Daddy, Unexpectedly

by Lee McKenzie

  Luke stopped by the front desk on his way out of the precinct. Kate was on the phone but she held up a finger to indicate she’d be a minute.

  “Find anything?” he asked when she ended the call.

  She tore a strip off a memo pad and handed it to him. “The guy drives a Lexus LS. Nice set of wheels. I gave you the plate number.”

  “Anything else?” Luke asked.

  “A couple of traffic violations, otherwise nothing noteworthy. I’ve been busy, though, so I’ll keep digging.”

  “Appreciate it.” As he left the precinct and climbed onto his bike, he turned off his thoughts about the undercover operation and the business with Donald and pondered dinner. Something simple, he decided. He’d have to hit a grocery store, since Claire’s fridge was virtually empty, and he’d also give his dog a good run because, with any luck, Rex would be spending another night on his own.

  Chapter Six

  The two-hour open house felt more like ten. Claire had just listed this home in East Queen Anne, not far from where Sam lived, and she liked to host an open house as soon as possible—it was an excellent way to get a sense of what buyers liked about the home and what didn’t work for them. Today her heart wasn’t in it, and her scattered thoughts were everywhere but on the job at hand.

  That morning she’d shown several properties to her new clients and they’d liked one in particular, but wanted to sleep on it before deciding whether or not to make an offer. Fair enough.

  Then she’d gone to the clinic, and she hadn’t liked what she’d heard. After a mini lecture on why birth control only worked when taken regularly, she’d left with a diaphragm and instructions on how to use it. The doctor had suggested using condoms until the pregnancy scare was over, but she couldn’t imagine how that would work. Last night Luke had told her he’d been tested for STDs after breaking up with Sherri, since he really had no idea whether or not she’d been with another man, and Claire had gone for the same test after learning about Donald’s infidelity. Since they were both clean and she was on the Pill, a condom hadn’t been a consideration. How could she ask him to use one now without telling him she had totally messed up? She couldn’t, and she wouldn’t. This was her problem, not his.

  She was about to pack up her briefcase when her phone vibrated. The rest of her started to hum, too, much as it had when she’d ridden behind him on his motorcycle. As she answered, it dawned on her that “La Cucaracha” hadn’t played all day, at least not since that morning. Maybe Donald was finally getting the message.

  “Hi, Luke.”

  “Hey, you. Are you at home?”

  “Not yet. I’m just leaving the open house, but I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. Why?”

  “Do you have plans for dinner?”

  “Not so far.”

  “Good. What do you say I grab a few groceries and drop by, fix some for both of us?”

  “You’re offering to cook for me?” Another first for her.

  He laughed. “Sure am. Nothing fancy, mind you, but I can manage the basics.”

  “You don’t have to shop, though. I can pick up some groceries on my way home.”

  “Tell you what.” His voice dropped an octave. “You go home, slip into something...comfortable. I’ll look after the rest.”

  “Oh.” The hum upgraded to a serious throb. “Sure.”

  “I can be there in an hour,” he said. “Does that work for you?”

  Yes! “Sure. Yes, of course.” Could you maybe think of something intelligent to say? “You’re sure there’s nothing I can do?”

  Normally she would offer to pick up a bottle of wine. If there was one semi-useful thing she’d learned from living with Donald, it was how to choose the right wine, even though she seldom drank any herself. Under the circumstances, anything with alcohol was completely inappropriate, and besides, there were still quite a few bottles in the wine rack.

  “You’ve been working all day,” he said. “Go home, put your feet up, and I’ll see you in a while. Do you have a barbecue?”

  “Yes, there’s one on the terrace. I’ve never used it, though.”

  “And we’re going to maintain that tradition.”

  All she could think was...wow. Luke Devlin had already proven that he knew what a woman wanted in the bedroom. But to know his way around the kitchen, too... That was just...wow. It could be that he was simply looking for an excuse to get back into her bed, which was fine by her. Being wined and dined—figuratively, at least—was a brand-new experience, and she liked it. When she and Donald had entertained, mostly his business associates, he’d loved to stand out at the barbecue and make a show of doing the cooking...after she had done the shopping and food preparation.

  “I’ll see you soon,” she said, feeling a little breathless. If she hurried, she would have time for a quick shower before she got comfortable.

  * * *

  LUKE DECIDED TO LEAVE the Ducati at home and loaded the groceries into his old truck instead. He was glad Claire had agreed to dinner because he’d already shopped for the things he needed to make it. After he talked to her on the phone, he’d taken Rex for a run and showered, and now he was ready for a night out. The whole night.

  When he got to her place, he drove slowly up the street, scanning the vehicles parked on both sides. Sure enough, there was the Lexus. He didn’t like the weight that settled in his gut, not one bit. What the hell was with this guy?

  Luke noted the driver sitting behind the wheel, then he circled the block and parked a few cars back. After five minutes, Donald didn’t move, so Luke got out and, with one arm wrapped around his bag of groceries, walked up the row of cars, and rapped on the driver’s side window.

  Startled, Donald jumped and swung sideways. In an instant his expression went from wary to defensive.

  Luke indicated he should lower the window. Donald shook his head. Luke stood his ground. Finally the window slid open a couple of inches.

  “What do you want?” Donald asked.

  “Here’s a funny thing,” Luke replied. “I was going to ask you the same question.” He waited for the jerk to respond with a statement about it being a free country, but the guy seemed to think better of it.

  “I need to talk to my—”

  If he was going to say wife, he thought better of it.

  “I need to talk to Claire. She hasn’t answered my calls so I was going to buzz her, see if she’ll let me in.”

  Total load of crap. “You’ve been sitting here awhile.”

  Donald narrowed his eyes but didn’t respond.

  “I’m just on my way up,” Luke said, keeping his tone conversational. “She takes my calls. I can give her a ring right now, see if she’s got a few minutes.”

  Donald shook his head. No surprise there. “This is private,” he said. “Between me and Claire.”

  “Pretty sure she said her lawyer’d be in touch with yours. Monday, wasn’t it?”

  “This can’t wait.”

  Luke wasn’t buying that, not for a minute, and he was done listening to this guy’s lame-assed excuses.

  “I don’t believe you. All these calls to Claire amount to harassment. Hanging around here is stalking. Letting yourself into her apartment is break-and-enter.” He leaned in close to the window.

  Donald pulled himself back from the window.

  “Unless you want to get slapped with a restraining order, I suggest you get yourself out of here. Don’t call. Don’t even think about coming back or calling. If Claire said her lawyer will be in touch, then her lawyer will be in touch.”

  A string of obscenities was muted by the car window sliding shut and the sound of the Lexus’s engine springing to life. Luke stepped aside as Donald swung away from the curb and sped away. He watched until the swanky car and its sleazy driver disappeared around the corner, then made his way to the building’s entrance and buzzed Claire to let him in.

  On the elevator ride up, he debated how best to tell her about the run-in with Donald. He hated t
o alarm her, but she seemed to think her ex was annoying but not dangerous. Women who knew they were being stalked had a damned tough time protecting themselves. Claire couldn’t keep herself safe if she didn’t know what her ex was up to, or what he might be capable of doing.

  Luke was willing to bet that Donald had let himself into the building after she’d gone out today, finding that his key no longer worked in the door to the apartment. If changing the lock after last night’s encounter at gunpoint wasn’t a deterrent, this guy truly could be dangerous.

  He stepped off the elevator and all was momentarily forgotten when Claire opened the door for him and took his breath away. No need to say hello, he decided. Instead he slid his free hand into the hair at the nape of her neck and pulled her in for a kiss.

  * * *

  A GIRL COULD GET USED to this, Claire decided. Luke knew his way around a kitchen, and he was making himself right at home in hers. He had insisted she leave dinner entirely up to him, so she’d sat at the island sipping a virgin Bloody Mary—he had even salted the rim of the glass—while he whipped up a steak marinade, chopped vegetables for a salad and scrubbed a couple of baking potatoes.

  The whole time their conversation had flowed easily. He’d had a meeting at the police station that morning, and she had shared a few anecdotes about her time spent with new clients that morning and the open house that afternoon, while carefully avoiding the details of where she’d spent her lunch hour. Then he’d told her about his run with Rex that afternoon, and had surprised her by producing a catnip mouse.

  Smart man. She would have to remember to do something similar for his dog, if she ever had an opportunity to meet him.

  It usually took Chloe a long time to warm up to anyone, especially men, but they had both laughed while the cat, usually so dignified and composed, had rolled on the floor with the felt toy before tossing it around and pretending to stalk it. Finally, while he stood at the counter preparing food, Chloe had made a show of rubbing herself against Luke’s legs.

  Quite the little hussy, Claire thought. I guess that makes two of us.

  The kiss Luke had given her when he arrived had hinted at dessert before dinner, but then he’d shrugged out of his jacket, slung it over the back of a kitchen stool and emptied the bag of groceries he’d brought with him. She’d then sat on that same stool, sipping her drink and occasionally fingering the smooth, supple leather, wondering if his gun was tucked inside, finding the prospect strangely stimulating.

  Watching a man who was this comfortable in the kitchen was a new experience. Come to think of it, the past twenty-four hours had been filled with firsts.

  Spending the night with a man after their first date.

  Seeing her ex held at gunpoint. She smiled.

  Realizing there was a chance she could be pregnant. That wiped away the smile.

  Her doctor had offered emergency contraception earlier that day, and Claire had declined without even having to think about it. She had used it once before, years ago, and it had been absolutely the right thing to do under those circumstances. As for the guy responsible for that scare, there was no question she’d been a terrible judge of character. By comparison, Donald had seemed safe, albeit a little boring, and she’d been wrong again.

  This time the possibility of being pregnant was different. Not because she believed she and Luke had a chance at a relationship—there was no way this would stick and he’d already made it more than clear that he didn’t want a family—but because she had loved him once, could maybe love him again. If they had created a baby together, she would love it more than life itself. She drew in a long, shaky breath and forced her thoughts back to the present, and a very nice present it was, with every woman’s dream of a man here in her kitchen, making dinner for her, and clearly intending to spend the night.

  The sun was setting and the air was getting cool by the time Luke carried the marinated steaks out to the barbecue on the terrace.

  “How do you like yours?” he asked.

  “I don’t mind a little pink.”

  “Good to know. I’ll put yours on first.”

  “Let me guess. You like yours rare.”

  “Good guess,” he said with a shrug and a wink.

  Claire joined him outside and after she set the table for two, she lit a couple of candles and turned on the overhead heater. She leaned on the railing for a moment, taking in the pink-hued streaks across the darkening sky and their reflection in Puget Sound. This was the one thing she would miss about this place.

  Luke came up behind, put his arms around her. “Dinner won’t be long.”

  She leaned against him, liking the feel of his body behind hers, and folded her arms over his. “This is very sweet of you. Thanks for doing this.”

  “My pleasure,” he said. “Nice view, too.”

  She angled her head so she could see him. He was looking down at her. “You’re not looking at the view.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Oh, that’s smooth.” She laughed, though. She’d always liked that he was so laid-back and relaxed around women, and really liked that she was now the recipient of his easygoing attention. This was fun. He made her—serious, list-making, by-the-book Claire DeAngelo—feel sexy, a little playful, even. He also made her wish this could be something more than two friends who’d figured out that being friends had certain—dare she say it?—benefits.

  She could stay like this forever, but he had other ideas. Instead of becoming more intimate, he brushed her cheek with his lips and backed away. “I’ll just toss my steak on the grill and then we’ll be ready to eat in a few minutes.”

  “A few minutes?” She laughed. “That’s pretty rare.”

  He winked again as he flipped her steak, placed his next to it and lowered the lid of the barbecue. “Be right back with the salad and baked potatoes.”

  She turned and leaned on the rail so she could watch him when he came back outside. And he was a sight to behold, with a salad bowl nestled in the crook of an arm, a pair of baked potatoes in one oven-mitted hand and an assortment of condiments in his other hand.

  She stepped forward and took the sour cream and bacon bits from him, then the salad, and set them on the table. “You should have asked me to give you a hand.”

  “No way. This is your night, remember.”

  Her night. She liked the sound of that.

  He tossed the potatoes into the air, caught one with the mitt and the other with his bare hand, and dropped them on the plates. “Hot.”

  “If you get tired of moonlighting as a window washer, you can get a job as a waiter.”

  “Very funny.” He held out her chair for her. “Sit. I’ll be right back with another round of drinks, and then those steaks should be ready.”

  As he waited on her, it struck her that she’d never met a man who was this confident without being arrogant, this gorgeous without thinking he was God’s gift. Admittedly, she didn’t have a whole lot of experience in this area. She hadn’t dated much in high school, and after a devastating incident in her freshman year that she did her damnedest not to think about, she hadn’t dated much in college, either. Hanging out with Luke had been fun and surprisingly safe, but after graduation they’d lost touch.

  A few years later she’d met Donald, and while he hadn’t exactly swept her off her feet, he had been charming and attentive. It wasn’t until after they were married that his charm waned and his attention wandered. Since they’d separated, his behavior had become unpredictable and, frankly, unacceptable. She had stalled selling the condo, partly as a way to get even for his infidelity, so she supposed she was partly responsible, but all that should change once they had the place on the market.

  Luke set two more drinks on the table. “Be right back with those steaks.”

  A minute later he was, and the steak, with its perfect grill lines and a hint of garlic and rosemary, had her mouth watering.

  He took the chair across the table, added a generous serving of salad to hi
s plate and carved into his baked potato. She followed suit, and for once didn’t worry about how many calories were in the salad dressing, sour cream and bacon bits. She was pretty sure she’d be working them off later.

  She picked up her glass.

  Luke lifted his and touched the rim to hers. “I noticed you have a well-stocked wine rack,” he said. “You should feel free to open a bottle if you’d like to have some with your dinner.”

  She sipped her virgin Bloody Mary and fluttered her lashes at Luke. “Trying to get me drunk, Devlin?”

  He looked taken aback. “No, jeez—”

  “I was kidding. Relax. And no, I don’t want wine with dinner.” A girl could only work off so many calories in one night. “I’m not much of a drinker. Come to think of it, I haven’t opened a single bottle since Donald, um, moved out.”

  Luke stabbed his fork into a piece of steak. “I remember that from college. You were not much of partier, not the way a lot of us were.”

  Claire dropped her gaze to her plate, remembering those days all too well, especially her reason for becoming not much of a partier.

  Luke reached across the table and touched her hand. “I meant that as a compliment.”

  She looked at him, tried to smile. “I know. It’s just...it’s nothing.”

  “I know nothing when I see it and whatever this is, it’s not nothing.”

  She didn’t even like to think about that night, and she had never told anyone about it. Not Donald, not her friends, and she sure didn’t want to tell Luke. It was too embarrassing. Besides, it was a long time ago. Ancient history. Water under the bridge.

  “Really, Luke. It’s nothing. What about you? How was your day?” she asked. “How was Rex when you got home this morning?”

  “He was good. The furniture was intact, but he gave me a lecture about staying out all night.”

  “I’d like to meet him sometime.”