LITMIR.BIZ

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he hadn’t always shown up with some creamy-skinned, pocket Venus, Catherine wouldn’t have grown up hating her freckles, her hair and her height.

      She wanted Luke to come home and everyone else to disappear.

      Eventually, finally, the guests left in dribs and drabs. Now it was after two, and Luke still wasn’t back.

      The last to leave, Nick leaned over to kiss her forehead on the way out the front door. “Are you sure I can’t—”

      “Go.” Catherine pushed at his wide chest. “Thank you for offering to help with the cleanup. I’ll take care of it next week when I wake up.”

      “You did good, Princess. You were the belle of the ball.”

      “I’m delighted to hear it.” Catherine didn’t bother to stifle a yawn. “Too bad Prince Absent wasn’t here to see me shine.”

      “Oh, he saw enough. Trust me.”

      “You’re a sweet man. Delusional, but sweet. Go home, Nick.”

      As soon as the door closed behind him, Catherine felt the muscles in her shoulders sag. Overtired, that was all. She was just overtired. Overstimulated. Overloaded.

      She imagined Luke in bed with Karen. The salsa and meatballs did a sickening dance in her tummy. She gathered several empty platters from the dining room table on her way to the kitchen for a Maalox.

      After changing into plaid flannel pajama bottoms, one of Luke’s T-shirts and her ratty slippers, she shuffled back into the living room and turned off the CD player. Ah. Silence.

      She surveyed the messy room, knowing no matter how tired, she wouldn’t be able to sleep. She almost had herself convinced it had nothing to do with Luke’s absence and everything to do with not waking up to this mess.

      “You owe me, Van Buren. You owe me big.” She loaded dirty glasses onto a tray and wrinkled her nose. A sickening rush of memories assaulted her. She couldn’t smell beer without remembering that night nine years ago.

      It had started harmlessly enough; her friends, fake IDs in hand, had surprised her with a visit to a strip joint for her seventeenth birthday. Catherine didn’t want to remember the rest of it. If she did, she’d be on the next plane back to Beaverton.

      One thing was for certain—the next time she managed to get Luke to kiss her she’d make sure she was stone-cold sober. That was then. This was now.

      Same objective. Different game plan. She’d chosen this path, and she’d stick to it. No retreating like a spineless crab. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Rah rah rah.

      She looked down at her clothing and grimaced. Not exactly seductive. But if she suddenly appeared in a slinky black negligee and garter belt, Luke would run screaming for the hills. No. She had to take this slowly and methodically. She’d put the idea out there. Luke had to run with it.

      She just had to have the courage of her convictions and not run when the going got tough.

      It took more than an hour to clean up the party mess. Luke still wasn’t home. “Of course he isn’t. What did you expect?” she asked herself, drying the last platter and putting it away while the dishwasher hummed with the final load. “You aren’t the only woman who wants him. Duh, Catherine!”

      She had to play her cards close to her chest. This time Luke had to make the first move. She just had to be patient. One of her better traits, and one not shared by Luke.

      She checked the living room and narrow balcony one last time for stray glasses. Finding none, she went to turn off the kitchen light before going to bed. The place was now spotless. Luke called her a neat freak. Okay, so she was a little obsessive. He was just the opposite. For a man meticulous in his work, Luke was a slob at home. He’d happily leave the same pair of dirty socks, breeding and multiplying, under the coffee table until they walked to the laundry on their own.

      Her habits had been ingrained before the age of six. She and her mother had moved seven times, sometimes in the dead of night. If everything was in its place, she’d been able to grab her most precious possessions quickly.

      She glanced at the clock on the stereo: 3:30 a.m.

      They’d be asleep now. Cuddled together. Karen probably had one of those froufrou beds, all lace and pink pillows. Luke would look outrageously masculine and sexy, stretched out naked—

      Catherine ruthlessly cut off the thought and groaned out loud. Living with Luke was going to either kill or cure her.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      LUKE SNEAKED INTO his own apartment like a thief in the night. He’d seen that foreign film so many times he swore he could now speak fluent German. He frowned. All the lights in the spotless living room were on. Unbuttoning his shirt, he pulled it free of his pants and felt a twinge of guilt for leaving Cat to do the cleanup. Then he considered how he’d have felt if he’d stuck around. Hell, he’d done the right thing.

      He almost had a seizure when he saw Cat sprawled out on the leather sofa. She wore one of his favorite ratty T-shirts and a disreputable pair of pajama bottoms he swore she’d had since she was a kid. Her cheeks were pink; her eyes glittered.

      “Nice of you to drop by, Van Buren. Pleasant evening?”

      “Delightful,” Luke managed to answer cheerfully. Man, was she ticked. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his chinos as he walked around the arm of the sofa. “Hey, thanks for doing the cleanup. Did Nick give you a hand?”

      “Yes. By leaving.”

      Cat drew a leopard print pillow, which hadn’t been here a week ago, onto her lap, still glaring. Whoops. He did a quick scan through the open door into the darkened bedroom and lowered his voice. “Are we alone?”

      Her cheeks lit up like flamingo-pink neon. “Other than the entire 49ers team naked, and exhausted, in the bedroom, you mean?”

      Luke took his hands out of his pockets and sat on the opposite arm of the sofa. Out of missile reach. “It’s not out of the realm of possibility that you’d have a man here, Cat.”

      Her fiery eyebrows shot up into her bangs. “Who are you? What alien life force took over Luke Van Buren’s body?”

      “Huh?”

      “Whose condo is this? I hadn’t met any of these people here tonight before in my life! Do you really think I’d sleep with a total stranger? In your home? In your bed?”

      “Ahh, no.”

      “Then don’t ask such asinine questions, you turkey.”

      She curled her legs under her and bunched up her hair in her fist. She wasn’t wearing a bra. He remembered that brief, tantalizing flash of cinnamon and cream, and almost licked his lips. Yep, Luke thought. A good thing he’d stayed out.

      “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” he asked mildly. What was the point in sitting in a movie theater all night only to came home and find her wide-awake, sexy as hell and in his face?

      “I just finished shoveling everything into the dishwasher.”

      The hectic color had left her cheeks. Her eyes looked bruised and kind of sad, Luke thought. They would have been looking a damn sight sadder if he’d hung around much longer at the party.

      “I would’ve cleaned up in the morning, Cat.”

      She hugged the pillow and snorted. “Yeah, right.”

      “So what did you think of Ted?”

      She shrugged.

      “Allan?”

      She did the so-so thing with her head.

      “Either of the Bobs? Any of them?”

      Cat unfolded her legs. She was close enough to touch. The scent of her body, warm, female, Catherine, made him dizzy.

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