“I guess I might have told them we were going somewhere private where I could keep the island promise I made to my wife. That would have been almost as effective at getting them to stop asking questions. They know I don’t make promises lightly.”
And just like that any trace of levity left his face, but he had to be joking still. Regardless, the sudden change threw her off balance, swept away any sense she’d had that she might be in control of their conversation.
To avoid the questioning intensity in his gaze and the confusion it stirred, she stooped and picked up the ribbon and began rolling it up. “That promise…” she said lightly, trying to inject a touch of dismissive humor into her voice “…it seems like it was a lifetime ago. Like we’re not those same two people.” She had the ribbon half rolled up when he caught the end. She studied their hands, joined by a strip of red velvet. His large and tanned, hers smaller and pale but thankfully steady.
“Look at me, Meg. And let me look at you.” He still sounded far too serious for her peace of mind. She could almost imagine a trace of need in his voice. “I held your face in my mind for so long. I can’t quite get enough of the real thing.”
Which seemed the oddest thing to say about her. She had a talent for blending in and going unnoticed. She was the type of person people often forgot having met. Slowly, she looked up. He kept perfectly still as her gaze tracked over his torso, settling inevitably on his face, on the eyes that showed his wanting.
“I’m going to kiss you.”
An even bigger surprise. She swallowed and shook her head. “That would be a bad idea.” Because if he kissed her, she’d kiss him back, and then he’d know she wanted him. But while she knew she should just turn and walk away, she didn’t. Her feet wouldn’t listen to her head. He lifted the red velvet, drawing her hand up with it, and then he captured her wrist, raising her hand farther till he touched her fingertips to his jaw. A shiver passed through her and the velvet dropped again to the floor.
She used to touch his jaw like that when he was sick and weakened and feverish. But he was far from sick or weak now, and if anyone was feverish, it was her.
He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm. Warmth, heat, liquefied her bones. “I remembered your touch.”
She couldn’t stop herself, she cupped her palm around his jaw. So smooth now, so strong. He framed her face with his hands and lowered his head toward hers.
She had time to back away.
She stayed precisely where he was.
He kissed with exquisite gentleness. His lips were soft and seeking as though he was savoring the taste of her in the same way she savored the taste and feel of him. He kissed, drew back a fraction, kissed again, brushing his lips over hers. He angled his head, deepened the kiss, teased her teeth and tongue. Her mouth parted beneath his. His kiss was…beautiful. It was perfection. The way they fit so naturally together held an aching rightness. Made her feel that she’d been missing this, him, for so long.
She slid her arms around his waist and stepped into him. And still he kissed her, his fingers threading deeper into her hair.
Meg forgot all the reasons why this was a bad idea and lost herself in his kiss, in the simple joining. He gave of himself, made no demands, and because of that swept her away, a leaf delighting in the wind, flying for that brief time between tree and ground.
And for that brief time it was just him, just her, no past or future, just the now and this kiss, his lips against hers.
Too soon, but what had to be minutes later, he lifted his head, his hands still framed her face, his thumbs lazily stroked her cheeks.
“Remind me in what possible way that could have been a bad idea. I’m thinking it was one of the best, if not the best idea I’ve ever had.”
She opened her mouth to speak and waited for her brain to provide the words.
He slid his hands over her shoulders, down her arms, till he held both her hands in his. And Meg knew she was in deep, deep trouble because all she could think was that she wanted him to kiss her again and then she wanted more. Much, much more.
The chiming of the doorbell broke through the sensory spell he wove. Her first reaction was disappointment. Her second, as sanity returned, was relief. That kiss could only have led to places they couldn’t go, not without horribly complicating what was already a far-too-complicated situation, and not without threatening the safe cocoon she’d spun around her heart.
She started for the door.
“Leave it,” he said.
But she’d remembered who it likely was. “Um… No. We can’t.” We can’t leave it and we can’t go where you’re thinking. Where I was thinking. Wanting.
Luke looked from the broad cedar door to Meg. “You know who that is?”
Meg glanced at her watch. “Maybe.” They were punctual, a little early even, which normally she’d rate as a good quality.
“So it’s someone for you?”
“Not exactly.”
“Whoever it is, send them away. I don’t feel like company today.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Because?”
The chimes rang softly through the house again. “Because I think it’s the caterers.”
His eyes narrowed on her. “Why are there caterers ringing my doorbell?”
“Because they’d like to come in?” She kept her tone hopeful and innocent.
“Meg?” His tone was anything but hopeful or innocent. She’d have said more suspicious and accusing.
“They have some setting up to do. For the dinner tonight.” The doorbell rang again and was followed by an insistent knock.
“Open it. And then I think you better tell me what dinner they’re setting up for.”
Meg let the small army of caterers in, guided them through to the kitchen and took as long as she could showing them anything and everything she thought they might need to know. She didn’t leave till it became obvious she was only getting in their way.
She went back to the entranceway where she’d left Luke, where he’d kissed her, but he wasn’t there. The red bow was back in place on the post. She could look for him, but she’d doubtless see him soon enough. In the meantime, she had things she needed to do. Like run away before she started acting on three months’ worth of daydreams.
In her-Luke’s-bedroom she pulled a plain black suitcase from the wardrobe and dropped it onto her-his-bed and unzipped the lid. From the top dresser drawer she gathered her underwear and put it into the case. The second drawer contained Luke’s clothes. She opened the third drawer and pulled out her T-shirts.
“What are you doing?”
She tensed at the sound of his voice and spun, her T-shirts clasped to her chest, to see him standing in the doorway. “Packing.”
“You do have a knack for stating the obvious.”
“We agreed I’d go as soon as you got back.”
“And then we agreed Monday, because your car is at the mechanic’s.” Luke strolled across the room and positioned himself in front of the wide window that most days allowed forever views out over the lake. Today, ominous clouds hid the far, snow-capped mountains, restricting the view instead to the lake’s edge. “What is it you’re frightened of?”
“Nothing.” And even though he wasn’t looking at her, she clutched the T-shirts a little tighter, a flimsy barrier against his questions, his insight.
“Now, me, I’m frightened of you.”
A ludicrous notion. “I don’t think so. You hold all the power here. Your house, your territory.” Not to mention his looks, his wealth, her weakness for him.
“What scares me, Meg,” he said to the window, “is the way I feel when I look at you. And the way those feelings intensify when you look back at me.”
His words stilled her, made her want to hope. She covered the foolish, unlikely hope with glibness. “And I’ll just bet you’re a ‘feel the fear and do it anyway’ kind of guy.”