She gave him an oddly intent look but didn't protest as he went with her. She seemed to have a little trouble opening the door, but after a moment it swung inward.
She turned then, and he felt an incredible urge to go right back to what they'd been doing on the beach.
"I'd really like to kiss you good-night," he said huskily, "but I'm afraid we'd end up going a lot further. And I don't think you're ready for that."
"Thanks for deciding that for me," she retorted, a little sharply.
He winced. "Amelia, listen. It's been a hell of a night. Some crazy things happened, you're not sure how you feel, this is not the time to make a decision like this."
"Like what? Whether to leap into bed with the notorious Luke McGuire?"
He felt as if she'd punched him, and he wasn't sure if it was the appellation or just the image her words brought to vivid life in his mind. An image that lingered long after she shut the door.
He was going to need that walk back.
* * *
Amelia didn't know how long she'd stood leaning against the inside of her front door. She only knew that it seemed to take forever before she could move. And that although she should be dead on her feet—it was after two in the morning—she was strangely wired.
You do know that a crash is coming?
Luke's words came back to her almost tauntingly. She knew he'd meant the post-adrenaline crash, but now it seemed to her to be fraught with many more meanings.
He was right about one thing. She was definitely confused about her feelings. How could she be so terrified and yet so attracted at the same time? How could she have let things go as far as they had with a man everyone said was pure trouble, a man who had a long history of run-ins with the police, a man her friend Jim was suspicious enough of to suspect him of trying to kidnap her? And be contemplating letting them go even further?
This was not what she had envisioned for herself, this radical slipping out of the quiet groove of her life. And certainly not with someone like Luke. Not the scapegrace of Santiago Beach.
It wasn't until she finally crawled into bed, at last feeling the ebbing of the emotions that had kept her on edge, that it struck her, an obvious fact that she knew she should have
realized sooner.
If Luke was as bad as he was painted, he would never have cared that she was confused, hesitant or anything else. Not when she had virtually melted in his arms, beneath his kiss. He would have simply continued to seduce her as he so easily could have. Stopping him, there on the beach, had never even occurred to her passion-drugged mind, and he must have known that. She hadn't been thinking at all. Not when he was kissing her, not with his hands caressing her, and certainly not when he'd put his mouth to her breast and sent her reeling.
And she knew he'd been there with her; she might not be very experienced, but she knew there were some things that couldn't be faked, and the kind of arousal she'd felt in Luke
was one of them.
But he'd managed to think. And he'd thought of her. He had been the one to call a halt, not her. For her sake.
It's been a hell of a night. Crazy things happened, you're not sure how you feel, this is not the time to make a decision like this.
He'd had more concern for her than she'd had for herself. Hardly the actions of a dissolute bad boy.
She wasn't sure if that made things better, or worse. If it made things easier, or more complicated.
Her last thought, before she finally drifted off, was that a groove was just a shallow rut.
Chapter 12
Luke paused just outside the bookshop door, thought a minute, then pulled it open.
"Oh well," he muttered a second later.
Amelia, who had been setting out new issues in her small, specialized-for-Santiago-Beach magazine section just inside the door, turned quickly. "What?"
His head snapped around, and he gave her a sheepish grin. "I lost."
"Lost?"
"I've been trying to guess ahead of time who it will be on the door. Today I guessed Captain Kirk, but it was Mr. Sulu."
She'd looked ill at ease at first, but she was smiling now. At least, she smiled until a woman in the back of the store gave him a wary, sideways look, glanced at Amelia and then scurried past them out the door.
Great, I'm driving her customers away, he thought. But she went on as if it hadn't happened.
"Right version, anyway. Are you a big fan?"
He shrugged. "I watched them all, but I'm not rabid about it. I think the attraction for me was just the idea that we were still going to be around that far into the future."
"That's the attraction for a lot of people," she said.
For a moment he just looked at her. And gradually her smile faded altogether. Then she looked away, and he felt his stomach knot. He'd tried to give her time, he'd stayed away all day yesterday, had spent his time haunting all the kids' hangouts and then all the places he used to hang out, hoping to spot his brother. He knew she'd been rattled by the fire that had flashed between them, and he thought she— and he, to be honest—needed time to deal with it.
But he'd been wrong, it seemed. Maybe she felt like he'd abandoned her after that night on the beach. She wouldn't even look at him. She was probably regretting that night, regretting that she let him kiss her, touch her, even look at her.
He saw her draw a deep breath, get ready to speak, and braced himself for the letdown, the rejection she would manage to word very gently, but that would still sting like crazy. It was his own fault; he'd left her alone to brood when he should have been reassuring her, or something.
She'd taken over most of his waking hours, and finding out she wanted nothing more to do with him was going to hurt. But he'd been hurt before and lived. He'd—
"David's missing."
He blinked. "What?"
She lifted her head, and he saw that her expression was troubled, not embarrassed. "He never came home... after that night. His... your mother called me this morning, to find out if I'd seen him."
Luke tensed, as he always seemed to when his mother came up. It was gut-level, like knowing how to read a river, so deeply ingrained an instinct he doubted he would ever beat it.
"What did you tell her?"
"The truth," Amelia said.
Luke exhaled audibly; David was in big trouble now.
"Sort of," she amended.
He looked at her quizzically. "Sort of the truth? You sound like I used to."
"I mean I told her I hadn't seen him the last couple of days. That's the truth."
"Ah. Selective truth-telling."
She blushed, and he suddenly had an inkling of how against character it was for her to have seen what she'd seen that night and not report it.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I shouldn't be joking, not when David's been gone this long. He really hasn't been back home?"
"She says no." She looked at him straight on then, her golden brown eyes wide and worried. "That's over thirty-six hours."
"Maybe he sneaked back in and she didn't know it. I used to."
"She says no. She was working at home."
His mouth quirked. "Well, I guess she'd know, then. She never hung around waiting for me. What's she going to do?"
"She only knows he's been gone overnight. She doesn't realize he's been gone since the night before. But she's going to report him missing if he's not home by dark. She says she's given him all the slack she can."
Luke had an opinion about her idea of slack, but it was pointless to dwell on it now. "I've been looking. Hit all the places we used to hang out when I was here, and a couple others I heard about from whoever I found. No luck."
"I... didn't realize that was what you'd been doing."
He nodded. And then, driven by the urge to be honest with her, he added, "I thought you might... need some time. To think and all."
She lowered her gaze again, but only for a moment. Then she met his eyes straight on. "Oh, I've been thinking, all rig
ht."
"Amelia," he began, not liking the way that had sounded.
"No," she said, holding up a hand. "Right now we have to focus on David. He needs help."
His mouth twisted. "Problem is, he doesn't want it. At least, not from me. You might have better luck with him."
"You can't give up on him, Luke. Not like everybody gave up on you."
"What do you want me to do? I've looked everywhere I can think of."
"And I've talked to all of his friends that I know," she said. "Maybe somebody else knows some other places he might be. Places he's been found before. Or talked about."
"If his friends don't know, who—" He stopped abruptly as he saw where she was headed. "Oh, no. No way."
"Luke—"
"You want to ask her, you go right ahead."
"I will, if you won't. But... don't you think you should?"
"Should what? Go give Mom a hug and a kiss and tell her how much I've missed her?"
"No. Tell her you care for your brother and are trying to help him."
"Uh-huh. And after that you can sell her the bridge."
"What do we do, then? Try and talk to Snake?"
"Apt comparison," he muttered. "And preferable."
Amelia sighed. "All right. I'll go."
He shook his head. "I'm sure she's heard about you—" Being seen with me? Kissing me? Dam near having sex on the beach with me? He fought down the heat that seemed to be at her beck and call and went on. ''—associating with me by now. From Mrs. Clancy, if no one else. You'll be an enemy in her eyes."
"Maybe not. She did call me, after all. But so what if it will be uncomfortable. I'll bet David is more uncomfortable, wherever he is."
Shame welled up in him. She was right. He was dodging his mother because he didn't want to deal with things, while his brother, who had no choice, was out there somewhere, hiding, thinking everybody in the world had let him down.
"I'll close up for lunch as soon as I finish this," she said, picking up the last stack of magazines in her cart. "I just spoke to her, so I'm sure she's still at home."
She wasn't even going to call him on it. Wasn't going to try to embarrass him into going. She was just going to handle it. So he didn't have to.
Nobody had ever stood up for him in this town. Amelia had. Nobody had ever taken over an unpleasant task so he could avoid it. Amelia had.
The child who remembered so well the acid damage his mother could do screamed at him to let her do it.
The man he'd become knew he couldn't.
"Never mind," he said tightly. "I'll go."
She gave him a startled look. "Why? I said I'd—"
"And I said I'll go."
"But you don't want to see her. And you have every right."
"What I don't want," he said, "is for her to still have this much power over me."
"You're an adult now. She can't do anything to you."
"So I keep telling myself."
Amelia looked at him thoughtfully. "You're in control, Luke."
He blinked. "What?"
"You don't have to live with her, or deal with her, when this is over. You'll walk away. So you control how much effect she has on you." She gave a negligent half shrug. "She's only as real as you let her be."
He stared at her. He'd never thought about it like that, that now he had the power, that she had no authority over him, no recourse at all.
"How'd you get to be so... wise?"
"Age," she said dryly. "I am, as was recently pointed out to me, older than you."
The thought that the difference in their ages, slight as it was, might have bothered her pleased him. It meant she was thinking about it.
"I know," he said.
She drew back, startled. "You do?"
"David told me you were thirty before I even met you."
"Oh."
"If you're thinking four years makes you the boss, forget it."
He said it with all the mock sternness he could managed. It worked, she smiled. It did funny things to his insides, and he wanted to reach for her. He stopped himself, knowing that if he didn't get moving it was only going to get worse. Or better, he amended, as his body clenched at the memory of that night on the beach.
"I'd better go before she heads out again to save the world from disasters like me."
"We'll both go," Amelia said, quickly and efficiently sorting the last of the magazines into their slots.
"You don't have to go."
"I know. I'm older than you. I don't have to do anything."
She said it so deadpan that he didn't realize for a moment that she was teasing. When he did, he couldn't help laughing out loud. She looked up at him then, and he saw that glint in her eyes. She might be quiet and reserved, but a devilish sense of humor lurked behind the calm exterior.
Along with a passionate fire that was hidden even deeper. A fire that had, from what he could see, surprised even her. And he couldn't deny how that that made him feel, to think that she'd never felt that way before, that it was him, and his touch, that had startled her with her own response.
"—easier that way."
With an effort, he quashed his unruly thoughts and his body's response to them, and tuned back in to what she was saying.
"Easier?" he asked, hoping the fact that he'd just zoned out wasn't obvious.
"I can be sort of a buffer. People usually stay calmer if there's someone else there to... referee."
"You sure you want to be in the line of fire?"
"No," she admitted. "But there's always the chance she might tell me something she might not tell you."
Boy, did she have his mother's number. And the thought of having someone standing beside him when he confronted her was more appealing than he ever would have imagined.
Or maybe it was just the thought of that someone being Amelia.
He felt a sudden urge to see her take his mother on; he had the feeling Amelia would find even more of that strength that she didn't seem to realize she had.
"Want to take the bike?" he asked. "I'd hate to disappoint her by showing up any other way."
Amelia looked startled. "I...don't know. I've never been on one."
I'll bet you never made out on the beach before, either, he thought, but wisely decided to keep the words to himself.
"You can have the helmet," he offered.
She eyed him suspiciously. "So you don't have to wear it?"
"Only partly," he admitted with a grin.
For a minute he thought she was going to refuse. But she found the nerve, and moments later they were on the bike and he was giving her some quick instructions. "Keep your feet on the pegs, even when we stop. And if I lean, stay with me, don't try to sit upright."
The black helmet bobbed once. She was nervous, clearly, but also determined.
"And," he added, "hang on tight."
She hesitated, and he reached for her hands and pulled her arms around him. Before she could protest he started the bike, felt her jump as the Harley came to life. Her embrace tightened, and he grinned; this, not being free of the helmet, was the benefit he'd been after.
He wasn't surprised at how quickly she learned; by the third turn she had the hang of it and quit instinctively trying to stay at ninety degrees from the ground when they rounded a turn. But her embrace stayed tight, and he could feel the heat of her as she clung to him, could feel the surprising strength of her legs as she gripped him.
That gave rise to a riot of thoughts and images that soon had him reassessing the wisdom of this; he was hard and aching, and it was taking every bit of his concentration to just keep going, and to do it at a sedate enough pace not to scare her.
But it had a bright side, too. By the time they reached the house, he realized he hadn't dwelt very much on what was coming: a confrontation with the woman who had made him feel like a charity case, a child kept out of duty, his entire life. The thought took the edge off his arousal, and that particular ache faded. Another, much older one
, tried to rise in its place.
Setting his jaw, he gunned the motor a couple of times as he rode up into the driveway, then again before shutting it off.
Take that, he thought, realizing even as the words formed how childish they sounded.
You control how much effect she has on you.
Amelia's words echoed in his head, and he tucked them away to be used as a shield in the next minutes. He had a feeling he was going to end up chanting them like a mantra.
He turned to her then, guessing that she would be a bit wobbly on her feet, as most people were after the first ride. She swayed slightly as she slid off the bike, and he steadied her. She fumbled with the D-ring fastener on the helmet, and he reached beneath her chin to help release it. He hoped she hadn't been frightened by the ride.
She lifted off the helmet. Ran a hand through her hair to lift it after the compression of the headgear. Shook her head. And then she looked up at him.
The exhilaration fairly radiated from her, and her eyes sparkled golden brown.
"That was... incredible!''
He let out a long, relieved breath.
"No wonder people get addicted to it! It's like flying."
He decided now was not the time to tell her they'd never gone over forty-five. Instead he grinned at her, took the helmet and hooked it onto the back of the bike, took off his sunglasses and hooked them on the neck of his T-shirt.
"Next best thing to shooting the rapids." She looked ready to ask about his comment, and he hastily forestalled her. "Let's get this over with."
She nodded, turned and then stopped. She was looking at something past his right shoulder.
"I think she heard your... announcement."
"You don't miss a thing, do you?" he said, keeping his back to the house. "On the porch?"
Amelia nodded. "Put on your flame-retardant suit,"
"Breathing fire, is she?"
"Looks that way."
He drew himself up straight, determined not to betray his inner turmoil. But before he could turn around, Amelia put a hand on his arm.
"Think about it," she urged. "She's upset. She's lost her cool. You've done that to her. You're in control."
The revelation was simple, but profound. For the first time he believed it, really believed it. He wanted to kiss her. But he wouldn't, not here, not now. Instead he lifted two fingers to his lips, then pressed them to hers.
The Reture of Luke McGuire Page 14
