She knew herself very well. She’d never been the type to be satisfied with half a loaf. She wasn’t satisfied until she had the keys to the entire bakery in her possession.
Lydia opened her eyes again, looking directly at him, her gaze intense. “But it could have been better. Much better. There could have been no one wounded, no one killed.”
He knew she was thinking of that boy. The one whose funeral she’d attended. “Are you including Conroy in that package?”
Her expression sobered and she straightened in her chair. Her voice when she answered was clipped, precise.
“He comes under a different heading.” She couldn’t gauge what Graywolf was thinking, but she could make a fair guess. “I’m not a cold-blooded woman, Graywolf.”
He’d thought that initially, but not anymore. She was far too passionate. “I’ve already come to that conclusion on my own.”
How? a soft voice whispered through her mind.
How did you come to that conclusion?
She banished the voice, telling herself that it made no difference to her one way or another what he thought or how he had reached his conclusions.
Still, she found herself wanting to make him understand. “But something inside me freezes when I have to deal with people who kill without thought, who think they are so right that there’s no room for argument, for differences.” She sounded as if she were preaching, she thought. “I don’t hate easily, but I do hate bigots.”
Half his life had been spent fighting bigots, struggling out of the box that stereotypical thinking insisted on relegating him to. It had been a hard road from there to here. “I guess that gives us something else in common.”
She pushed her empty glass away. “I know something else we have in common.”
“Oh?”
“Neither one of us should have too much to drink.” It was time to leave, she thought. Before things heated up. “You never know when they might need us.”
She was right. Besides, he wanted his head clear tonight. “Doesn’t leave much room for a personal life, does it?”
She studied him for a second before replying. “Do you really want one?”
“Why, don’t you?”
No, she thought, she didn’t. Otherwise, she wouldn’t spend as much time on the job as she did. For the most part, her job was her life.
“I don’t really have any hobbies beyond watching old movies.” She couldn’t remember when she’d taken more than a couple of days off, and that had been to help out with and attend her mother’s wedding. “I’d be bored inside of three hours.”
As a kid he’d had too much time on his hands and he knew where that had led him then. But he’d come a long way from that troubled youth. Thanks, in no small part, to his uncle Henry and the boxing club Uncle Henry had established on the reservation. Boxing had given him a purpose, a goal and a place to be that didn’t involve getting into trouble. Now Lukas wished he could have just part of that time to do all the things he wanted to do.
“Not me. I’ve got more than enough to keep me occupied.”
She knew all about his volunteer work, and the free surgeries he and his friends performed back on his reservation. But to her, that was all part and parcel of the same thing. To her free time meant something completely different from what occupied your time during working hours.
“Then why choose something that makes such a demand on you?”
He found himself telling her things he didn’t normally share. And not minding it.
“Because I like the idea that I can save lives, that because of me Mr. Lindstrom will see his grandchild born and Mrs. Halloway will blow out the candles on her ninety-fifth birthday cake and Jon Erickson will live to graduate from high school this year. Besides, I get to give back a little.”
“Give back?”
He nodded, thinking of the reservation. Of the people who had grown up with the simplest of amenities, thinking this was the way it was supposed to be because they knew nothing else.
“To the people who put themselves out for me when my life didn’t look quite as rosy as—” He stopped, realizing he’d gone a little too far, talked a little too much. “Hey, now who’s the underhanded one?”
She laughed at the accusation. “Sorry, part of my training, getting people to talk.”
“You’re good at it,” he allowed.
The simple compliment warmed her.
The waiter approached, his body language making his inquiry for him before he had a chance to form the words. She shook her head at the thought of a second drink. She felt intoxicated enough as it was. Which wasn’t like her, she thought. She could hold a great deal more than she’d had tonight.
Lydia had an uneasy feeling that sipping a simple drink comprised of vodka and orange juice wasn’t what was sending her head spinning this way, but there was no sense in taking any chances. Alcohol would only make the situation worse.
“You’re sure?” Lukas asked.
“I’m sure. It’s getting late, anyway. And it wouldn’t hurt me to turn in before midnight one night a month.” She leaned over to pick up the small purse she kept with her.
Rather than try to talk her into having another, Lukas asked the waiter to bring the check. He paid cash and left a generous tip.
“Was that to impress me?”
Graywolf had left more as a tip than the drinks had cost. He didn’t strike her as the kind of man who would go out of his way to impress anyone, but she was the first to agree that she wasn’t always infallible in her judgment.
“No, that was to help the waiter with his expenses. He’s working his way through school. I treated him in the emergency room,” he added when she looked at him curiously. “He collided with another waiter and got some nasty cuts from the broken glasses as a result.”
“They have heart surgeons treating lacerations?”
“They do when it’s a Sunday night, the E.R. doctor’s busy and there’s no one else available.”
He held the door open for her and they walked out together. There was a full moon and it was painting everything within reach in shades of pale gold. Lukas looked at her and realized that he didn’t want the evening to end. Not yet.
“How far away do you live?”
She thought that a strange question, coming out of the blue. “About ten miles, why?”
“My place is closer. It’s just three miles from here.” Damn it, he was fumbling, he thought. Like some college kid asking a girl up to his place. He wondered if she’d laugh in his face, but it didn’t stop him from asking. “Would you like to come over for a nightcap?”
Self-preservation dictated that she turn him down. Politely or flippantly, but either way, firmly. She’d always known when she was in too deep. It was initially a gift that she had honed to perfection over the years. It had managed to save her more than once from a situation that could have turned deadly.
This wouldn’t turn deadly, but it was dangerous nonetheless, just as she had already decided that Lukas was.
But that old determination to see how far she could go in any given situation rose to the fore again, daring her to accept his invitation. Daring her to see if she could resist him and ultimately walk away when the time came to leave. Daring her to explore regions that were unfamiliar to her.
“I don’t want another drink,” she told him. “Do you have coffee?”
For a second he thought she was turning him down. There had been a hint of relief swirling through him. Relief because maybe he wanted to see her just a little more than he should.
But the relief that came with her acceptance was greater.
“If you like.” He tried to recall the contents of his refrigerator and vaguely thought he remembered seeing a carton of juice. “I could probably scare up some orange juice if you have a mind to be healthy.”
“All right,” she allowed, “you’re on. Provided neither of our pagers goes off.”
“Understood.” He led the way into the parking lot.
Because it had been fairly crowded when they’d arrived, they had been forced to park in different rows. “Wait here,” Lukas told her. “I’ll swing around to pick you up.”
Lydia nodded and unlocked her car. Sliding in behind the steering wheel, she told herself she had precisely three minutes to do the smart thing and get the hell out of here. Her job tested her enough every day. She didn’t need to prove anything more to herself. There was certainly no reason to play Russian roulette with Graywolf this way.
But when his dark blue sedan pulled into her row, Lydia was still sitting where she was, mentally listing pros and cons for doing what she was doing. She’d never been a coward before, she thought, nodding at him. She wasn’t about to start being one on a Friday night in late September.
Lydia started up her car and followed the blue sedan out of the lot and into the flow of traffic.
“I thought all heart surgeons were rich.” She turned to look at Lukas as he pocketed the key to his third-floor apartment.
Lukas closed the door behind her, locking it. “You mean, why don’t I live in a house?” He smiled. His mother asked the same thing, except that she wanted the house to be in Arizona, near her. “There’s only me and I’m not around that much. What do I need with a house? This place more than suits my needs. Can I take your jacket?” he offered.
She hesitated, then nodded. “Sure.”
When she began to shrug out of it, he moved around behind her to help her. As he slid the sleeves from her arms, she felt something suspiciously like an electrical shock shoot up both limbs. A little voice advised her to run. She ignored it.
“Thanks,” she murmured.
He paused, her jacket draped over his arm, humor curving his generous mouth. “I’m not up on my special agent etiquette. Should I ask you for your gun and holster, too?”
“Never ask an FBI special agent for her weapon,” she advised him with a smile. “Unless you want the business end of it first.”
Removing her holster, she wrapped the belt around it, then placed it on the kitchen counter.
Hanging her jacket on the coatrack, Lukas eyed the weapon. “Well, that’ll certainly keep me on my toes. Isn’t it uncomfortable, wearing that?”
“I’ve gotten used to it.” These days, it almost felt strange being without it. “Besides—” she thought of the split-second, life-or-death situation she’d been faced with when Conroy had turned his gun on Elliot “—it comes in handy.”
“I imagine in your line of work it does.” Checking the thermostat, he pressed the keypad. The unit began to rumble as it worked its way up to turning over. “How good are you with that thing?”
Her grandfather had taken her to a target range when she was fifteen. It had become a ritual every Saturday morning for the next three years. She could hit a bull’s-eye at a remarkable distance. He called her his Annie Oakley. “I generally hit what I aim for.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Lukas crossed to his kitchen. “So, what can I get you?”
She thought back to his offer when they left the restaurant. “Orange juice would be nice.”
Moving around the small family room, taking in bits and pieces, she stopped before a collection of framed photographs on the wall—black-and-white and color shots freezing scenes of poverty and groups of dark-haired children with bright, shiny smiles. That had to be home. She tried to pick him out.
Opening the refrigerator, Lukas found the carton on the first shelf. He took it out to read the date stamped along the top, then looked at her. “How do you feel about expiration dates?”
“You’re going to have to give me a little more than that to work with.”
He raised the carton to underscore his question. “The orange juice stopped being good yesterday.”
She shrugged. Drinking orange juice one day past its expiration date was far from the most daring thing she’d ever done. Lydia crossed to him.
“I’ll take my chances. If I get sick, luckily there’s a doctor in the house.” She moved behind him and looked into the interior of his refrigerator for herself. The shelves were almost empty. “I take it that shopping for food isn’t high on your priority list.”
He let the door close. “I usually get something in the cafeteria.”
“But not the coffee,” she guessed, opening the cupboard, looking for a glass. She found six cans of coffee instead. Nothing fancy, she noted.
“No, not the coffee. I’m particular about that and I need at least two cups to kick start my day.” He watched her, amused, as she opened the pantry. “There are more closets in the bedroom.”
She’d located a glass on her second try, but had decided to continue taking inventory. No wonder the man looked so fit and lean. There was no junk food around to tempt him.
What did tempt him? she wondered.
She realized that he’d said something to her and was waiting for some sort of response. She played back his words in her head and then looked at him over her shoulder. That definitely came under the heading of sarcasm, she thought.
“Excuse me?”
“You look like you’re enjoying yourself. I just thought you’d like to look in the closets I’ve got in the bedroom.” He gestured to the small hallway and the two rooms that lay beyond. “I have to warn you, though, there’s not much in the way of a wardrobe. I tend to live in jeans and work shirts when I’m not in scrubs or a lab coat.”
She let the doors fall. They folded into place. “Sorry, occupational habit. You can learn a lot about a person by what’s in their closets. That includes the pantry,” she added.
He poured a glass of orange juice for her. “And what did mine tell you?”
She took the glass as he replaced the carton in the refrigerator. Lydia wondered how long he kept things before he threw them out. “That you’re a minimalist and that for a man, you’re very neat.”
She had a strange way of wording things, he thought. His eyes slowly washed over her face.
“Does that mean if I were a woman, you’d consider me messy?”
Her heart was inching its way up her throat. She was having much more trouble catching her breath than she had a few minutes ago, when she’d been alone in her car. “If you were a woman, I would consider it a waste.”
He took the glass of orange juice from her hand and placed it on the counter. Even from where he was standing he could feel the heat, the pull that had been haunting him ever since he’d first laid eyes on her. He moved a little closer to the fire.
Slowly he combed his fingers through her hair, clearing it away from her face. “I’d say that puts us in agreement again.”
She hardly heard the words, even though she was concentrating on making them out. But it was hard to hear anything with her blood rushing in her ears the way it was.
Chapter 8
Like someone snatching a life preserver tossed to them at the last possible moment as they bobbed up and down in a tempestuous sea that was about to swallow them up whole, Lydia turned her head away from Lukas. One more second and she knew he was going to kiss her. Knew she was going to be lost if he did.
That wasn’t what she wanted to happen.
Wasn’t it?
Wasn’t that why she’d agreed to go out and have a drink with him? To come here with him? Because some part of her was curious? Curious to see if this intense attraction that shimmered between them was really all glitter and no substance—like the elaborate facades that were used to create an illusion on a movie studio backlot, all front, no sides, no back, no interior.
She was afraid to find out that there wasn’t anything more.
She was afraid to find out that there was.
With his hands on either side of her face, Lukas gently turned her head until she looked at him again. His eyes held her more prisoner than his hands. Hypnotized, she watched as he lowered his mouth to hers.
Determined to remain impervious to whatever was coming next, Lydia still felt her eyes closing and her pulse racing in wild anticipati
on.
She didn’t even come close to impervious.
Lights exploded in her head, raining down and bathing her in instant, intense heat, leaving no part untouched. Willing herself to remain still, to somehow maintain distance, did nothing. She wasn’t listening.
Lydia rose up on her toes, leaning into him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
And surrendering.
The hunger came full-blown and immediate, surprising him. Lukas was accustomed to exercising extreme control over himself, holding unwanted, complicating feelings at such distances that they never became even a remote threat to his way of life.
That wasn’t happening here.
Fissures ripped through his control, cracking it at a mind-numbing speed. Rather than remaining off to the sideline, feelings assaulted him from all sides.
His mouth slanted over hers, taking, giving, reveling in the taste, the feel, of her. Reveling in the excitement that was throbbing all through his body. Her scent, her flavor, was filling every part of him, his head, his senses, his entire being.
And yet he couldn’t get enough of her. He wanted more, craved more.
Needed more.
As if they were separate entities, governed only by instincts, his hands skimmed over her, caressing, possessing. Peeling away her garments.
When he relived it later, Lukas wasn’t aware of actually undressing her, only of getting closer to what his passions desired.
Lydia moved with each pass of his hand, shrugging out of her cumbersome clothing, divesting him of his. She found herself desperate to get rid of the layers that encompassed his body, keeping it from her.
The closer she came, the more excited she grew, trembling in anticipation of his hands on her naked body and hers on his.
She wanted to touch him. To have him touch her. To waken parts of her that had been dormant for so long, she’d given them up for dead. Making love with someone had always been less than satisfying for her. In the end it was always far more disappointing than exhilarating.
This time she knew the expectations were far greater than ever before. If disappointment came, she knew it would be that much more devastating. The smart thing would be to stop now, while she still could.
In Graywolf’s Hands Page 9
