Someone knocked on the door At Luke’s invitation, a man walked in, a very tall man with the distinctive look of a Walker about him.
“I’ve got that information for you, Luke.”
“Sam, I’d like you to meet Ariel Minx. You’re gonna be spending a little time gathering some data from her. Ariel, this is my cousin, Sam Walker. He’s Titan’s comptroller.”
“I noticed the resemblance,” she said, shaking off the kiss, trying to settle her feet back on the ground and pull her head from the clouds. “I figured you were brothers, though.”
“Close as,” Sam said. He looked at Luke. “Are we working here or in my office?”
“Here. Three heads will be better than two, in this instance.” He slid his jacket off and loosened his tie. “Grab yourself a cup of coffee, Sam. We’ll be here awhile.”
From his office window, Luke watched Ariel climb into her Explorer. Snow wasn’t predicted for tonight, but he was glad she had four-wheel drive, just in case. The thought of her driving to San Francisco at night, a three- to four-hour trip, depending on traffic, bothered the hell out of him. He hadn’t been able to convince her to stay over, though. Too many obligations at home, she’d said. Obligations. Her middle name, apparently. She worked more than full-time, and all as a volunteer.
“Drop your pants, Luke.”
Ignoring the distinctly feminine command, Luke waited until Ariel’s car was out of sight before kicking off his shoes and unbuckling his belt. The running shorts he wore underneath were a new style and would hit the retail market next month. He’d expected to wear them himself. In training, that is. It wasn’t going to happen now. Hell, he’d be lucky to walk without a hitch for the rest of his life—provided his surgery went well.
“Hurry up. My hands are freezing,” Marguerite complained.
He limped to the sofa, took the towel she offered, then sucked in a fierce breath as she molded a plastic bag filled with ice over his knee. It had taken everything he’d had in him not to show Ariel how much he hurt.
“Do you want a pain pill?” Marguerite asked as he situated himself more comfortably.
“Just took one.” He hated taking them, so he avoided it until the pain became unbearable. He shifted until he lay flat, shoving some pillows under his leg to elevate it above his heart.
“Exactly what was so all-fired important about this meeting that you couldn’t use your crutches?”
“None of your business.” His amiable tone dulled the impact of the words.
“Oh, I see. This is the one. Gotta be caveman for the potential wife.” She snorted. “Her name wasn’t on your list, the last I looked.”
He opened one eye. “I don’t recall seein’ anything about badgerin’ the boss in your job description.”
“And I haven’t seen anything about playing nurse, either, but I’m doing it. Quit being a baby.”
Luke opened his other eye. “Lord, I feel sorry for Sam. I think I’d better clue him m about you before he’s shackled for life.”
“Sam knows what he’s getting. He loves me because I’m bossy.”
“And because you’ve got a body that won’t quit,” Sam said, appearing out of nowhere. He slid an arm around her waist.
“Won’t quit what?” Marguerite teased him.
“Come with me, little girl, and I’ll show you.”
“Stop growling like some lecherous wolf, Sam, and take it somewhere private,” Luke muttered.
“Jealous?”
“Hand me a cigar, then go home. Both of you.”
Sam plucked a cigar from the humidor on Luke’s desk, snipped off the end and passed it to his cousin, along with a lighter. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” Luke caught the look that passed between Sam and Marguerite. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Turn off most of the lights, too, please.”
He waited until the door closed before he groaned. As soon as the swelling subsided and the medication kicked in, he’d be able to function again. He knew the drill. Until then, he had to lie still.
He blew a smoke ring, then another. Sam’s innocent query gave him pause. “Jealous?” he’d asked. Yeah, he was jealous. Jealous of Sam’s unbroken body. Jealous of his having a companion to share his life with. But not jealous of his impending marriage, not when Luke could see how hot Sam was for Marguerite.
Luke had made that mistake twice in his life—confused lust for love. Not this time. This time he would choose a woman he knew would be a good companion outside of the bedroom. And someone who didn’t want his money, either. He’d prefer a woman whose body was the exact opposite of either of his voluptuous ex-fiancées, a woman who didn’t make him fantasize.
He knew what he wanted. Home and hearth. Continuity. They had to be on the woman’s wish list, too.
He relaxed as his pain eased. Maturity hadn’t sneaked up on him—it’d slapped him full in the face. First, with the arrival of his thirty-fourth birthday six months ago. Then the damned injury two months later. He might have tried to continue playing ball for another couple of years, hoping that he wouldn’t totally destroy both knees, but he’d decided to stop sacrificing his body for his sport, difficult as that decision was.
Finally, the last big change, the sudden opportunity to take Titan to a whole new level of competition in the industry when his grandfather had turned over the presidency of the company to him. His entire life was going to be different from here on. A normal existence, finally. One where he wasn’t taking orders from coaches and trainers and owners, but leading the team, instead, and deciding the future. And marriage, of course.
Lust wasn’t going to make his decisions for him this time. Not that dubious emotion love, either, whatever that was. Nope. This time he was choosing a helpmate, a companion, a friend.
Gingerly, he swung his legs around and sat up. He’d already had surgery on one knee. Day after tomorrow, the other. Cautiously he stood, not moving until he got his balance, then he walked to his desk, switched on a light and opened his top drawer. He plucked a small velvet box from the corner he’d shoved it into and pushed up the lid. A flawless, three-carat diamond ring sparkled back at him. A ring his jeweler insisted any woman would be thrilled to wear. He snapped the lid shut and picked up his neatly typed list, examining it, top to bottom.
Each name was followed by the details he thought important. They represented a spectrum of professions—Realtor, two lawyers, orthopedic surgeon, physical therapist, actress, loan officer and television sportscaster. Five of them already had children—a definite advantage in his book—but it also meant an ex-husband to deal with forever because of kids being involved. Of the three childless women, he could conjure up the image of only one, the sportscaster for a San Francisco station, whom he’d met last year. He supposed he remembered her face because he’d seen her on television since.
Names. They were just names.
His plan suddenly seemed idiotic. Juvenile. And yet, how else could he get what he wanted? He had to start somewhere.
He let the paper drift back onto the desk, the sound as it landed seeming to whisper a word. He glanced out his window at the darkening sky. A moment later he picked up a pencil and scrawled an addition to the list—the name that had been in his head trying to get out all afternoon:
9. Ariel Minx—
He hesitated. What did she do for a living? Did she have any children? He realized how little