“I’m not sleepy. How about hot chocolate?”
“I don’t have any.”
“Yes, you do. I bought groceries on my way here.” She unfurled her long, long legs and stood. Luke rose at the same time, and they came nose-to-nose, inches apart.
He’d forgotten how tall she was. Her mouth was almost on a level with his.
If he bent his knees...
If Cat stood on her toes...
If she had been any other desirable woman, he would have slipped his arms about her slender waist, drawn her against his chest and kissed that soft succulent mouth until they were both gasping for air. He quickly shook off the thought.
He trailed her into his chrome-and-black-glass kitchen, observing the way her hips moved as she padded on bare feet. She had a loose-jointed walk that made Playboy centerfolds look like windup toys.
Luke settled at the small table under the window as Cat heated milk and made their drinks. She knew where everything was because she’d put it there when he’d moved in two years ago.
“Thanks.” Luke took the brimming mug she offered. Chocolate-scented steam tantalized his taste buds. He waited until she slid into the other chair before he spoke. “You were stifled in that house with Dad all those years, Cat. I understand you wanting to try something new and exciting. And San Francisco certainly is that. But don’t you think it might be a culture shock?”
She’d taken a tentative sip and already wore a chocolate milk mustache. She watched him over the rim of her mug. Transfixed, he watched her pink tongue come out and lick the creamy film off her upper lip. He was going to drop dead from a heart attack at age thirty-three.
Her eyes flickered away, then back again.
“Okay, Cat. What are you up to?”
“Me?” She was all wide-eyed innocence. “Nothing.”
“The first time you gave me that look was when you said you weren’t running away to join the circus, remember? We found you in the park two blocks away, panhandling for bus fare.”
Cat grinned. “I promise, I don’t want to join the circus.”
The chocolate must have burned the hell out of her throat, but she chugged it down, then cradled the empty mug. She had pretty hands. Slender, no-nonsense, with short, unpolished nails. He wanted them on him.
Luke’s heart took up an unexpected arrhythmic beat as he watched her. Despite her mother’s influence, Cat had always been a sensible woman. Somehow she’d remained refreshingly innocent. She was what was known as a “good girl.” More than likely the last of a dying breed. In spite of her lush, curvy body, she was wholesome. Natural.
Cat gave him a level, serious look. “I came because you’re the only man I trust, Luke. I have a problem.”
He felt sick. “Do you want him to marry you, or do you want me to punch him out?”
Cat looked at him blankly. “Marry? Punch? Who?”
“Cat, for God’s sake! The man who got you pregnant!”
She stared at him as though he’d lost his mind. “I’m a virgin, Luke.”
“Well, hell, what does that have to do with anyth—What?”
“Virgin? Unmarried woman? Untouched? Pure?”
“Jesus.” His breath gusted out, and it took several moments to get his heartbeat back to comfortable. He scraped his fingers through his hair, feeling ridiculously as if he’d stood perilously close to the edge of an abyss and survived. “Sorry, I tend to get a little carried away,” he admitted gruffly.
“I’ve noticed.” Cat’s voice was dry. Her mouth wore a small, tentative smile, but her eyes still looked as if she were about to tell him something he didn’t want to hear. He’d anticipated the worst and rallied. Relaxing, he leaned back in his chair.
“What do you need help with? Want to come and work out of our office? No problem, I told you we’ll find a spot for you—”
She watched him with big, serious eyes. “I don’t want you to find me office space, Luke. I want you to find me a husband.”
CHAPTER TWO
“WELL, SAY SOMETHING.” Catherine tried not to let her nerves show as he sat there gaping.
Even while she’d agonized over doing this, she’d hoped she’d have to go no further than to ask Luke for his help. It would have made life a whole bunch easier if he’d just cut to the chase and declared his undying love for her at the onset.
The Plan hadn’t gotten much beyond that. She wanted more, but with Luke’s attitude toward permanence, she was realistic enough to know she wasn’t going to get it.
Her biggest leap of faith had been to burn her bridges, and take the chance that he wouldn’t reject her outright. Again.
Ten years was a long time, she kept reminding herself. They’d both grown up since. She wasn’t that naive, impulsive kid anymore. She knew Luke better now. For her plan to work, this seduction was going to have to be his idea. Unfortunately, he was still staring at her, slack-jawed.
“Well?” she said with a shaky breath. “Say something.”
“I’m speechless.”
“Could you hurry up and get over it?” Catherine pulled a yellow scratch pad and a pen out of the canvas bag she’d slung over the finial of her chair earlier. She concentrated on writing “Prospective Husbands” at the top of the page in neat block letters, more to give Luke time to assimilate what she’d said than the need to make a list. She glanced up. His eyes were squinty.
“What?” she asked innocently.
“What do you mean, you want me to find you a husband? You have a phobic aversion to marriage!”
“No. That’s you.” Keep it casual, Catherine. “I have a phobic aversion to my mother’s marriages. What if poor marital judgment is hereditary? My apple might have fallen closer to my mother’s tree than I’d like. I just don’t trust my own judgment.”
“And you’d trust mine? I don’t believe in marriage, remember?”
How could she forget? “You’ll meet someone someday.”
“No,” he said unequivocally. “I won’t. And frankly, Cat, considering we’ve both seen your mother in action, I’m surprised that you’d want to make the same mistakes.”
“With your help, I won’t.”
“I don’t get it. Why?”
“Because I need someone to take care of, Luke. After Dad died I realized I liked taking care of someone. I love being a homemaker. I know it’s politically incorrect not to want a career, but I don’t. I enjoy trading stocks on the market, and as long as I have my computer and a phone line, I can do that anywhere. But if I had to stop that tomorrow, I wouldn’t care. I guess I’m a throwback, what can I say? I want a husband to love, and to be loved by. Eventually kids. I want a couple of dogs, and a house with a big yard. Is that too much to ask—where are you going?”
“To make more hot chocolate.”
“There’s still some. Here.” She handed him her mug and waited while he poured hot chocolate haphazardly from the pan. Catherine observed the motion of muscles flexing beneath his green sweater. She drew in a deep breath, then held it until her stomach behaved itself. Luke had never made any bones about his intention to remain a bachelor. She remembered him telling her just that, right after his own mother remarried for the third time. Luke didn’t believe in promises any more than Catherine did. The difference was she