Daddy, Unexpectedly

He pulled on his helmet and climbed on the bike. “Jump on.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. You are such a wimp, she scolded. People rode on motorcycles all the time. Luke was a responsible adult. She hoped. She slid one leg over the seat behind him and settled onto the cushy leather, grateful she hadn’t changed into a skirt.

“Hang on,” he said.

To him? she wondered. Duh. It was him or nothing. She put her hands on his sides, glad for the cool leather between her palms and his rib cage. Every nerve in her body jolted to life when he started the bike, and her pulse roared in her ears. No, that was the rev of the engine. They rolled away from the curb and she flung her arms around him, so tightly she could have counted his ribs through the jacket if she’d wanted to.

The ride to the pub lasted somewhere between five minutes and a lifetime. After he found a parking space and cut the engine, she snatched her hands away from his body and stumbled off the bike. She was both terrified and—oh, God, how could this be happening?—turned on. Being scared, yes, she could understand, but a body all aquiver from clinging to a man on the back of a motorcycle? Who knew such a thing was even possible?

Chapter Two

Luke held Claire’s helmet and watched her smooth her tousled hair with shaky hands.

“Your first time?” he asked.

She responded with a silent question in her eyes and a little extra pink in her cheeks.

“On a motorcycle.”

“Oh, yes. It was.” He liked that the polished, professional grown-up Claire was still college-girl adorable when she got flustered.

“I thought it might have been.” He handed the helmet back to her and guided her toward the entrance. “What did you think?”

“Um...” Her color deepened.

Hmm. That good. Here’s hoping the ride home had the same effect.

He held the door and followed her inside. The bar was packed with the usual Friday mix of tourists and the downtown happy hour crowd. He spotted a table for two that was being vacated near the back, and before two other couples could swoop in to grab it, he was holding a chair for Claire.

She sat and slid the helmet underneath. “That was lucky.”

Nope. That was experience.

The server stopped and pocketed the change left by the previous customers. “Menus?”

“Sure.”

She picked up the empty glasses and put them on her tray, then gave the table a halfhearted swipe with a damp cloth. Claire’s reaction had him second-guessing his decision to bring her here, but taking her to a fancier place might have sent the wrong message.

“Do you know what you want to drink?” the server asked.

The way Claire studied the drink list, she could have been cramming for an exam.

“Give us a minute?” he asked.

“Sure thing.”

After the woman moved on to another table, he watched Claire suck the ripe fullness of her lower lip between her teeth, release it and slowly run the tip of her tongue across the luscious curve of her upper lip. During their many study sessions back in college, he’d watched her do that a hundred times. And he’d known then, as he did now, that she had no idea how seductive it was. She wasn’t trying to tantalize, and that made it even more of a turn-on.

During those study sessions of old he had wanted to kiss that freshly moistened mouth and tease that tongue into coming out to play. But even in those days, when he had been a stereotypical college student with an overactive libido and his party mode in overdrive, he’d had enough sense not to ruin a good thing. The good thing being a study-buddy and a friend. He had never had a female friend who was just a friend, and he’d never had a study partner, period.

Their first kiss had been less than half an hour ago. He had simply wanted to send a message to the jerk of an ex-husband, but now, watching her tongue play with her lips, he wondered if she would let him bookend this date with another kiss when he took her home.

Was this a date? It would be if she let him kiss her again. Was that a good idea? Sure as hell seemed like one from where he was sitting. A kiss was just a kiss, after all. It didn’t have to end with them setting the sheets on fire. Besides, he would never use Claire DeAngelo to scratch an itch, and she’d never let him anyway.

The server returned. “Have you decided on drinks?”

“Coffee for me,” he said.

“Cream and sugar?”

“Black, thanks.”

Over the top of the drink list, surprise registered in Claire’s eyes. He couldn’t fault her for that.

She set the tattered menu on the table. “I’ll have a Diet Coke.”

That was no surprise at all.

“Coffee and a Coke. Be right back to take your food order.”

“So, Luke Devlin in a bar drinking coffee,” Claire said. “That’s...different.”

“I’m driving.”

“Of course. Good point.”

“But you could have had something with a little more kick than a diet soft drink.”

Something akin to alarm flickered in her eyes and vanished, leaving him wondering if maybe he imagined it. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

“Me, neither.”

That made her laugh.

Should he tell her the truth? Step one, he reminded himself. “I’m serious. I’ve been sober almost two years.”

The amusement drained from her face. “Oh. Luke, I’m sorry I laughed. I shouldn’t have.”

He leaned closer and touched her hand. “No apology necessary. Sometimes even badasses grow up.”

“Not always.”

He guessed she was talking about her ex.

“Some of us do,” he said. Too bad it sometimes took a disaster to make it happen.

She slowly withdrew her hand. “So, here we are. Ten years out of college and a couple of teetotalers.”

“Wow. It’s been ten years?”

“It has.”

The server set Claire’s soft drink and his coffee on the table. “You folks ready to order?” she asked.

Claire gave the menu another quick scan. “What’s good here?”

“They have the best burgers in Seattle. The Emerald Isle is my favorite.”

She read the description and grimaced. “Two beef patties and bacon and cheese? I see your appetite hasn’t changed.”

“I worked hard today. I need the calories.”

“And I sat at my desk most of the day, so I definitely don’t. I’ll have the O’Chicken burger,” she said, smiling at the name as she handed her menu to the server.

“Fries or salad with those?”

“Fries for me,” Luke said.

“I should have a salad.” Obviously that’s not what she wanted.

“Have a salad,” he said. “We can share my fries.”

The server confirmed their order and drifted away.

“I was surprised to see you this afternoon,” she said. “I bumped into one of your old dorm-mates a couple of years ago and he told me you’d joined the Seattle P.D.”

So she did know. “Yeah, I got in a couple of years after I graduated college.”

“And you’re moonlighting as a window washer?”

He didn’t want to let her believe that, mostly because it wasn’t true. But because of where she lived, and the reason he was working there, he needed to be careful what he did tell her.

“I’m with vice. Sometimes an investigation is easier when the bad guys don’t know who we are.”

“So you’re...what? Working undercover?”

He tipped his head in agreement.

“I thought things like that only happened in the movies.”

“If this is a movie, that would make me James Bond.”

That made her laugh. “Isn’t he a spy?”

“Yeah, but it’s a movie, remember? That means I get to be anybody I want. What about you?” he asked, wanting to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“Well, since you get to be Pierce Brosnan—or would that be Daniel Craig?—then I guess I’d be Julia Roberts.” She was blushing again. “But more Mona Lisa Smile than Pretty Woman,” she added quickly.

His turn to laugh. “Good to know, but I was talking about the real-life you. You said you work at home.”

“I do, some of the time, but nothing movie-star glamorous I’m afraid. I’m a Realtor, and a partner in a business called Ready Set Sold.”

He never would have imagined her as a salesperson. Then again she’d be good at anything she decided to do. “Good name for a real estate company.”

“We thought so. We’re more than just real estate, though. We help people renovate and stage their homes before we put them on the market.”

“Good idea. How many business partners do you have?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t say her ex was one of them.

“Two. Samantha Elliott is our carpenter and general handywoman, and Kristi Callahan is an interior decorator. They both do really amazing work, but they’re more than business partners. They’re my two best friends.”

Huh. Three women, best friends, running a business together. He liked the sound of that. “What about Donald? Is he in real estate?” Not that it was any of his business, and he probably shouldn’t even bring him up, but something about the guy didn’t sit right with him.

Claire plucked a napkin from the dispenser and wiped the table in front of her. “No. He’s an investment broker. He did really well at it, which is how we could afford the condo. Things between us started to fall apart right around the time the economy took a downturn, and then I found out he was...”

Luke had a pretty good idea what she was going to say, and he let her get to it without prompting.

“And then I found out he was having an affair.”

Bastard. Women like Claire, and his mother, deserved better. His own track record was less than stellar but except for Sherri, he had never been in a relationship long enough to be unfaithful. Even with her, although he’d been tempted a time or two, he’d kept his pants zipped. He might be a chip off the old block in a lot of ways, but his father’s infidelity had been the thing he hated most about the man. No way, not even when he’d been drinking heavily, as he had been in those days, would he let himself sink that low.

“Is that when Donald moved out?”

“He didn’t have a choice. After I found out, I packed up his stuff and called a moving company.”

He felt himself grin. “Hot damn, you’re feisty.”

He had always liked that Claire was a smart, determined woman. To know she wouldn’t put up with any crap from anyone made him admire her even more. Why hadn’t his mother kicked his father’s ass out of the house a long time ago? Why didn’t she do it now?

Claire swirled the straw in her drink. “A lot of men might think that what I did was a bit over-the-top.”

“Only the ones who are cheating.”

“You mentioned something about a breakup. Were you the heartbreaker or the heartbroken?”

He should have seen this question coming since he’d been the one to bring up exes. “A little of both, I guess. I didn’t cheat on her, though.”

“Did she? Cheat on you, I mean.”

“No. At least not that I know of. We were seriously into partying and then...ah...something happened that made me realize I had a problem. I knew I needed to quit drinking, and it turned out I wasn’t much fun to be with when I was sober.”

“She actually said that?”

“Not in so many words. And I learned some stuff, too.”

“Such as...?”

“Being sober and living with a drunk isn’t much fun, either.”

“Oh, Luke. I’m sorry. Do you know how she’s doing now?”

“No. We sort of lost touch.” Which wasn’t entirely true. He did know how she was doing. Not good. He didn’t want to talk about Sherri or the real reason they’d split up. He never talked about stuff like this with anyone, ever. Why was he opening up with Claire?

A food runner arrived with their order. “The O’Chicken?”

Claire patted the table in front of her, eyes widening as she took in the amount of food on her plate. The kid set the second plate in front of Luke and sidled away as the server appeared. She balanced a tray of drinks on one arm as she pulled a bottle of ketchup from her apron pocket and set it on the table.

“Anything else?” she asked.

He and Claire both shook their heads, and she carried on.

For a few moments there was silence as Luke applied a generous squirt of ketchup to his burger and squeezed another zigzag across his fries. He offered the bottle to Claire but she shook her head. He picked up the top half of his bun—lettuce, tomato, pickle and all—slapped it onto the burger side, and flattened it with his palm. While he watched Claire, he picked it up and took a bite.

She started by rescuing the pickle slice and moving it to the edge of her plate before going to work on the rest of her meal. By the time she’d unwrapped her cutlery, spread the paper napkin on her lap and, with surgical precision, cut her burger in half, he had devoured half of his.

“How is it?” he asked.

“Mmm.” She murmured her approval as she swallowed.

“Help yourself to some fries.”

She reached across the table, picked one up and dipped it in his ketchup. After biting it in half, she closed her eyes and chewed. “So good,” she said when she opened them again. “I haven’t had one of these in ages.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve been on a diet.” She picked up her fork and stabbed a piece of lettuce.

She looked fine to him. Better than fine. She had curves in all the right places, but if he told her that, she’d probably think he was lying, or coming on to her. He’d been around enough women to know that when they ordered diet drinks instead of regular, salad instead of fries and generally worried about their weight, the smart thing to say was nothing.

So instead he picked up his burger and bit off almost more than he could chew.

* * *

A CRISP FRENCH FRY AND tangy sweet ketchup were like a perfect marriage, Claire thought. What she didn’t know about the latter was made up for by a deep and abiding love of food, the crisper, sweeter and greasier the better. And she had the size fourteen hips to show for it.

“What do you think of the building you live in?” Luke asked after he swallowed a mouthful of burger and washed it down with coffee. His healthy appetite and the rock-hard abs she’d clung to all the way here created an interesting dichotomy.

She twirled the straw as she stared at the surface of her drink for a moment. It sounded as though he was fishing for information, but that didn’t make sense. He’s just making conversation, she decided. They had to talk about something.

“It’s not my dream home, but it’s okay. We—Donald and I—bought it after we got engaged and we moved in right after the honeymoon.”

She bit into her burger. After Donald’s phone call that afternoon and his unexpected appearance tonight, she was more annoyed with him than ever. She still couldn’t believe he’d shown up at the exact time she was meeting Luke. On the plus side, though, there had been that kiss.

“Does he make a habit of showing up like he did tonight?”

“No, he usually phones. His lawyer sent divorce papers to my lawyer this afternoon. He expects me to agree to whatever is in them.”

“What do you want?”

“I guess I still want what I thought I was getting when we got married. To put down roots, have a home and a family.”

“Sounds like a wonderful life.” The bitter edge to his voice had a bite to it.

She knew he hadn’t had the greatest home life growing up, but back in college he had never talked about it. He’d been too busy partying and playing the field. Apparently the partying had stopped, but it was too soon to tell if he’d moved past the seemingly endless string of girlfriends.

“It would be wonderful.”

He didn’t agree or disagree. “Do you still want that? With him?” he asked instead.

“God, no. But someday, with someone, definitely. But you don’t think it’s possible.”

He shrugged. “I’m not saying it’s impossible, just that I’ve never seen it happen.”

“Seriously? You don’t know anyone who’s happily married?” She prided herself in being a realist, but even after her experience with Donald she still believed she had a chance at a long and happy marriage. Without that dream, the future looked awfully grim.

“Well, let’s see. My parents have been married for almost forty years. I’m not sure either of them has ever been happy.”

Forty years of unhappy would be grimmer than grim. Maybe that’s why Luke tended to play the field rather than make a commitment.

“They’re still married,” she said. “That has to mean something.”

Luke shrugged. “Convenience, maybe. My dad can string along his various girlfriends by telling them his wife won’t give him a divorce. And I think my mom is so afraid of being on her own that she puts up with all his crap.”

Claire thought of her two business partners, Sam and Kristi, who’d both grown up with loser dads and then found men who were loving husbands and devoted fathers. By comparison, she had been raised by parents who were still crazy about each other, even after all these years, yet she had ended up marrying the wrong man. Now she was staring a bleak future square in the eye.

“I’m sorry to hear your mom’s had such a rough go of it. Have you talked to her about it?”

Luke pushed his empty plate away, picked up his coffee cup and leaned back in his chair. “Devlin men don’t tend to be talkers.”

“You’re talking to me.” She wondered if he would open up about his ex-girlfriend, tell her what happened there. Someday, maybe, but she sensed this wasn’t the time to ask.

“True. You always were a good listener. What about your family?”

Was he asking because he was interested, or because he wanted to change the subject? Not that it mattered. She loved to talk about her family.

“My parents are in a retirement community in Arizona. You might remember that my dad spent his entire career in the military so we moved a lot. Now they have a motor home so they’re still on the go.”

“But that doesn’t appeal to you?”

“Not in the least,” she said, laughing. “Every time we moved, they did their best to make the new place feel like home for me and my sister. Carmen always fit in right away. It took me longer, and by the time I made friends and started to feel settled, my dad was transferred.”

“How did you end up in Seattle?”

“I fell in love with the Pacific Northwest when we were stationed at Whidbey Island, and I decided then that when I grew up, this is where I wanted to live. Now here I am.”

“And all grown-up.” His voice, deep and quiet all of a sudden, like the thrum of a bass, reverberated through her.

“All grown-up,” she agreed, almost breathless. And she was having some very grown-up thoughts about the man sitting across the table.

Don’t be an idiot. Luke Devlin was a man who lived in the moment, always had been and always would be. She was all about the long-term, the white picket fence, the happy ever after.

And how’s that working for you? It wasn’t. After months of being alone, she was lonely. Would it be so wrong to not be lonely for a change? Even just for one night? To wake up in the morning with a hot guy in her bed and a smug smile of satisfaction on her lips? Heat crept up her neck and she tried to cool her cheeks with her palms.

No, it wouldn’t be wrong and she would be tempted, but she still couldn’t do it. She couldn’t be that woman. Could she?

Chapter Three

Luke waited for her to climb off the bike, then joined her on the sidewalk.

“I’ll walk you up.”

He’d had to park nearly a block away, it was dark and there was no way he could let her walk on her own. Another man might be tempted to, but not a cop. Never. Besides, he was hoping to be invited in. For the obvious reasons, of course, but also because he welcomed the chance to check out the place from the inside.

“Thank you.” She sounded relieved.

On her own she would most likely come and go via the secure underground parking garage, especially at night. Not that anything was ever completely secure, especially given what he knew about the activities of some of the lowlifes who lived here. Tonight he would see her to the front door, maybe farther if he was lucky.

They’d covered about half the distance when prickles of unease shivered up his neck. He knew better than to be obvious, but a couple of casual over-the-shoulder glances revealed nothing. Someone was watching them, most likely just him, and he saw no advantage to tipping off whomever that might be. Had the operation been compromised? His gut told him no. This was about something else.

He sought out the pistol tucked in an inside jacket pocket, curled his fingers reassuringly around the grip as his other arm went out instinctively to draw Claire closer. She glanced up, the obvious question in her eyes.

“Thought you might be cold.” It sounded lame, even to him, but she didn’t pull away.

“Would you like to come up for coffee?” she asked as she unlocked the front door of her building.

“Sure.” Hell, yes. He was glad she’d asked. It saved him the trouble of trying to invite himself in.

Earlier she’d been on edge, possibly due to her ex showing up and giving her a hard time, and he’d thought the evening was headed for disaster. Eventually she had relaxed, and after they got their current relationship status out of the way, they had talked about work, recent movies they’d seen, what some of their old college friends were doing now and even pets. He’d adopted a German shepherd named Rex after the dog failed to meet the K-9 unit’s requirements. Claire had a Siamese cat named Cleo. Cleo didn’t like dogs, and Rex was afraid of cats. As they left the restaurant and walked to where he’d parked the bike, he’d been hoping that wasn’t a metaphor for him and Claire. And then he’d realized that he hadn’t used a word like metaphor since she’d been his study partner.

Not until they were stepping into the elevator did the hair on the back of his neck fall back into place. Who the hell was out there?

Claire pushed the button for the top floor. Huh. That would put her in one of the penthouses. If hers looked across to the other tower, to the penthouse his team had under surveillance, this evening might hold even more possibilities than he’d hoped it would.

They didn’t speak as the numbers ticked by, and then the elevator glided to a stop and the door opened with hardly a whisper. He followed Claire into a spacious and elegantly appointed foyer with a door at either end. His luck held. Keys in hand, she walked foward and opened the door he was hoping was hers.

Inside, his gaze went immediately to the wide, wraparound sweep of windows, taking in the view of Puget Sound to the west and the complex’s twin tower to the north.

Claire set her handbag and keys on the glossy black surface of a long, sleek console table, shrugged out of her jacket and hung it in the closet.

“Can I take your jacket?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Make yourself at home.”

He took a good look around and thought, Holy shit. So this is how the other half lives. He didn’t think he’d ever been in a home that was less homey. The space was huge and sprawling, with magazine-worthy living and dining areas, and an open kitchen that would hold half the basement suite he’d rented after he and Sherri split. Aside from the bare essentials, he had yet to furnish the place.

Claire had said the ex’s investments had done well. Either the guy had been filthy rich to start with, or she was the queen of understatement. Or the reality lay someplace in between.

“Impressive,” he said, crossing the polished wood floor, ostensibly to take in the view but instead zeroing in on his target in the neighboring tower. Bingo.

“That’s what everyone says. The view is what I’ll miss most after I...we sell the place.”

“I can see why,” he said, keeping the conversation moving while he scanned the neighboring penthouse his team had under surveillance.

Blinds obscured the bedroom windows where clients were “entertained,” but the main area was wide open. With proper surveillance equipment, he’d be able to see everyone who came and went from the place, including those who “worked” there. Tomorrow, first thing, he would talk to his sergeant. They didn’t like to involve civilians if it could be avoided, but this was too fine an opportunity to pass up.