green eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was as thick as molasses. “Are you asking me to give away all my secrets?”
She met his gaze head-on. “Why shouldn’t I ask? It’s not like we’re going to jump in bed together, so I might as well glean all the information I can get out of you.”
The sound of his laughter warmed her from the inside out. “Jesus,” he muttered, flicking the pad of his thumb under his eye, “I like you, Anna.”
But not enough to bring me to bed.
She refused to feel hurt over his easy dismissal of her. So what if she wasn’t his type? According to Shaelyn there were plenty of guys out there who were interested in her. She just had to find those guys—how hard could it possibly be?
Luke cleared his throat. “I actually came here to apologize,” he said, looking very much like a student on the verge of tearing out of detention. After a pause, he clarified, “About last night. I didn’t know that Aaron had become such a—”
“A twat?” she supplied.
His brows arched. “Now that’s not a word I hear every day.”
“I watch a lot of British TV.”
“The American stuff not good enough for you?”
“I like to explore different cultures.”
“This coming from the woman who thinks missionary-style sex is the only way to go.”
Anna’s jaw snapped tight. “I did not say—”
He cut her off, that increasingly familiar sly grin of his easing the harshness of his features. “You did.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be apologizing?” she muttered, leaning back in her chair and wondering how exactly Luke O’Connor had managed to get under her skin.
“I started to, but then you had to go and throw the word ‘twat’ around.”
Tilting her head, she tapped her finger to her nose and then pointed at him. “Coming from the army, I’d expect you to be ambivalent when it comes to curse words.”
“On the contrary,” he told her smoothly, planting his cane on the ground and shifting his weight forward, “coming from the army I do my best to catalogue each and every new curse word slung my way. I particularly like four-letter ones. The dirtier the better.”
It was only after studying him carefully that she realized . . . he liked this back and forth between them—the constant banter. It was in the half-smile playing at his lips and the wicked gleam in his eyes.
Even more confusing was the fact that Anna enjoyed it too.
But it was time to get back to business. End this . . . whatever it happened to be between them, that apparently only she felt. Anna wasn’t a masochist, and in this situation, she understood one thing: Luke O’Connor might be a natural-born charmer but that didn’t mean she had to let herself be charmed.
“You were saying about Aaron?” she prompted, rising from her chair to move to the window. She slipped aside the heavy drawstring curtain.
Her view? A parking lot.
To make up for the sight of concrete slabs and glistening cars, on certain days she could make out the tops of the cruise ships sailing down the mighty Mississippi River toward the Gulf of Mexico. Now that was a view that reminded her of how far she’d come. At the end of the day, Anna wouldn’t trade her ugly parking lot for anything.
Luke didn’t follow her lead and stand, though she figured it had more to do with his injury than anything else. He shifted his body to face her, so that he straddled the bench. His bad leg stretched out, blocking her exit to the door.
“Fact is,” he said, “I didn’t know how much of a dirt bag he’d become over the years. High school Aaron was nice, easy-going, and one of the more ambitious guys in our year. While the rest of us were fumbling around trying to figure our lives out, he’d already had a plan in place by sophomore year.”
“He wanted to be in a band?”
“He’s in a band?” Luke’s brows drew together. “He told me he’s a lawyer. Hell, I remember hearing him tell our teacher that he was heading to Loyola for a degree in pre-law.”
“Not a lawyer,” she said with a shrug. “By day he works in construction. By night, he’s your average Joe guitar player in a band.”
“Definitely twat-central.” Anna sent Luke an are-you-serious glare, to which he only added, “Your words, not mine.”
She let the window drapery fall back into place, turning to face the man who made her office feel about the same size as a toy figurine’s playhouse. “You were saying, about Aaron?”
Luke combed his fingers through his messy brown hair. “He’s a sexist asshole and I’m sorry you had to put up with him. My next date for you will be a thousand times better. Who knows, we might even find ourselves in American curse-word territory as a ranking. Starts with an L, ends in O-V-E.”
She couldn’t help but smile at that. “Don’t get my hopes up.”
“Isn’t that my job here?” He ran his fingers down the length of the cane’s handgrip, dragging Anna’s gaze along with it. “Get your hopes up, deliver on the package, and help you to find your happy ever after?”
“If we’re talking packages, you should know that I have another date tonight.” She waited, breath held, for any sort of reaction. Other than a deep V forming between his brows, he said nothing, leaving Anna no other option but to continue plodding forward. “He works with my friend in the NOPD’s Crime Lab.”
“And?”
“And what?”
He waved his hand for her to continue. “Who is he? Name? Age? Height?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t run his social security card.”
Tonight’s meeting was another blind date. She knew nothing about this Dev Smith guy, and for that she was grateful. She wanted to be pleasantly surprised. She wanted him to take her mind off the man lounging in her office like he was perfectly content to hang out with her. She wanted, more than anything, for Dev Smith to be the guy who turned her bad dating streak around.
Maybe she was asking for too much.
More realistic hopes would be that he had all his teeth and no bad body odor.
“What time is it for?”
“Seven,” Anna said, moving to stand behind her chair. “We both leave work around the same time, and, honestly, if I go home, I might not have the strength to change out of my house pants.”
Interest lightened his eyes. “House pants? Tell me more.”
She felt her cheeks warm. “Sweatpants, Luke, my house pants are sweats.”
He tipped his head to the side. “Yoga pants?” His tone was hopeful.
There were days when Anna deeply regretted being born a blonde with fair skin . . . this was one of those days. Trying to grapple for control of the conversation, she said, “I thought you weren’t interested in dating? Doesn’t that include flirting, too?”
He didn’t even have the grace to look ashamed. “I’m giving you practice.”
“For what?”
“Handling a man’s advances.”
“Is this what you’d call a man’s ‘advanc
es’?” she said, her hands moving to close over the back of the chair. “Though I’ll say that this conversation is more digestible than anything that happened last night.”
His lips thinned. “Which is why I plan to meet up again with you tonight, just in case you need a hand.”
The idea of Luke O’Connor watching her on yet another date wasn’t nearly as appealing as it had been last week when she’d drunkenly concocted the idea. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“I do.”
“We’ll be in public,” Anna said, “there’s not much he can do.”
“He can insult you.”
She lifted a finger in the air. “Couldn’t the same be said about you?”
Scowling, he muttered, “Not the same thing. You don’t know him.”
“That’s true. But once again, do I really know you either?”
His light green gaze met hers. “I know your name now. I know you own the hottest boutique in town. I know you have a son, Julian, who plays football. I know you came to Herbal Heaven for something other than perfume, but I haven’t figured out exactly what it was just yet.” He stood, straightening from the bench with a wince. “I’d say that we’ve moved on from being complete strangers.”
“I remember you from high school.”
The words were out before she could stop them, and she watched him freeze. “You went to De La Salle?”
“I graduated the year before you.”
His expression banked as he took her in, and Anna fought the urge to squirm under his heavy stare. When his chin tipped back, he planted the cane on the ground and loosely rested his wrists over the head. “You were a cheerleader. Homecoming Queen, am I right?”
Sometimes she wished she hadn’t been such a debutante back then. Her mother had wanted that upper-class lifestyle for her only daughter; Anna had only liked it for the clothes. She’d always loved fashion. Licking her lips, she murmured, “Senior year, yes.”
A small smile flirted with his lips. “I remember now—royal blue dress. All the boys were hot for you, Blondie.”
Blondie.
Unexpected delight warmed her, even as Anna’s insides felt all kinds of topsy-turvy. Luke O’Connor, the man who admitted that seduction wasn’t his M.O, and that his interest in women landed him in their bed and nothing more, was moment by moment leaving her more unsteady in her stilettos.
If she were a smart woman, she’d cut off this dating challenge now before she got in too deep. She was too old for the unrequited love that plagued kids her son’s age, but unrequited lust might be just as bad when it came to her mental health.
Anna watched him move to the door, his cane and bad hip throwing off what most likely would have been a long-gaited stride. She waited until his hand fell on the doorknob to say, “Take the night off. I’ll be fine with this Dev Smith guy.”
Luke glanced over his shoulder, his gaze resting on her face. “I’ll be there at 1830 hours to get a good table.”
“What, so you can watch the misery unfold?”
He shook his head. “No, because you’re the same as you were back in high school. The men are still hot for you,” he said softly, “and this way I can see your face the entire time. If you need me, I’ll know in a heartbeat.”
Chapter Nine
“You’re overdoing it, O’Connor.”
Luke opened his eyes at the sound of the physical therapist’s shoes hitting the tiled floor. “How exactly am I overdoing it when I’m strapped to a machine?” He wasn’t exactly strapped, but it felt that way. Square, gel-based pads were suctioned to his bad hip like stickers. Wires ran from the pads to the machine, which then, from Luke’s understanding of it all, pumped electrical currents into his hip to lessen the pain. “I’m getting massaged, for fuck’s sake.”
The therapist, Robb, flicked a switch and the gentle humming of the machine quieted. “You’re already three months into therapy. For someone your age and body type, we should have progressed past the pool and electrode stimulation.”
For weeks now, Luke had suspected that he’d been falling behind schedule. Instead of growing more limber, it’d become harder to walk, harder to stand after sitting. Luke didn’t scare easily, but seeing the strength in his body deteriorate was enough to keep him up with night terrors.
Night terrors that had nothing to do with Trinket the Hip-killing Asshole, and everything to do with missions gone wrong and the victims of war whose faces were emblazoned in his memory.
The constant dose of pain was wearing on him and tearing down his defenses.
“I’ve done exactly what I’ve been told,” Luke said, back on the conversation of his bum hip. “Short of never moving from my bed again I haven’t been stupid.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Shit.
“Can we get me unhooked here? Maybe sit me upright?” Luke placed his hands on either sides of his hips and attempted to shift upward. It didn’t work. The electrode pads tugged at his skin, and his hip refused to kick into gear and function.
Robb settled on a squat chair to Luke’s right. He crossed one leg over the other at the ankle, linking his hands together over his knee. “Want to know why I don’t believe you?”
“Not particularly.”
The therapist continued, unfazed. “Your sister called the other day. Let me know that her older brother has been going out at the crack of dawn for longer walks than he’s allotted.”
Of course Amy would be the rat. He narrowed his gaze on Robb. “You ever think it’s weird that you still talk to your ex-girlfriend all the time?”
Robb and Amy had dated since college. Their on-again, off-again relationship had always driven Luke batty because he hated to see Amy cry. Apparently, the fact that Robb Hampton, one of the leading physical therapists in the city, was now Luke’s physical therapist, was enough cause for them to strike up conversation again.
Luke didn’t know whether to be pissed off or to accept that Amy and Robb’s relationship was none of his business.
Most of the time, he remained the ticked-off older brother.
“My relationship with your sister is not up for discussion,” Robb said.
Luke rose onto his elbows so he could look the other man in the eye. “So, you admit that the relationship is on, right now.”
“Not up for discussion.”
“It’s always up for discussion.”
Robb rolled his eyes. “Listen, O’Connor, you’ve been in the army for how long?”
Through gritted teeth, he bit out, “Thirteen years.”
“Right. Correct me if I’m wrong, but after thirteen years of being practically nowhere in sight . . . do you really think you have a say in my relationship?”
Luke had always been his sister’s champion. He’d been the man of the family, thanks to his own father dipping out when he’d been just a kid, and he’d done what had been needed to support Amy and their mother. Throughout most of his childhood, Moira’s dream of opening her own shop had been just that: a dream. She’d toiled away hours at the local supermarket, planning and designing a business that she’d hoped would one day feed her family.
But with no extra money to be found, Moira’s dream existed only in the countless notebooks she filled with inventory items and sketches of store layouts.
It had been Luke’s first, non-taxed deployment check that had provided the income for the glass bottles for oils and the plastic bags for the tea blends. It had been a good majority of his salary that had allowed Moira to find a location in the French Quarter and put down the 3% down-payment to call it hers. His non-taxed second deployment income had paved the way for Amy to pick the university of her choosing while not finding herself swaddled in debt.
For thirteen years, Luke had put his hopes and dreams on the backburner for the sake of his family’s happiness. And now, thirteen years and two months later to the day, he was no longer a soldier and, quite honestly, not sure he had any personal dreams left.
It cut hi
m that Amy had never relayed any of this to her boyfriend, but he only had himself to blame for that. He hadn’t wanted his younger sister to know how much of her opportunities could be placed at his feet. It was one thing to think that their mother had provided the money and co-signed the loans, quite another thing to realize that Luke had single-handedly put Amy through four years of college.
A college where she’d met this prick.
Glaring up at the ceiling, he muttered, “Let’s just get this over with. Tell me whatever it is that’s keeping you up at night.”
If he felt at all pleased by the chance to air his grievances, Robb didn’t show it. “You want to get better? Then stop pretending you’re G.I. Joe.” Robb crossed his arms over his chest. “You aren’t a soldier—not anymore. No more extended walking, no more foregoing your cane when you’re at your house.”
“Fuck that. Now listen here—”
Robb cut him off with a lifted hand. “Don’t even bother lying, O’Connor. Amy’s told me that she’s caught you without the cane three times now.”
“I was getting the goddamn milk out of the fridge,” he grunted, not even bothering to pretend otherwise. Though he and Amy were going to have a nice long talk about keeping certain things in the family. He knew she only meant well and worried over his recovery, but Jesus, sometimes a man liked to pretend he wasn’t one second away from crumpling to the floor.
“So get a dog and train it to get the milk for you,” was Robb’s no-nonsense response. “At least you’ll be occupied.”
“Thought I wasn’t supposed to be going out for extended walks?”
“Hell, I don’t know, O’Connor. Hire a dog walker. Make friends with something that isn’t your TV, your couch, or your right hand.”
Luke dropped his head back against the pillow. “Amy ever tell you that you’re a shit motivational speaker?”
“Guess it’s a good thing I don’t get paid to motivate people.”
“What do you call being someone’s therapist?”
Robb walked over to the electrode machine and flicked the switch. Almost instantaneously, the hammering pain in Luke’s hip eased as the electrical current worked its magic. He fought back a moan of relief.
