CHEROKEE MARRIAGE DARE

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  He lifted his gaze and slammed straight into hers. Neither moved. They sat, staring at each other, the air between them as jagged as a shard of glass.

  Luke's entire body shuddered. He was too shocked, too aroused to think straight. If he didn't leave, if he didn't force his legs to carry him to the door, he was going to drag Maggie into his arms. Push his tongue into her mouth, tear at her clothes, bury himself between her legs.

  Deep, he thought. Deep and wet between her legs.

  "I have to go." He shot up like a rocket and nearly tripped over the dog, feeling big and boyish and stupid.

  "I'm sorry," she said again.

  "Don't apologize." He jammed his hands in his pockets and tried to act casual. "People do that. They … you know, fantasize." Flustered, he removed his hands from his pockets, suddenly worried that they would call attention to his distended fly.

  "Do you?" she asked, gnawing on her lip.

  Luke felt like a sexually starved teenager, a kid too shy to admit that he had normal, healthy urges. "Sometimes. Especially if it's been awhile since I've—" He paused, searching for the appropriate term. When nothing but raunchy words came to mind, he settled on, "Been with someone."

  "Oh." She grabbed a decorative pillow and twisted the tassel. "Has it been awhile?"

  Determined to avoid her gaze, he glanced at the wall, then caught sight of the mermaid mural. Cursing to himself, he shifted his gaze again. That erotic painting wasn't helping. "Yeah. It feels like it's been forever."

  "For me, too," she admitted.

  In the next instant they both fell silent. She hugged the tasseled pillow to her chest, and he glanced at the whitewashed floor, trying to think of a way to change the subject.

  "I put the files in your office," he managed to say, gesturing to the computer room down the hall.

  "Thank you. I'll sort through them in the morning."

  "Great. Well, I better go. It's getting late." He checked his watch, then realized he wasn't wearing one. This had to be, he thought, the most awkward, strangely sexual moment of his life. He was still fully aroused, still turned on by what she'd told him.

  She walked him to the door. They stammered through a goodbye and, when the elevator descended, he dropped his head against the wall and let out a rough I - should - have - spent - the - night - with - her, she's - all - I'm - going - to - think - about, how - in - hell - am - I - going - to - sleep breath.

  * * *

  Maggie couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned in bed, stared at the ceiling, watched the clock and thought about Luke. The rain had started up again. She could hear it pounding on the roof.

  The phone rang, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Nothing but bad news came in the middle of the night.

  She answered the call, fearing the worst.

  "Maggie, it's me." Luke's husky voice came over the line. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

  "No. Is something wrong?"

  "I can't sleep."

  She snuggled deeper under the covers. "Me, neither."

  Silence bounced between them before he said, "I've never had phone sex, have you?"

  "No." She focused on the rhythm of the rain to keep her pulse from running away with her. "Is that why you called?"

  "Yeah, but I don't think I'm going to be very good at it."

  Did he want her to say something erotic? To start the forbidden game? She wasn't sure what to do. She couldn't exactly tell him what she was wearing. Her flannel pajamas had cartoon characters all over them. They were her silly, cold-weather indulgence.

  "I wish you would have stayed here," was the only thing she could think to say. It was, after all, how she felt. She missed him terribly, and now the rain sounded lonely and sad.

  "Me, too. But deep down, I know better."

  "I haven't made things easy on you," she said, aware of the fire, the fine line between passion and anger, that fueled their reactions to each other. "How many times have I accused you of being with someone else?"

  "I would never do that, Maggie. I would never hurt you deliberately."

  "Thank you. That means a lot to me." In her heart she knew he was an honorable man, but she needed to hear him say it, to admit in some small way that he cared.

  "I was jealous, too," he said. "And things like that never mattered to me before. I've never been in a committed relationship."

  "But you should be, Luke. You need someone." You need me, she thought, the woman who loves you, the woman who dreams about you every night. "You should have a wife and children."

  His response was quick. Too quick. "I'm not the husband type. And I'd make a terrible dad."

  "No, you wouldn't." Maggie could see him holding an infant against his chest, whispering softly in the Cherokee language. The dedicated father, the protective warrior. "A child would be lucky to have you."

  "Do you want kids?" he asked, his voice suddenly rough with emotion.

  "Yes. But I hadn't given it much thought until I met you." She adjusted the phone. "I want your babies, Luke. Think of how beautiful our children would be." She glanced at the window. She'd left the blinds open, inviting the city lights to filter in, to slash watery hues across the room. "Come over and make a baby with me."

  He was silent for a moment, and she knew he was imagining them together, his body spilling into hers.

  "We can't let that happen," he said. "You know we can't." He released a heavy sigh. "This is crazy. I'm standing in front of the fireplace at two in the morning, talking about making babies."

  It wasn't, she realized, the kind of conversation he'd anticipated. It was deeper, much more intense than he'd bargained for. "I thought you were in bed."

  "No. I'm too restless to lie down."

  She pictured him, a crackling fire sending golden waves over his skin. In her mind's eye, his chest was bare and frayed denims rode low on his hips. And his hair, that midnight hair, would be tousled from dragging his hands through it.

  Her heart went soft. Tough, detached Luke. He'd called because he needed her, because he couldn't bear to sleep alone. "Climb into bed," she said, wishing she could hold him. "And we'll keep each other company."

  "Okay." She heard a smile in his voice. "But you've got to talk dirty to me."

  She laughed. She knew he was kidding. At this point, all they would do was cuddle and listen to the rain.

  * * *

  Dawn stole its way into Luke's room, and he awakened with a cordless phone jammed against his ear. He listened for a dial tone and heard nothing but stillness coming from the other line. He was still connected to Maggie's phone, but she was asleep.

  What they'd done last night seemed even more intimate than sex. Remaining on the phone had been romance in its purest, most innocent form. And that, he thought as he sat up and shoved off the covers, was dangerous.

  "Maggie?" he whispered her name into the receiver, recalling the tender emotion they'd shared.

  Come over and make a baby with me.

  For an instant last night, he'd been tempted. But then reality had set in, and he knew he couldn't give that much of himself. Nor could he live the rest of his life worrying about keeping his children safe.

  "Maggie?" he said her name again. But this time when she didn't respond, he ended the connection, pressing the power button. A shiver sliced through him, and suddenly he felt as if he'd just severed a limb.

  No, he told himself. Don't you dare form that kind of attachment to her, that kind of gut-wrenching need.

  Luke leaned over and placed the phone on the dresser, and it rang a second later. He didn't answer it, not right away. Preparing to hear Maggie's voice, he sat on the edge of the bed. He caught his reflection in the mirrored closet door, thinking he looked like hell. He'd slept in his jeans, and a shadow of beard stubble peppered his jaw.

  Finally he answered the phone. "Hello?"

  "Good morning, Lucas."

  The woman on the other end of the line was his mother. He cleared his mind, or at least he tried to. Maggie sti
ll dominated his thoughts. "Hey, Mom."

  "I wanted to catch you before you left for work."

  "No problem." He opened the blinds, insisting he wasn't disappointed that the call wasn't from Maggie.

  "I'm going to see a doctor," she said.

  "Why? What's wrong? Are you sick?"

  "It's been twenty-seven years since I've traveled more than a few blocks from my home," she responded. "That's not a particularly healthy way to live."

  Stunned by her admission, he rose, carrying the phone into the kitchen. Suddenly he needed a strong dose of caffeine. She hadn't referred to herself as agoraphobic, but she'd said it in her own way.

  As he opened a can of coffee, his eyes turned watery. He wanted to blame that uncharacteristic reaction on lack of sleep, but he knew better. "I'm so glad. I want you to be healthy."

  "I've made your life so difficult," she said. "You've sheltered me from the outside world, but I can't keep expecting you to do that."

  He frowned at the coffee grounds he'd spilled on the counter. "I don't begrudge our relationship. I love you, Mom." Luke was the one at fault, the one who hadn't protected Gwen that day. Dana Starwind had nothing to feel guilty about.

  "Oh, Lucas." She made a sad, sighing sound. "I love you, too. And that's why I should have made this decision years ago."

  "Don't blame yourself for something you couldn't control."

  "I'm through making excuses," she said.

  Her voice turned stronger, and he pictured her squaring her shoulders, drawing strength from somewhere deep within.

  "There's plenty of help out there," she continued in the same determined voice. "I've seen TV commercials about the medication they give people who feel the way I do. It wouldn't hurt for me to try something."

  How long would her bravado last? he wondered. Would she panic later? He had seen her at her frailest, battling the fear and overwhelming grief that kept her chained to the house.

  "I'm going to ask Maggie if she'll take me to the doctor. And I think I'll bring Nell along, too. She's been dancing around the house all morning. Prattling about all the things we'll be able to do. Nell wants to go on a cruise. Goodness, can you imagine me on one of those floating casinos?"

  He was still stuck on the Maggie part. What had the Connelly heiress said to influence his mother? To make her reevaluate her life?

  "I warned Nell not to jump the gun," she said.

  She paused, and Luke knew the idea of a cruise made her nervous. Hell, just going to the market made her nervous.

  "I'm not fooling myself," she went on. "This isn't going to be easy. I don't expect to turn into a world traveler overnight. Besides, my main concern is attending your wedding."

  "What?" He dropped the coffeepot into the sink. The glass carafe bounced but didn't shatter. "I'm not getting married."

  "You never know. You might. And I need to prepare for a big social event like that."

  Luke's next breath clogged his lungs. When he picked up the coffeepot, his hands were anything but steady.

  Come over and make a baby with me.

  "I'm not getting married," he reiterated. And he wasn't going to make babies with a woman almost half his age. He was too old and too ornery to be a husband and father. Maggie's affection for him would blow over soon enough. "There isn't going to be any wedding, Mom."

  "Oh, my. Listen to yourself, Lucas. You sound more afraid than I do."

  He shoved the coffeepot in place, refusing to believe he was basing his decision solely on fear. Even, damn it, if his heart was slamming against his ribs and his mouth had gone unbearably dry.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  «^»

  The Shaky Shamrock wasn't a dive, but it wasn't a trendy bar, either. It was, in Luke's opinion, an Irish-owned pub that provided a pool table, a stingy dance floor and a working-class environment that normally put him at ease.

  Here, he thought, a guy could get friendly with a bottle of vodka and forget his troubles. But only if he wasn't waiting for trouble to arrive.

  Where the hell was Maggie anyway? Couldn't she ever be on time?

  Luke eyed the clear liquid in his glass, then downed the alcohol and signaled the waitress. One more wouldn't hurt. If anything, it would take the edge off.

  Marriage. Babies. He didn't want to think about any of it.

  Five minutes later, Luke finished another drink, then sucked on an ice cube. And because he'd heard that sexually frustrated people chewed ice for a diversion, he spit it back into his glass and shelled a peanut instead, hoping no one noticed.

  The pub was getting crowded. Couples squeezed onto the dance floor, gyrating to cover tunes played by a local band. Four college-age guys wagered on a rowdy billiards game, laughing above the music. The bartender, a big Irishman with a potbelly and thinning red hair, kept a steady flow of alcohol moving while currency exchanged hands.

  Maggie, the recognizable celebrity, came through the door alone – her faithful bodyguard Bruno having been left behind for the evening – and turned every head in the place. And no damn wonder. Beneath a zebra-print coat, she wore a leather dress that made her look capable of handcuffing a man to his bed. Sleek and shiny, the black garment hugged lean curves, stirring even the most staid imagination. And those spiky-heeled boots. Luke envisioned pulling her onto his lap and tangling his hands all through that gorgeous hair.

  Talk about needing to chew ice.

  He stood, and she walked over to the table. "Am I late?" she asked.

  Luke didn't take his eyes off her. "You know you are." She removed her coat, and he came around to do the gentlemanly thing and push in her chair. And that was when he noticed that her dress was backless.

  She turned to look at him. "Is something wrong?"

  "No." Nothing that didn't make him a healthy, all-American, hot-blooded male. "You want a drink?"

  He could sure as hell use another one. Was it his sixth? he wondered. His seventh? Eighth? Hell, at this point, he didn't care.

  "A glass of white wine would be nice," Maggie said, drawing his attention back to her.

  Bypassing the waitress, he ordered directly from the bar. One of the pool players gaped at Maggie, and Luke sent the guy a hands-off stare.

  When he returned to the table, she reached for her wine. He sat across from her and watched the way she handled the glass, her fingers sliding up and down the stem. How could someone so young be so damn seductive?

  "Do you come here a lot?" she asked.

  He shrugged. "Now and then. I don't go out that much." She looked around. "It's cozy. Kind of rough." Her lips curved into a feminine smile. "I like it."

  He guzzled his drink and went after a handful of peanuts. Cozy and rough was the way he wanted to paw her right now. He knew she wasn't wearing a bra. He'd gotten a good look at her naked back and the intriguing shape of her spine.

  "So what's on your mind, Luke?"

  Sex, he wanted to say. As much of it as I can get. "The case."

  She scooted her chair closer to the table. Vintage rock blared from the amplifiers, filling the room with strumming guitar licks, a thumping bass and the pounding of a rhythmic drum. He wondered how she'd react if he asked her to do a private strip show for him tonight. Slide down a metal pole, the whole bit.

  "Well?" she asked.

  He wanted a lap dance, too. One of those slow, sultry—

  "Luke? What's going on with the case?"

  "Maybe we should discuss it outside." Where he could inhale a strong gust of city air. Gasoline fumes and factory smoke ought to clear his head right up.

  A bit bleary-eyed, he grabbed his jacket. He was drunk and horny, and she was dressed like a dominatrix and sipping a ladylike glass of wine. The odds, he decided, weren't in his favor.

  Maggie stood, and Luke helped her with her coat. Once they were outside, he scanned the parking lot for his SUV. Finding it right where he'd left it, he leaned against the hood. Amber streetlights cast a buttery glow, softening the December night
. A damp chill nipped the air. He blew a breath just to see it fog and disappear.

  Maggie eyed him speculatively. "How many have you had, Luke?"

  "I lost count awhile back, but I remember what I was supposed to tell you about the case. The guy who owned the Altarian textile mill died. Keeled over from a heart attack."

  Long, loose hair tumbled around her face. She batted at the breeze-ravaged strands impatiently. "Are you sure he wasn't murdered?"

  "Positive. And this really sucks, because he was one of our prime suspects. Those CDs were smuggled out of his mill."

  "What about his employees? Could one of them be tied to the mob?"

  "It's highly unlikely. We did background checks on all of them. Nothing surfaced, but we didn't expect much. They're just working-class folks."

  She slipped her hands in her pockets. Her coat billowed in the wind, snapping like a faux-fur flag. He knew she favored those fake animal prints. She wasn't the sort who went after real fur, even if she could afford it.

  "And that's it?" she asked. "That's why you asked me to meet you here?"

  "Yep."

  "We could have done this over the phone."

  Oh, sure. The phone. Where he'd spill his guts about how much he needed her. Or admit that he didn't want to fall asleep without hearing her voice. "Bars are safer."

  "For whom?" she asked, taking his keys away.

  For guys who are trying to remain single, he thought. "Where's the Lamborghini?" He swept the lot for her vehicle. "I like your car."

  "I took a cab. I usually do when I meet a date." She nudged him into the passenger side of the SUV.

  Well, hell. He deserved to get his ass kicked, he supposed. She'd been expecting a pleasant night on the town. A little dancing, a little kissing, some warm conversation. "Crummy date, I guess."

  "I've had better." She got behind the wheel and started the engine.

  He closed his eyes. This was proof, he decided, that he'd make a rotten husband. Proof that he wasn't father material.

  Or maybe, he thought, trying to humor himself, this proved that Maggie Connelly was the kind of woman who drove a levelheaded man, some poor unsuspecting sap like Lucas Starwind, to drink.