LITMIR.BIZ

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She stood looking down at him. “How’d your evening with Karen go?”

      “Great.” The pits. Karen had not been a happy woman when he’d left her at her door.

      “She seems nice enough.”

      “Pretty, smart. She’s a lawyer.”

      “Lovely,” Cat told him coolly. “She can do your prenup if you two get married.”

      “She knows that’ll never happen.”

      Luke rose. They were no more than a foot apart. Desperate to steal a kiss from those sweet pink lips, he knew she’d deck him with the pillow she clutched to her midriff.

      “Ever heard of common law?”

      “This is the second time I’ve dated her. Besides, Nick and I have The Bet, remember?”

      Cat shook her head, slapping him in the face with twenty pounds of hair. The honey-scented strands lashed his cheeks before springing back home. He wanted to grab her by that hair, wrestle her back to the sofa...and get a swift kick in the cojónes for his trouble.

      “That is one of your more ridiculous bets, Luke. What if one of you falls madly in love and wants to get married before you’re thirty-five? It could happen, you know.”

      “Being in love doesn’t necessarily mean marriage. Which is why I consider The Bet a sure thing. I have the edge. I’m never getting married, however old I am.”

      “You mean you still believe that stupid ‘all your emotional eggs in one basket’ theory you had at fifteen? That, my darling dragon, is what we women call Lack of Commitment. You just haven’t met the right woman yet.”

      “I meet the right women. Several times a year. Which has always been my point.” He frowned. “Are you going to bed?”

      “Yes.” She stepped out of reach and turned to assess him over her shoulder. “Are we going to the house tomorrow?”

      “Yeah. Late-ish. Take the bed again.”

      He watched her walk to the bedroom. Even in the too large T-shirt, she moved like music. Fluid, graceful and too sexy for his peace of mind. Luke closed his eyes. He needed something else to focus on when Cat was around. Something that wasn’t soft, smooth and cinnamon flavored. Something like—

      “Sweet dreams, Luke.”

      “Yeah, you too, honey.” Something like—construction. Yeah. That was it. Instead of seeing Cat, he’d imagine building the house. From the foundation up.

      “Are you okay?”

      He glanced up. She was standing at the bedroom door with a little V of worry between her brows, one slippered foot perched on the other. He wanted to stride over, pick her up, carry her into the bedroom, lay her on his nice, wide bed...

      “Just tired.”

      Excavating the foundation. Lots of dirt. Big piles of dark soil—soft pale, freckly mounds tipped with pale apricot nipples... “See you in the morning,” he said gruffly, getting up to click off the light and plunge the room into darkness.

      He heard the door shush closed.

      Yeah, this visualizing concept stuff was going to work well. Yeah, right!

      * * *

      AN HOUR LATER, still wide-awake, with excavating the furthest thing from his mind, Luke had to go to the bathroom. To get to the bathroom, he had to go through the bedroom. He dreaded walking through the room with Cat sleeping there. Why had he decided to combine two bedrooms into one? Why had he thought a bigger kitchen warranted removing the guest bath?

      Because he hadn’t expected Cat to be sleeping in his bed. That’s why.

      She’s sleeping, you moron, Luke told himself, tiptoeing into the bedroom. She’d left the light on in the bathroom. A sliver of golden light slashed across her figure on the bed.

      “Ah, Cat,” he said softly.

      She was sprawled facedown across the bedspread, her hair covering her face and half the pillow. Out like a light. Beside her, tucked up to its furry little armpits by the blanket, was the teddy bear he’d given her years ago. That was Cat. She hung on to things. Treasured things. Coddled things.

      He noticed she’d changed his satin sheets for plain white cotton. He sighed and bent to take off her slippers.

      The smart thing to do, Catherine decided as she felt Luke’s hands removing her left fuzzy slipper, was to turn over and say hi. The sensation of his warm hands on her bare foot sent little electrical currents up her leg.

      Pretending to be asleep now was almost as bad as when she’d hidden under his bed on one of his weekends at home. She’d been about nine. Even then she’d wanted to be as close to him as she could get. Eventually he’d discovered her, and hadn’t cared that she was faking a deep sleep. He’d hauled her out, dragged her screaming into the hallway, then slammed the door in her face.

      The housekeeper had reported the incident to his father, who in turn had punished Luke, and in a natural progression, Luke had refused to talk to Catherine for a month.

      Bad idea then. Bad idea now.

      He drew off the other slipper, then massaged her instep with strong, sure strokes. She’d never felt anything more erotic in her life. Goose bumps broke out on her skin as he cradled her foot before gently settling it back on the bed.

      She felt the drag of the covers under her as Luke carefully pulled the spread and blankets down to her feet, trying not to wake her. Her breasts tingled as if he’d touched them directly. She imagined the glide of the blankets were Luke’s hands skimming slowly down her body. Eyes squeezed shut, she pictured his hands on her. Large, hard, long fingered. Smoothing, cupping, claiming.

      Moisture pooled between her thighs. Her pulse pounded strategically. She gritted her teeth at the thick, syrupy pleasure her imagination created. She felt the brush of fur, and realized he’d settled Hubert back beside her cheek.

      “You’re a real pain, Catherine Anne Harris, you know that?” Luke murmured. “I wish you’d stayed in Oregon where you belong.”

      It took a moment for her overactive hormones to assimilate what he’d just said. A real pain. Stayed where you belong.

      The delicious sensations left her body in a dizzying rush.

      Her heart ached in her chest; the back of her nose tingled. She clamped her teeth together so tightly her jaw ached. So much for wanting Luke to make the first move. He didn’t want her. Biblically or otherwise.

      No matter how Luke presented his invitation for her to stay, the bottom line, as usual, was that she was in the way. All her life she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time where Luke was concerned.

      Catherine wanted to run. She wanted to go home. To her own bed, with her own safe things surrounding her. But she’d burned those bridges by selling the house and putting everything she owned into storage. At the time that had taken more courage than she’d thought she could muster. But selling and closing up the only real home she’d ever known had been child’s play compared to this.

      Luke tucked the covers around her, brushing aside her hair. For a brief, electrifying second, his hand lingered on her nape.

      She couldn’t help it. She shivered.

      He swore under his breath.

      For several seconds he didn’t move. She could feel him standing there beside the bed. Looking at her. Then she heard his footsteps as he went into the bathroom. The lock snicked. The shower turned on.

      Catherine stared up into the darkness, eyes dry, chest aching.

      * * *

      LUKE FINALLY EMERGED from a restless sleep. He hadn’t bothered with a sheet. The leather sofa had glued itself to his skin all the way down his left side, and he had to peel himself

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