CHEROKEE MARRIAGE DARE

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  He wasn't going to marry her.

  Pulling himself back to reality, he adjusted his sweats, feeling a bit awkward about removing the condom. "I hate these damn things."

  She belted her robe. "I'll get on the Pill. I've taken it before."

  During her affair with Claudio, he supposed. Luke didn't argue. He wanted the opportunity to spill inside her and not have to worry about conception.

  If he wasn't going to marry her, then they weren't going to have children.

  They went back to his suite. He discarded the condom, then resisted the urge to pace, recalling the night she'd asked him to come over and make a baby. He'd actually been tempted then.

  And damn it, he was tempted now. He wanted to claim her, plant the seed of life so she would be connected to him forever.

  Yet the idea of being a husband and father scared him senseless.

  "Should I order breakfast?" she asked.

  "Not for me." He knelt to tighten his shoelaces. "I'm going for a run." Something he did every morning before he showered. He wasn't avoiding her purposely, but today of all days he needed to clear his mind, to stop thinking about a commitment he didn't intend to make.

  "Will you take Bruno along? He's probably anxious to get out."

  "Sure."

  Maggie opened the door to her suite and called the dog. The loyal mastiff appeared instantaneously. She patted the canine bodyguard and then gave Luke a gentle, heart-stirring kiss.

  "I'll wait to eat until you get back," she said.

  "Okay," he responded, trying to sound casual, even though his mind was still spinning.

  Luke retrieved Bruno's leash and turned away. And with the dog by his side, he headed for the beach, wishing the Connellys' youngest daughter hadn't dared him to marry her.

  * * *

  The following afternoon Maggie and Luke interviewed Princess Catherine, gathering information about Gregor Paulus. They'd chosen to conduct the meeting in a relaxed environment, so they sat on a redwood deck at Dunemere that provided a soothing view of the sea.

  Luke drank coffee, while Maggie and Princess Catherine sipped chamomile tea sweetened with honey. A platter of blueberry scones went untouched.

  Studying Catherine with an appreciative eye, Maggie noticed changes in the other woman. Emotional changes that made the young princess more beautiful than she already was.

  Love, Maggie decided, had given her feisty, headstrong cousin a graceful air of contentment: The dashing sheikh, Kajal bin Russard, she had married was truly her soul mate.

  The way Luke is mine, Maggie thought, glancing at her lover.

  "Was Gregor Paulus your father's confidant?" he asked the princess.

  "Yes. Gregor was quite devoted to my father."

  "So Prince Marc would have entrusted him with just about anything?"

  She nodded, placing her tea back on the table. "Yes, I believe so."

  "Will you tell me what you think of Paulus?" he asked.

  "Truthfully, I don't like him." A strand of Catherine's auburn hair lifted in the wind. "Not in the least," she added, intensifying her statement. "When I was a child, he did his quiet best to diminish me in my father's eyes."

  Maggie suspected that Prince Marc had been too self-involved to notice.

  "And now?" Luke asked. "How does Paulus treat you now?"

  "He tried to manipulate me soon after my father was killed. I was supposed to go out on the boat that day, but I couldn't make it, so Father took my place." She paused to sip her tea, to breathe a gust of sea air. "Gregor preyed on my guilt He made certain that I knew he felt the prince died because of me."

  "Bastard," Luke muttered.

  "Quite," the princess agreed before he could apologize for the profanity. "But I don't allow Gregor to intimidate me anymore. These days he keeps his distance."

  "Thank you for your time. I know how difficult all of this has been for you," Luke said. "But I have one more question. Can you tell me why Prince Marc was driving the king's speedboat? Particularly since he wasn't originally scheduled to be on it that day?"

  "King Thomas preferred to have someone else in the family drive. Because he was getting on in years and his eyesight was failing, he didn't take the boat out by himself anymore. But that wasn't something that was widely known."

  "So you were going to pilot the boat before your father stepped in?"

  "Yes. And I'm sure you can see how Gregor used that against me."

  A short time later Maggie escorted her cousin to the limousine that waited to take her back to the palace.

  They hugged and then looked into each other's eyes. There wasn't much more to say. Princess Catherine had been informed of her father's treachery, and she was coping with the knowledge, leaning on the man she loved for support.

  Maggie returned to Luke and found him standing on the deck, gazing at the ocean, his hands thrust in his pockets, his jacket billowing in the breeze. She wished that he would lean on her for support, that he would trust her to help him trap Gregor Paulus.

  "Prince Marc was a weak man," he said without turning.

  She stepped closer. "Yes, he was."

  Luke still watched the sea, concentrating, it seemed, on the rise and fall of each wave. "Which is exactly why he relied on someone like Paulus."

  "You have a theory, don't you?"

  "Yeah." He finally turned, his hair falling onto his forehead. "I think Paulus pulled Prince Marc into this."

  "How? Marc is the one who had an association with the mob."

  "True, but I suspect that it was Paulus's idea to approach the Kellys about pirating those files from the Institute."

  "How?" she asked again. "Paulus couldn't have known about the cancer virus."

  "Marc probably told him about it when it first happened. And later, when Marc told Paulus that he was in trouble with the mob, Paulus devised a plan to appease the Kellys and get the prince out of hot water."

  Maggie sighed. "And Marc went along with it because he was too spineless to face the Kellys on his own."

  "Exactly. He let Paulus do his dirty work for him."

  She met Luke's gaze, determined to convince him to allow her to help. Gregor Paulus was a force to be reckoned with, but with a carefully developed plan, she knew she could trap him. "You have to let me—"

  "No!" He cut her off before she could finish her plea. "You're not going undercover. Do you hear me? You're not."

  "Why are you being so stubborn about this? All I'm asking for is a chance to approach Paulus. I'll wear a wire, and you can be somewhere nearby, just in case there's trouble. And on top of that, I'll keep Bruno with me." Who in their right mind would try to hurt her with a two-hundred-pound mastiff by her side? "Why do I have a canine bodyguard if I can't use him?"

  Luke glared at her. "Paulus is severely allergic to dogs. There's no damn way he would have a reasonable conversation with you if Bruno were there. And I'm not going to be listening with an earpiece while the woman I'm sleeping with is risking her neck. Let it go, Maggie. It isn't going to happen."

  At a standoff, they stared at each other. With her temper flaring, she shot poisoned darts from her eyes to his. She ought to defy Luke and go after Paulus on her own. Prove to the stubborn detective that she was capable of much more than he'd given her credit for.

  "Don't even think about it," he said.

  "I don't know what you mean," she retorted.

  "The hell you don't. It's written all over your face."

  As a strand of her hair blew against her cheek, she shoved it away. Deep down, she knew that trapping Paulus without Luke's help would be next to impossible, but she had the right to fantasize about it, to imagine herself glorifying in personal triumph.

  "I'm keeping my eye on you, Maggie."

  Fine, she thought. If he was going to watch her like a hawk, then she would use this to her advantage and spend every waking hour right under his suspicious nose, concentrating all of her energy on winning the marriage dare.

  She was ma
d as hell, but she still wanted to he Lucas Starwind's wife. She couldn't help it if she'd fallen in love with a macho, overly protective jerk.

  * * *

  After an exceptionally long, invigorating shower, Luke stepped out of the stall and wrapped a towel around his waist. Maggie sat at the vanity mirror, wearing a terry-cloth robe and applying her makeup. Apparently she'd bathed in her own suite, then moved all of her creams, lotions and cosmetics onto his countertop.

  "What are you doing?" he asked.

  "Getting ready." She stretched her eye, lined it with a creamy brown pencil, then smudged the line with a cotton swab.

  He moved toward one of the double sinks. "Why didn't you finish getting ready in your own bathroom? Why'd you haul your stuff over here?"

  "Because I'm moving in." She turned to face him. "I don't understand why we need two suites. We're sleeping together now."

  But that wasn't the same as living together, he thought. Watching her settle into his domain made him feel as if they were in a committed relationship. Or, heaven help him, married.

  "Your family is arriving tomorrow," he said. "And I don't think it would be proper to share a room while they're here."

  Her jaw dropped, and she looked at him at if he'd just sprouted gills and a tail. "Good grief, Luke. My family isn't from the Dark Ages."

  "You're still their baby." And he was the older man who ravished her every night, who couldn't seem to get his fill.

  "We're consenting adults," she countered. "And being up front about what's going on is certainly more mature than sneaking into each other's beds. Besides, my parents are staying at the palace."

  But some of her brothers and sisters intended to stay at the beach house. Her married siblings, he realized. Every damn one of them had settled down. In fact, Maggie was the last unmarried Connelly.

  Preparing to shave, he lathered his face, frowning into the minor.

  "So, what's the verdict?" she asked.

  He contemplated their situation further, scraping a disposable razor across his jaw. "We're keeping both rooms. I can't sleep with you while your family is here. It just isn't right. We'll have to learn to behave ourselves."

  Maggie raised her eyebrows. "No wild moans in the middle of the night? No more early-morning romps on the balcony? I don't think that's possible."

  He looked at her, and after several seconds of complete silence, they both burst out laughing. Wild moans. Early-morning romps. He supposed they did have the tendency to get carried away.

  "Come on, Luke. Don't be so old-fashioned about this," she said when their laughter faded. "Let's move in together."

  "I can't do that. Not in good conscience." Even if her family suspected that they were lovers, he wanted them to know that he wasn't using her, that his feelings for her were based on more than just sex. "This is my way of respecting you, Maggie. Please don't take that away from me."

  "Oh." Her voice went soft, her eyes glassy. He could see that he'd touched her heart.

  "So, will you work with me on this?" he asked.

  She nodded, and he knew that if his face wasn't covered in shaving cream, she would have kissed him.

  "I promise to behave," she said. "But I'm not giving you up after this trip is over."

  "I know." They would remain lovers for a while, he thought. But it wouldn't last forever.

  Luke returned to the mirror and finished shaving, looking forward to a night on the town. Maggie had offered to take him on a tour of Altaria, treating him to her favorite places.

  He drove the European SUV they'd rented, and she gave him directions, guiding him down narrow roads flanked with cobble-stoned sidewalks and buildings rife with old-world charm.

  They stopped at a quaint little café, and Luke allowed Maggie to order, then wondered what he'd gotten himself into when the appetizer was served. The marinated olives and zucchini seemed normal enough, but he refused to try the stuffed squid, eyeing the suction cups with displeasure.

  Maggie tossed her head and laughed, and he knew she'd ordered it to tease him. Where food was concerned, he wasn't nearly as adventurous as she was.

  On an outdoor, heated patio, they drank Chianti and talked, their conversation as vibrant as the wine.

  Luke studied his companion. Her hair, loose and straight, fell past her shoulders. She wore slim-fitting jeans and a denim blouse. Her buckskin jacket was smooth and feminine. Beautiful, he thought. Bella, just like the Italian waiter had called her.

  Their entrées arrived, and they dined on eggplant, roast chicken and potatoes seasoned with mouthwatering spices, Luke wanted to lean across the table and kiss Maggie, but decided that dragging his sleeve through a side dish of pasta wasn't the most gentlemanly way to steal a kiss.

  After their meal, he took advantage of the opportunity to touch her. They strolled, hand in hand, down imperfect sidewalks, stepping over cracks and chips in the stone. Stars lit up the night, the Big Dipper pouring silver specks across a royal-blue sky.

  Maggie guided Luke into an ice-cream parlor. They ordered two melon sorbets, then resumed their walk, eating the refreshing dessert along the way.

  "What do you think of Altaria?" she asked.

  He finished his sorbet. "I love it." And he loved this moment, this carefree evening with her.

  "Let's go there," she said, indicating something across the street. "I've always wanted to see what it was like."

  He turned, expecting an old stone church or another historic building. But instead she pointed to a magic shop, a tiny establishment with ancient symbols on the door.

  Healing crystals dangled from serpentine chains, and candles flickered, sending jasmine-scented smoke through the air. An older woman with long gray hair and watchful eyes hovered near a glass case. The proprietor, Luke thought. A local Gypsy who probably read tea leaves and tarot cards.

  He met the old woman's gaze, and suddenly his breath lodged in his throat. He could feel her power, the energy that flowed through her veins.

  And because he was a superstitious man, a Cherokee who knew magic existed, he tried to break eye contact, but found himself trapped.

  She removed a tiny glass figurine and handed it to him. "Terpsichore," she said. "The muse of dance."

  He glanced at the fragile glass figure. The goddess held a gold lyre, and on her head she wore a crown of leaves.

  "Terpsichore knows what's in your heart," the old woman said.

  A qua da nv do. My heart.

  He'd lost his heart the first time he'd danced with Maggie, and now the Gypsy wanted him to admit that he'd never gotten it back, that Maggie, his muse, had claimed it for good.

  I don't need this, he thought. I don't need someone prying into my mind. Or trying to convince me that I'm falling in love.

  He handed the figure back to her, but she refused to accept it. "Keep it," she said, turning away from him.

  Feeling unsteady, Luke considered leaving the muse on the counter, but quickly changed his mind. He didn't know anything about the old woman's culture, but in his, it was rude to refuse a gift.

  Unsure of what else to do, he headed straight out the door, leaned against the building and pulled a much-needed gust of air into his lungs.

  "What was that all about?" Maggie asked, rushing after him.

  "I don't know," he lied, even though the tiny muse glowed in his hand.

  * * *

  Later that night Maggie sat next to Luke on his sofa, a pillow between them. Her family would be arriving tomorrow morning, which meant she wouldn't he seeing much of Luke, and just the thought alone made her miss him.

  But worse yet was his detached behavior. She feared he was reverting to his reclusive self. He seemed disturbed by the incident with the Gypsy. Maggie didn't understand why, and he hadn't offered an explanation.

  "What did you do with the muse?" she prodded, moving the pillow.

  He motioned to the bedroom. "It's on the dresser."

  "I wonder why the Gypsy gave it to you."

 
He shrugged. "I have no idea."

  She studied his profile. A golden light from the fire bathed his skin, intensifying the razor-edged slant of his cheekbones and strong, determined cut of his jaw. "Did you even know who Terpsichore was before the Gypsy mentioned her?"

  "Sort of. I knew that there were nine muses, and that they were goddesses from Greek mythology, but I didn't know their names."

  "Pegasus was from Greek mythology, too," she said, thinking about Gwen's winged horse. "In fact, when Pegasus was a colt, the goddess Athena entrusted the muses with his care."

  "I know." He turned to look at her. "Pegasus was so excited to meet the muses that he struck the side of Mount Helicon with his hooves and caused two springs to gush forth. Springs of inspiration or something."

  Maggie nodded. Luke seemed to know the story quite well. "Did you read to Gwen about Pegasus?"

  "My mom did. But I always thought the idea of a winged horse was pretty cool, so I paid attention, too."

  Now Maggie understood. The muse figurine probably reminded him of Gwen. And that was why the Gypsy's unusual gift had unnerved him. "So many mystical things have happened," she said. "I painted Gwen without knowing it, and now the Gypsy gives you a muse. All of this must mean something."

  "I don't know. I guess. I'm trying not to make a big deal out of it."

  "Don't be sad, Luke. I think Gwen is watching over you. Like an angel."

  He met her gaze, his dark eyes suddenly struck with emotion. "Thank you," he whispered. "That was a nice thing to say."

  She reached for him, and they embraced. And because she felt his heart pounding next to hers, she shivered. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but she wasn't sure if this was the right time.

  Maggie drew a nervous breath. This had to be the right time. Once her family arrived, she wouldn't get the chance. There would be no more stolen moments, no more candlelit dinners or romantic strolls on the beach.

  Luke would probably spend his days discussing the sting operation with Rafe. And while they were devising a plan for an undercover agent to trap Paulus, she would be busy with her sisters.