Her Tycoon Lover: On the Tycoon's Terms / Her Tycoon Protector / One Night with the Tycoon

Katrin looked right at him. “You did your best, and a very impressive display it was. But the odds were something like twenty-five to one, Luke—give yourself a break.”

“Yeah…” Very gently he reached over and dabbed at a tear on her jawline. “You never cry. So you said.”

“Those reporters brought it all back,” she said unevenly. “On and on it went, day after day, until I thought I’d have hysterics, or else collapse in a puddle on the floor…I never did cry in front of them, though.”

“It’s okay to cry in front of me,” Luke said clumsily.

She shot him an unreadable glance, sat up straighter and said with attempted lightness, “Fancy car.”

He’d said something wrong, although he had no idea what. But two could play that game. As he turned back on the road, Luke said, “I always wanted a silver sportscar that could go from zero to sixty in less than five seconds. Is your hat okay?”

She bent to pick it up, then rolled the window partway down, leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. She murmured, “Wake me when we get there.”

Luke took the 101 and gunned the engine. He needed a respite; there’d been altogether too much emotion in the last half hour. But before he was quite ready for it, he was turning into his driveway in Pacific Heights. Katrin stirred, opening her eyes. “This is your house?”

He nodded. “The owner before me didn’t like Georgian brick. So he tore down the original house and built this instead.”

“Minimalist,” she said politely.

“Hideous,” said Luke.

“Deconstruction’s all the rage.”

“Tear it down, you mean?” He laughed, delighting in her mischievous smile. “I’m about ready to sell it and move outside the city. Or maybe to Presidio Heights, I’ve seen a couple of places I like there. Let’s go in.”

After he’d unlocked the front door, Katrin entered ahead of him, preceding him into the living room with its sparse, modern furniture. “The view is wonderful,” she said spontaneously.

He could see all the way from the Golden Gate Bridge to Fisherman’s Wharf; the island of Alcatraz loomed above the cold, choppy waters of the bay, where sailboats bobbed like white-painted toys. “Can I get you a drink?”

“I need to clean up,” she said.

He took her past the dining room and the library up a short flight of stairs to the guest wing. Her bedroom also had a wide view of the bay, and came with its own balcony. “My room’s upstairs,” he said briefly. “You’ll be entirely private here.”

She slid her feet out of her Italian pumps. “I might have a nap,” she said evasively, “I didn’t sleep well last night, and I’ll need my wits about me tomorrow. Will you call me whenever you want dinner?”

“I went to the deli, got a bunch of stuff we can reheat in the microwave.” His smile felt stiff. “I’m no cook.”

“That’ll be fine…I just need to be alone for a while.”

Her body language was easily read: keep your distance. Luke nodded coolly, closed her door and walked back to the living room. He was the one who’d run away from her so he wouldn’t make love to her again; but right now he’d have given his eyeteeth to have been in bed with her.

Go figure.

Cursing himself under his breath, he changed into shorts and a tank top in his room and spent an hour in the fully equipped gym on the upper floor. Then he heard Katrin moving around downstairs. He ran down in his bare feet; she’d changed into white cotton pants and a pink shirt. “Ready to eat?” he asked.

Her lashes flickered. “Whenever you are.”

“You don’t have to be so polite!”

“How else are we supposed to deal with this?”

“We slept together, Katrin—or are you forgetting that?”

“I slept. You left.”

He flinched. “Okay, okay…come on through to the kitchen.”

“I wish you’d put some clothes on first,” she said irritably.

“I’m wearing clothes.”

In a deadly quiet voice she said, “Why did you leave in the middle of the night, Luke?”

“Why did you say on the phone that we wouldn’t make love again?”

“I don’t see why I have to answer that.”

“Fine. That can work both ways.”

She glared at him. “I have yet to see a single photo in this house. Or anything personal. It’s like a house in a magazine, perfect and soulless. Don’t you have any photos of your parents?”

“Obviously not,” he said shortly, and went on the attack. “Are you pregnant, Katrin? We didn’t use anything that second time.”

“No. I’m not.”

His chest tight with a mixture of emotions he couldn’t possibly have sorted out, although relief and a sharp regret were certainly among them, Luke marched into the kitchen. Which did indeed look perfect and soulless. “Let’s eat…I thought we’d go out on the balcony.”

He reached into the refrigerator. “The salads can go on plates from the cupboard over the sink. I’ll heat up the chicken and the garlic bread.”

The kitchen was large. But as he took out a platter for the chicken, he bumped into Katrin as she turned to ask him something. The platter landed on the counter. He put his arms around her and kissed her with a blatant and smoldering sensuality that, after the briefest of hesitations, she more than matched. His body on fire with need, he found her breast under her pink shirt, its warmth and weight so well remembered, so greatly desired.

She yanked her head free and struck at his hand. “Don’t, Luke! We can’t do this.”

“Why not? We both want to,” he said with infallible logic.

“We agreed we wouldn’t.”

“Agreements can be renegotiated.”

“I can’t take this anymore,” she said incoherently, “it’s all too much!”

Remembering with compunction the reason she was here, Luke said slowly, “You’re right on the edge, aren’t you?”

“You got that right. Don’t you see? I made the biggest mistake of my life when I married Donald. Who was a very rich man. And now here I am back in the same city involved with another rich man.”

“I don’t do shady deals,” Luke grated. “And I’m not asking you to marry me.”

“How true…you’re not, are you?” she said in a peculiar voice. “I’ll be here three days…so are you suggesting we have three successive one-night stands? Is that it?”

“That sounds so damn crude!”

“I call it like I see it.”

Her cheeks were now as pink as her shirt; but there was real desperation in her blue eyes. Luke said carefully, “Look, you’ve got a heavy-duty day ahead of you tomorrow, Katrin. Why don’t we call a truce? At least until you’re done with the police and the fancy lawyers.”

“And then we’ll pick up where we left off?” she snorted.

“Why not?” He grinned at her. “It was a very nice kiss.”

“I could think of several words to describe that kiss. Nice isn’t one of them.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

Hands on her hips, she glowered at him. “You’re one heck of an infuriating man, Luke MacRae…do you have a middle name, by the way?”

“Where I come from, they didn’t go in for middle names,” Luke muttered; then could have bitten off his tongue.

“And if I were to ask you where that was, you’d shut up tighter than the proverbial clam.”

He raked his fingers through his sweat-damp hair. “Supper. On the balcony. Isn’t that what we came out here for?”

She grabbed a white dish towel from the rack, waving it in front of him. “And the truce—don’t forget the truce.”

He suddenly started to laugh. “You won’t let me.”

Her lips curved in an answering smile. “You’re getting the picture. What kind of chicken did you buy?”

Fifteen minutes later they were seated on teak chairs amidst the tangle of vines and flowering shrubs on the balcony; the bay and the distant hills were topped by a pearl-gray evening sky. Luke filled Katrin’s wineglass with a California Chardonnay. “To better days,” he said.

“I’ll drink to that.” She tore off a chunk of hot garlic bread, licked her fingers and said with a sigh, “I feel much better. Let’s talk about movies and Paris and whether you’re afraid of snakes.”

“It’s spiders that do me in,” he said solemnly, and obligingly asked her what movies she’d seen lately, buried as she was in Askja. One thing led to another, until Luke found himself telling her stories about some of his jaunts into mines ranging from the Arctic to the tropics. Her questions were intelligent, her interest genuine: encouraged, he talked far longer than was his custom, revealing more of himself than he’d intended. Peeling her a ripe peach, he said, “You’re a good listener.”

“I’ve learned more about you in the last hour than since we met.” She licked peach juice from her fingers. “With the exception of when we were in bed.”

His knife skidded dangerously close to the ball of his thumb. “And what did you learn about me there?”

“How closely you guard yourself and your secrets,” Katrin said. “How passionate you can be, when you allow those barriers to drop.”

“Did I have a choice?” Luke heard himself ask; then added in true fury, “I thought we’d set up a truce.”

“Why did you leave in the middle of the night?” she said for the second time, a dangerous glint in her eye.

“You’re as bad as those reporters!”

“No, I’m not—because I care about the answer,” she retorted. “Don’t you see? You give me a glimpse of the real man, and then you run like crazy in the opposite direction…why, Luke?”

He pushed back his chair, his shoulders rigid. “I’m going to put some coffee on…can I get you more wine?”

“You’re doing it again!”

“You have a choice here, Katrin,” he said, each word dropping like a stone. “Take me as I am. Or back off.”

“That’s not a choice. It’s an ultimatum. And you know it.”

“It’s all you’re being offered.”

“No coffee. No wine,” she said, her eyes almost black in the dusk. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

But as she marched around a tall potted cactus, Luke took her by the waist, pulled her toward him and kissed her with an explosive mixture of desire and fury. Before she could respond, he pushed her away. “Sleep well,” he said. “I’ll drive you to the police station in the morning.”

“No, you won’t—I’ll get a cab.”

“You will not.”

“I hate domineering men!”

“I’m just being a good host,” he said smoothly. “Good night, Katrin.”

She whirled, slid open the glass doors and vanished inside the house. Luke drained his wineglass, gazing out over the brilliant lights of the city and the slick, dark waters of the bay. Whether he went to bed with Katrin or not, he was getting in deeper merely by being within ten feet of her.

Why had he invited her here? This house, even though he no longer liked it, was still his sanctuary, where he could drop his public persona and simply be himself. Be as private as he liked. Why hadn’t he listened to Ramon? San Francisco’s a big city, the burly policeman had said…you don’t have to see her.

The mood he was in, the reporters had better keep their distance tomorrow.

When Luke picked Katrin up at the front entrance of the police station late the following afternoon, the reporters were clustered around the side door. She got in quickly, and Luke drove away. She was wearing her lime-green suit without the hat, her hair in a loose knot. She said faintly, “Ramon let the word slip I’d be going out the side door. And they fell for it.”

Luke eased into the flow of traffic. “How did it go?”

“I’m finished. I can go home.”

His palms were suddenly cold on the wheel. He wasn’t ready for her to leave. Not yet. “There’s a big charity ball tonight at one of the hotels on Nob Hill, I’ve had the tickets for a couple of weeks. I think we should go.”

She sat up straight. “Are you out of your mind? The last thing I want to do is go out in public.”

“Ashamed of me, Katrin?”

“Don’t be obtuse! After the spread in today’s papers, you think I should go to a function full of people I met years ago, with a man the media are insinuating is my lover?”

The newspapers had certainly gone to town; the photo of his furious face as he’d tried to shield a beautiful woman in a wide-brimmed hat had made the front pages. No one at his office had mentioned it, they’d known better; but all day there’d been a tendency for silence to fall as soon as he entered a room. Luke said forcibly, “You’ve done nothing wrong, nothing to be ashamed of. Why should you leave here under a cloud? Blazon it out, that’s the only way to go.”

“You’re nuts.”

“We’re going to Union Square to buy you an evening gown. You can fly home tomorrow.”

“You’re also autocratic, overbearing and tyrannical!”

“I’m a very good dancer as well,” he said, stopping for a red light and smiling at her. “Do you like to dance?”

She scowled at him. “I love to. Add conceited.”

“We can trade insults while the band’s taking its breaks.”

“Have I just been coerced into doing something that I know I shouldn’t?”

He swung around a corner, then sneaked another glance at her. “Yep.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s in this for you, Luke? A new twist? Something to relieve the tedium of your life?”

He said flatly, “I can’t answer that. Because I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, that’s honest at least.”

“Do we have to analyze everything we do?”

“If I’m analyzing, it’s called self-protection,” Katrin said vigorously. “I’m not sure you’re aware of the effect you have just by entering a room. Every woman between puberty and senility stares at you as if you’re the best thing since sliced bread. Regrettably, I have to include myself among them.”

Heat crept up his neck. “Shove it, Katrin.”

“I’m telling the truth! You’re the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Wishing he could gun the car, but forced to crawl at five miles an hour because of the traffic, Luke muttered, “You’re exaggerating and you know it.”

“I am not. Anyway, to get back to this charity ball—I can’t afford an evening gown. I’m saving to go to law school.”

“It’s a present. From me.” He took a deep breath, quelled the panic in his gut, and added, “To say I’m sorry I left in the middle of the night.”

To his dismay the light at the next intersection turned orange. He pulled up behind an SUV. Katrin said quietly, “For the third time, Luke, why did you leave?”

“Because I was afraid to stay.”

“Afraid?”

“That’s what I said.” For Pete’s sake, he thought, fuming, why couldn’t the light change?

“Afraid of me?”

“Afraid of what you do to me,” he said shortly.

In a small voice she said, “I thought you didn’t like making love to me, and that’s why you left.”

His jaw dropped. “Didn’t like it? Are you serious?”

The driver behind him blasted on the horn. The light was green; Luke pressed hard on the accelerator. Katrin said crossly, “What else was I supposed to think? I figured I was—despite my marriage, or perhaps because of it—too inexperienced for you. Too gauche. Too unsophisticated.”

She couldn’t have been further from the truth. “I ran away because I hate losing control,” he said harshly.

Her fingers slowly relaxed in her lap. “So I’ve noticed.”

“You notice too much,” Luke announced. “I don’t know what it is about you, but I’ve told you more in the last month than I’ve ever told Ramon, whom I’ve known for years.”

“It’s my big blue eyes,” she said pertly.

He pulled into a parking garage north of the square, his mouth set. “You’re going to buy a gorgeous dress and anything else you need to go with it. Money is no object and don’t argue.”

“No, sir,” she said in a perfect imitation of her waitressing voice.

Luke started to laugh, his ill humor dissolving. “I’m beginning to think I led a very boring life until you came along.”

They left the car and walked south, the clang of cable car bells accompanying them. At the edge of the square with its palm trees, clipped hedges and massed flowerbeds, Luke asked, “Want to start at Saks?”

Her cheeks pink, Katrin said, “I don’t want you to see the dress until this evening.”

He grinned at her. “In that case I’ll find a bar, and you can come and get me when you’re ready.”

He had time to slowly drink a glass of Chablis and read the entire newspaper before Katrin reappeared. She said breathlessly, “I’ve run up rather large bills at three different stores.”

“Good,” said Luke; and half an hour later, several boxes in the trunk of the car, was driving toward Pacific Heights. They had a snack in the kitchen to tide them over until the dinner at the hotel, then Katrin disappeared to get dressed. Luke went upstairs, showered and shaved, and got into his tuxedo. He didn’t have a clue what was going on, although he was quite sure if he had any sense he wouldn’t be taking Katrin to a charity ball where he’d meet just about everyone he knew; and discovered that he didn’t care.

He felt alive. Disturbingly and wholeheartedly alive.

Which implied, of course, that he’d been going through the motions for a very long time.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

LUKE was waiting in the living room when he heard Katrin on the stairs of the guest wing. He walked through to the hallway; and when he saw her, stopped dead. Her dress, sleeveless and form-fitting, was made of black fishnet adorned with intricate patterns of multicolored feathers: it was an outrageous dress, that she wore with panache. Her sandals were stiletto-heeled, her makeup dramatic, her hair a smooth sweep of gold. He said in a cracked voice, “Katrin…”

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