He looked up and slammed straight into Rafe’s dark-blue gaze. Was the other man blaming him for Tom’s murder? Or was it a reflection of his own guilt he saw?
They stood in the center of the room, the finery closing in around them. Luke knew what came next. He knew exactly what Rafe was going to say.
“I’m asking you to protect my sister, Luke. To treat her as if she was your own flesh and blood.”
He locked his knees to keep them from buckling. His own flesh and blood. A pain gripped his heart. The ever-constant ache that reminded him of what he’d done. Tom Reynolds wasn’t the only death he was responsible for. Twenty-seven years before, he’d let a beautiful little girl die. He would never forget the day her body had been found. The muggy summer day a farmer had discovered her, bruised and battered—tortured by a vicious attack.
“Promise me you’ll protect her.”
“I will,” Luke vowed. “I promise.” He would keep Rafe’s sister safe. With his life, he thought. With the only honor he had left.
The other man broke the tension with a grin. “It won’t be easy. Maggie’s one headstrong female.”
Luke couldn’t find it within himself to smile. But he rarely could. His joy had died twenty-seven years ago. “Yeah. I’ve already locked horns with her. I know what I’m up against.”
“You’re going to have to fill her in about what we’ve learned so far,” Rafe said. “I don’t want to give her an excuse to go poking around on her own.”
Luke squinted. “Fine. But first I want you to lay some ground rules. Tell Maggie that I’m the boss. This is my investigation, and whatever I say goes.”
Rafe agreed. “I’ll brief her, then send her down in a few minutes.”
He headed toward the French door. “Have her meet me outside. I could use some air.”
“Sure. And Luke?”
He turned, his boots heavy on the Turkish carpet. “Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
Luke only nodded. Protecting Maggie Connelly scared the hell out of him. But her brother had entrusted him with the responsibility. And that was something a Cherokee man couldn’t deny.
Two
Maggie exited the house, then shoved her hands in her coat pockets to ward off the chill. Luke stood quietly, a lone figure surrounded by a winter garden, his face tipped to the sky.
In the distance, boxwood shrubs created a maze—a mystic castle of green. The maze was Maggie’s favorite spot at Lake Shore Manor. To her, it had always seemed dark and dangerous. Haunted yet beautiful.
Like Lucas Starwind.
He wore black jeans and a leather jacket, the collar turned up for warmth. On his feet, a pair of electrician-style boots crunched on the frozen grass. As she approached, he turned to look at her.
She continued walking, and when they were face-to-face, she waited for him to speak.
But he didn’t. Instead he let the wind howl between them.
Maggie had never met anyone like Luke. He had an edge, she thought. A dark and mysterious edge, like the maze. She used to play hide-and-seek there as a child, and as much as the twists and turns had frightened her, they had thrilled her, too.
Luke, she realized, produced the same staggering effect. He looked powerful in the hazy light. His cheekbones cast a hollow shadow, and his eyes bore permanent lines at the corners. From frowning, she decided, or squinting into the sun. In his hair, she could see faint threads of gray, so faint they almost seemed like an illusion.
“Are you cold?” he asked. “Do you want to go back inside?”
She shook her head. The air was sharp and chilled, but she didn’t want to break this strange spell.
“It’s going to snow,” he said. “By Friday. Or maybe Saturday.”
The weathermen claimed otherwise, but Maggie didn’t argue the point. Luke seemed connected to the elements. She attributed that to the loner in him, to the man who probably spent countless hours alone with a winter sky.
Although Maggie wanted to touch him, she kept her hands in her pockets. Luke wasn’t the sort of person you placed a casual hand upon. But, then, she knew what sparked between them was far from casual.
“Did Rafe talk to you?” he asked, looking directly into her eyes.
“Yes. He said I’m supposed to listen to whatever you say.” That, of course, had rubbed her the wrong way. Rafe had made her feel like a child rather than a grown woman. Then again, she had behaved badly in front of her brother, her Irish temper flaring.
“That’s right. You’re supposed to follow my direction, and I’m supposed to keep a close eye on you.”
“Really?” Somehow that pleased and irritated her all at once. She liked the idea of spending time with Luke, but she didn’t appreciate having him as her keeper.
He lowered his chin, glaring at her through narrowed eyes. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“No.” She decided she would turn his guardianship against him. She would use every opportunity she could to make him smile. To save that tortured soul of his.
“Good. Then I need some information from you.”
An angry breeze blew his hair, dragging it away from his face. He had a natural widow’s peak, which gave him a rather ominous appeal. Like the maze, she reminded herself. The silver earring caught a glint of the gray winter light.
“How many residences do you have?” he asked.
“Me or my family?”
“You, Maggie. Where do you sleep?”
The question had been posed in a professional voice, but there was still a note of intimacy attached. She couldn’t seem to ignore the tingle it gave her.
“I have a room here,” she told him. “But most of the time I stay at a loft downtown. I own the building.” It was her sanctuary, her home and her studio. Maggie was an artist. She painted because she needed to, because the images she created stemmed from her emotions.
Luke shifted his stance, and she imagined painting him where he stood, the wind ravaging his hair, daylight reflecting the torment in his eyes, the silver earring catching a glint of gray from the sky.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Do you have a current lover? Someone who has access to your loft?”
A sensuous shiver streaked up her spine. “No.” She wanted him as her lover. She wanted him thrusting inside her, clawing at her with the heat and power she knew he possessed. She met his gaze, felt her heartbeat stagger. “Do you have a current lover, Luke?”
He squinted, causing the lines around his eyes to imbed themselves deeper. “This isn’t about me.”
She tossed her head, but the image she’d created in her mind wouldn’t go away. “So you get to pry into my life, but I have to stay out of yours?”
“That’s right. And do you know why that is, Maggie?”
She didn’t respond. There was no need. Clearly he intended to enlighten her.
“You’re too young and too emotional,” he said. “You don’t observe the world through calculating eyes. You wouldn’t have the slightest idea if the person following you was a cameraman or a hit man. So it’s my job to know where you are and who you’re with.”
Counting silently to ten, and then to twenty, she suppressed the urge to fire her temper at him. “Which basically means I’m a thorn in your side.”
“You’re