by Meg Tilly
Luke lowered the window and punched a security code into the keypad, and the gates slowly swung inward. Interesting, Maggie thought. She’d never noticed the keypad or the fancy gate. Must’ve been open the other night and she’d simply whizzed past. She also hadn’t noticed the cameras before. There was one on top of the gatepost, and she’d seen another camera attached to a Douglas fir at the top of the drive. Were there more? Probably. She hadn’t known Samson was a trained guard dog, either.
She felt safer already.
“Thanks, Luke,” she said, wanting to reach over, touch him, hold his hand, make some kind of physical contact, but she kept her hands stowed in her lap. “I’m glad we’re here.”
“Me, too.” He drove past the gates, Eve’s car following close behind. He stopped and waited for the doors to swing shut behind them, then continued on.
As they approached the house, she noticed two men—long, lanky, and powerfully built—lounging on the front-porch steps. They reminded her of a couple of mountain lions basking in the sun, pretending to be domesticated.
“Luke,” she said, placing a cautionary hand on his forearm, a jolt of adrenaline coursing through her veins.
“Don’t worry,” he said. An expression of gladness and then relief flashed in quick succession across his face. “They’re my friends Gunner and Colt. They’ve come to help me keep an eye on things, make sure you and Eve are protected.”
The men rose to their feet, grace in motion. That must have been how Luke used to move, before his injury. She glanced back at him. Just looking at his profile calmed her somehow. She felt soothed, healed, like when aloe gel was poured on a burn.
He shifted to park, engaged the brake, switched the ignition off, and got out. “Hey there,” he called, opening the rear door of the car, because Samson was making his desires known. The wolfhound catapulted from the car with a jubilant woof, bounded to Gunner and Colt, and then morphed into an overgrown puppy, all whines and wiggles and wet, sloppy licks.
“That was fast,” Luke said, stepping forward. “Colt, good to see you.”
“Hopped on a red-eye,” Colt said, pulling Luke in for a hug and a couple of back thumps.
The other one must be Gunner, Maggie thought. He had a broad smile on his face, his arms wrapped around Samson. “You’re such a good boy. Yes, you are,” he said, giving the wolfhound a final pat. He rose, wiped the dog slobber off his face, and joined the back-thumping-hug-fest.
Good friends, she thought. The warmth and affection they had for each other was radiating off them. She could feel the strength of their bond.
“Aren’t you supposed to be ‘back on the block,’ living the peaceful good life now?” Gunner asked, stepping back. He gave a low whistle. “Must not agree with you, Luke. You look like shit warmed over.”
Colt laughed. Maggie could hear Eve’s chuckle from behind her.
“It was going just great until twenty-four hours ago,” Luke said. He reached out, snagged Maggie’s hand, and tugged her forward to his side. It felt like he was making a claim, but she didn’t mind. “Then it turned into a soup sandwich. I appreciate you taking a bite of it.” He turned and smiled down at her. “This is Maggie,” he said. “And her sister, Eve.” She loved the feeling of her hand enclosed in his—longed to sink into the warmth and strength of him. It was as if, in connecting their hands, she was plugged into him and could feel his energy source pouring through and replenishing her body. Who needs sleep? she thought.
He tipped his head down. “What’s the secret smile for?” he murmured, his voice barely discernible.
She shook her head, unsure whether it was disconcerting or thrilling that he could read her so well.
“Hello there,” she heard her sister say to the newcomers. Eve stepped forward and shook their hands. “So nice to meet you. Thank you so much for coming to help out.” Her back was to Maggie, so she couldn’t see her face, but she didn’t need to. Maggie knew what it meant when her sister’s voice shifted to that low purr. Must be intrigued by one or both of the men. Good. Hopefully that will help distract her from worrying obsessively about me.
“How about we go inside?” Luke said. “Maggie desperately needs some sleep—”
“You do, too,” she said as they headed toward the front door.
“True,” he said. She loved the warmth in his eyes, the way the tension in his face seemed to soften when his gaze landed on her. She felt like she mattered. “And I will. Promise. But first I want to get you settled and bring Colt and Gunner up to speed with the situation. They know the ins and outs of my security system, since they helped me set it up when I moved in. However, I’ve made a few tweaks in the meantime, and I’d like to run through it with them.”
“Oh,” she said, stifling a yawn. “I guess that’s how they managed to get past the gate.”
“Yup,” Gunner said. “If he hadn’t futzed with the interior alarm system, Colt and I would be lounging in the living room, finishing our second cup of coffee.”
* * *
• • •
LUKE CARRIED MAGGIE’S suitcase inside. She was too tired to argue. Felt a little guilty, leaving the unloading of the cars to Eve and Luke’s friends, but her sister had insisted she go to bed. Luke had, too.
She followed him through the living room, down a hall. Skylights, alcoves, gorgeous artwork, Maggie thought. Eve’s going to love staying here.
He swung open a door at the end of the hall. She entered, and her breath caught in her throat. It was a stunning, expansive corner room with tons of natural light streaming in the floor-to-ceiling windows, which overlooked the cliffs and the sparkling blue bay. Other windows faced an outgrowth of slate gray rock with lush emerald green moss covering most of its surface. An arbutus tree’s roots were embedded in the rock; the undulating tan-and-rust-streaked trunk and limbs curved upward to embrace the sky.
“It’s beautiful,” Maggie said. She must have swayed slightly on her feet because Luke’s hand was suddenly steadying her elbow. And as tired as she was, she couldn’t help the frisson that always rippled through her whenever her body came into contact with him.
“You okay?” he murmured in her ear.
She could feel his concern, but something else was there, too, woven through it and shimmering like a promise. And the memory of her hands wrapped around the firm length of him, the taste of him on her tongue . . .
“I’m fine,” she said, straightening and taking a step away, her cheeks hot.
He let out a husky laugh from low in his throat, as if he knew what she was thinking.
* * *
• • •
LUKE TURNED AWAY from Maggie and made a necessary adjustment, trying to make his erection—which seemed to spring forth at the slightest contact with her—less apparent. “Extra linens are in there,” he said, pointing to the closet, stalling for time, trying to get his unruly body under control. “There’s a spare toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, et cetera, in the top right-hand drawer in the cabinet under the sink. If you need anything, or get scared, don’t hesitate to call. I’m right across the hall from you.”
“Thank you,” she said, standing motionless in the middle of the room.
She looked so small and lost. Again, he had the urge to go to her and wrap his arms around her, simply to give comfort. But maybe she would misconstrue his intent. Maybe his body would misconstrue his intent. Especially since they were both in a vulnerable state. What had arisen after a mere car incident was peanuts compared with what could possibly occur after last night.
His less-than-honorable self was encouraging him to stay, but he managed to force his body to turn around, walk out of the room, and close the door softly behind him.
* * *
• • •
AFTER THEY’D UNLOADED the cars, Luke showed everyone their rooms and the lay of the kitchen, and stored Maggie and Eve’s boxes of kit
chen goods in the spare pantry. He’d brought Colt and Gunner up to date on the security system, and now they were doing a sweep of the property. There was something about the mossy bluff in front of the house that Eve needed to sketch, wanting to grab it before the light shifted. Samson had been given the command to remain at her side. She would be safe.
Everyone was settled. Thank God, because he was running on fumes.
Luke gathered Eve’s suitcases from the living room floor, where she had dropped them in an artistic passion.
“I’ll get them later,” she’d said, plunging her hand into the canvas bag and yanking out a sketchbook and a metal box that rattled. Pencils or charcoal or something like that. Then she’d dropped the canvas bag as well and dashed outside, Samson on her heels.
Luke placed Eve’s things inside her bedroom and continued down the hall. So damned tired. He paused outside Maggie’s door. It was quiet. Good. She must be sleeping.
He walked farther down the hall and entered his bedroom. On his way through to the bathroom, he tapped the control panel on the wall. The overhead lights started dimming, and the bedside lamp switched on. The blackout blinds had almost completely lowered by the time he reached the bathroom.
Luke turned on the shower, stripped off his clothes, and stepped inside, letting the hot, steaming water flow over him. He lathered up with locally made lemongrass-and-lime soap, breathing in the fresh, clean scent, visualizing the night’s violence running off his body along with the water and soap and disappearing down the drain.
He rolled his shoulders, his head, trying to release the accumulated tension. He turned the knob to make the water even hotter and dug his fingers into the aching flesh around his old wound. He hoped the massage would cajole the spasm—which had been tormenting him all day—into letting go of its grip. Then he turned off the water, stepped out, ambled over to the sink and brushed his teeth, even though he was planning on raiding the fridge before collapsing into bed. He was flirting with the idea of a shave when he heard a tentative knock on his bedroom door. “Yeah, be right there,” he called. Hopefully, whoever it was, it wouldn’t take long. His stomach was growling like an angry lion. He grabbed a thick Turkish towel as he left the bathroom, wrapped it around his hips, and tucked in the end at his waist.
* * *
• • •
HAD HE HEARD her? Maggie stood in the hall outside his door. Should she knock again? Or maybe she should return to her room? She wished she could stop the shakes that were coursing through her. Stop the violent images of last night from revisiting her, where they lurked in the shadows, ready to pounce every time she shut her eyes.
This was stupid. She was a grown woman, not a child scared of the dark. Turn around, she told herself sternly, and go back to your—
His bedroom door swung open, and there he was, lounging in the doorway in all his masculine magnificence.
“Oh my.” Maggie’s mouth had gone suddenly dry. She took an involuntary step backward. Needed to. Clothed, Luke was impressive; nearly naked, Luke was heart-stopping. His hair was wet and slicked back, and droplets of water were clinging to his beautiful shoulders. She had no idea he had such sculpted pecs. Forget the gym, she thought in a daze. He could give classes. Knead Bread as a Workout and Look like a God. Tiny rivulets of water were making their way through the sprinkling of golden brown hair on his chest, trickling downward over the ripped, lean muscles of his body. She wanted to follow their path with her tongue so she could journey across his taut, chiseled abs, his belly button, with her mouth licking, nibbling, kissing until she reached the pristine white towel slung low around his narrow hips. She would remove that with her teeth and explore to her heart’s content.
“Maggie, are you okay?”
Maggie snapped her head up. Jeez. You’re ogling his body like a sex-crazed maniac. That is so disrespectful. Keep your eyes on his face.
“Yes. Um . . .”
He waited patiently.
It was so hard to think, to form sentences, with him standing there like that. It was everything she could do not to lean forward and breathe in his sexy, clean scent. She shut her eyes to block out the view of him, but that just heightened her other senses. She could feel the heat and male pheromones coming off his body in waves.
She opened her eyes and stared at his knees. Sheesh. She even found his knees sexy. She linked her hands so they wouldn’t be tempted to reach out and touch him and turned her gaze to the doorknob under his hand. He had beautiful hands, strong and capable, with long fingers and clean, neatly trimmed nails.
“Maggie, honey. What is it?”
She wasn’t looking at his face, but she didn’t need to. She could hear the tenderness, the caring and warmth in his voice. Brett hadn’t spoken to her like that for years. Had he ever spoken to her like that? If he had, she couldn’t remember. It had seemed there was always an underlying impatience and condescension thrumming through him when he spoke or looked at her. And the thought that she had wasted all those years on someone who valued her so little . . .
“Maggie, why are you crying?”
She hadn’t known she was. “I . . . just . . .” She dashed the unexpected tears from her eyes, but more appeared to take their place. “I’m tired. I’m so damned tired, Luke, but I can’t seem to sleep. When I shut my eyes, I see that guy, hear the sound of the sculpture making contact with his skull. See the dark blood streaming over his hand as he ran away, clutching his head. I think I might have hurt him bad. I didn’t mean to—just wanted to stop him from killing you.” She must have been tired, because she was crying in earnest now. And that was odd, because in her regular life, she wasn’t a crier, but she had cried more in the last month than she had in her entire life. “And it makes me really mad that I’m even worrying about him and his stupid, bleeding head.” She wiped angry tears from her face. “He’s a creep who wanted to hurt me. He doesn’t deserve my concern.”
“I know how you feel,” he murmured, and she could feel the truth of it resonating through her. Somehow, the distance between them had been closed, and she was being held in the safety of his arms—his scent, his warmth, his strength surrounding her.
“So I pry my mind away from the guy I injured, but then the other guy takes his place, charging for me, knife in his hand, blood spurting out of his chest, eyes blazing.”
“There, now.” His voice was a comforting rumble, his lips in her hair. “It’s been an extremely trying time. You’re tired. You need sleep.”
“But I can’t. I’ve tried, but I can’t . . .”
“Come on,” Luke said, scooping her up in his arms. “I’m going to lie down with you.”
“But—” Maggie said. Weary. So weary. And yet, pressed up to his naked, freshly showered chest, she wanted to sneak a taste.
He carried her toward his bed, limping slightly. “Platonic,” he said, placing her down gently.
A slight mist of disappointment settled over her, but in the next breath it dissipated. Tired. So tired.
“Just friends.” He pulled the covers up over her and stepped away.
“Don’t leave,” she said, suddenly panicked.
“I won’t,” he said. “I’m just going to put on some sweats and a T-shirt. I’ll stay with you while you sleep.”
“Promise?” Maggie murmured, as a wave of sleep began to pull her under.
“Promise.”
She must have drifted off for a second, because the next thing she was aware of, the bed was shifting as he climbed in and gathered her in his arms. “You are safe now.” The combination of his voice and the steady thump of his heart was incredibly soothing. “I am here. Go to sleep, sweetheart. Go to sleep.”
* * *
• • •
LUKE WOKE SUDDENLY, dragged out of a deep sleep and unsure why. And then he knew. Maggie was whimpering and moaning in her sleep. Her head was flailing from side to side.
Her legs, tangled in the sheets, were twitching as if attempting to run.
“Maggie,” he said, soft and low, his hand alighting on her shoulder. “You’re having a bad dream, Maggie. Honey, wake up.”
Her eyes fluttered open, and he watched the night terrors fade from them.
“You’re here,” she whispered.
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Good,” she replied, her hand rising briefly to cup his cheek, and then she drifted back to sleep.
He watched her for a while. Listening to the steady tempo of her breath, hoping that her sleep was peaceful or dreamless. Her breath slowed and deepened. A slight smile flickered across her face. Reassured, he, too, gave in to sleep’s calm embrace.
Thirty-one
MARITZA VÁSQUEZ CLOSED the front door behind the man, keeping her gaze lowered, her expression blank, impassive. Just like she would if she had met a rabid dog.
“This way, please,” she said, making sure to stay out of reach as she led him down the hall to the study. This was his third visit to the house, and she could smell death all around him.
She stayed for a moment in the hall, after the study door had closed behind him. There was a low murmur of voices, too quiet to make out the words. Just as well, she thought. The less she knew, the better.
She turned to see to her duties. Yes, there were duties even at ten fifteen at night. Didn’t matter that she’d been on her feet all day, and six weeks since she’d last been paid.
Maritza shook her head and stepped across the hall to the powder room. “Eres un idiota,” she murmured as she removed the sponge, bathroom cleaner, and Windex from under the sink. The eight-hour workday she’d agreed to had morphed into a twenty-four-hour-a-day job. The overtime pay had yet to materialize.
“Soon,” her employer promised. “Soon. If you stay, the rewards will be great. You will receive, not only your salary, but back pay, overtime, and a bonus, as well.”
