Luke's Promise

“Tough trainer, huh?”

“Merciless.” He swung the door open. “Come on in.”

She wandered down the short hall to the living room.

“Wow.” She stood in the center of the long living area, turning slowly. “This is great. It isn’t what I expected, though.”

“I only put mirrors on the ceiling in my bedroom.”

Her laugh was low and husky. It ran through him like invisible fingers, making him itch. Making him want. He set her suitcase down and watched as she wandered around the room, investigating the entertainment unit, running a hand along the back of one of the leather couches. She paused at the mantel to study the gold medal that rested on a special stand beneath a glass dome.

She had no business having a laugh like that, not when she looked like a hundred pounds of girl-next-door. Though that, too, was deceptive. Maggie was an athlete. Her build might be small, but it was all muscle. He gave that build an appraising and appreciative eye. “You’re what—five-two? Five-three?

“Five-two.”

“How much do you weigh?”

“Luke.” Her sideways glance might, in another woman, have seemed flirtatious. But Maggie didn’t flirt. “Don’t you know better than to ask a woman her weight?”

“I’m your trainer.”

“Oh.” She flushed. “Right. One-twenty.”

“You don’t look it.”

“The freckles add ten pounds. I want one of those,” she said, nodding at the medal.

“Give it time. You’re not ready yet.”

The slight lift of her chin turned her suddenly haughty. “Oh? Walt Hitchcock thinks I am.”

“Yeah, but he’s an idiot.”

“If you don’t think I’m any good, why did you—”

“You’re damned good. I wouldn’t take you on if you weren’t. But you can be better.”

She met his eyes levelly for a moment, then nodded. “I will be.”

He smiled, liking her attitude. Maggie might have some problems with self-esteem, but when it came to riding, she knew her worth. “Come on,” he said, lifting her suitcase and heading for the bedroom wing. “It’s late. I’ll show you to your room.”

Hard to understand how a woman as sexy as Maggie could have such major doubts about her appeal. He wasn’t sure if her father was to blame, with his constant carping, or if the problem had started with that jerk she’d dated last year. Luke would have liked to blame it all on the jerk. She’d been looking for a friendly shoulder the night the man broke up with her. Unfortunately for her, she’d run into Luke. He’d ended up giving her more than his shoulder.

Well, he couldn’t change what he’d done, couldn’t undo the hurt, but he could make it up to her in other ways. He could give her Fine Dandy and see that she had a shot at the gold, but that wasn’t enough. A rider of Maggie’s caliber would do well with a number of trainers.

“That thing has wheels on it, you know.”

“Hmm?” No, what Maggie really needed was something he was particularly suited to give her. She needed to believe in herself as a woman.

“The suitcase,” she said. “You don’t have to play macho man and carry it. If you put it down and pull on the little strap, it rolls along nicely.”

“Smart-ass.” He stopped at the door to the largest guest bedroom. “You’re supposed to admire my manly muscles.”

She chuckled. “I just know how much you want to impress me with your manliness, too. You’ve already crushed one of my illusions, you know. I was expecting a lot of bachelor clutter, a little dust, but everything’s spotless.”

“Shame on you for stereotyping.” He opened the door and flipped on the light. “Of course, if Sarita didn’t put sheets on the bed for you, we’re in trouble. I have no idea where they are.”

“Sarita?”

“My housekeeper. You’ll meet her in the morning.” He put her suitcase down on the old-fashioned quilt that covered the bed. “I called her right after I made the plane reservations and told her to get a room ready for you. I think we can count on fresh sheets.” He turned to face her.

Maggie had stopped a foot inside the room. Her expression was cheerful, her posture relaxed and she had a two-handed, white-knuckled grip on her purse as if it was struggling to escape. “I guess you told her about us getting married and—and everything.”

“About getting married, anyway.” He moved toward her. “There won’t be any ‘everything,’ but I didn’t mention that.”

She flushed and, at last, moved farther into the room, circling him to put her purse on the bench at the end of the bed. She glanced around the room brightly, looking everywhere except at him. “Oh, this is nice. Homey and soothing, with all the blues and browns.”

“I can see how soothing you find it,” he said dryly. She was ready to jump out of her skin just from standing in a bedroom with him. “You know, when you blush, your skin and your freckles blend together.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks very much.”

“That was a compliment, Maggie. You look pretty when you blush.” He moved closer, cupped her cheek in one hand and touched softness. Gently, he reminded himself. He didn’t want to scare her. “Makes a man want to find out if your skin is as warm as it looks.”

She jerked her head back. “Luke. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but—”

“I’ll show you,” he said amiably. And bent and kissed her.

The charge that jolted through him surprised him—surprised him so much he forgot to pull away after brushing her lips once. He had to go back for another, deeper taste.

A small fist hit him squarely in the chest. Hard.

“Hey!” He stepped back. “A simple no would have worked.”

“You keep your hands to yourself!” Both her hands were knotted into fists, even the one on the casted arm.

He rubbed his chest, scowling. For a little thing, she packed quite a wallop…in more ways than one. “I didn’t touch you. I kissed you. There’s a difference.”

“I know what you did.” She made it sound as if he’d torn her clothes off. “I should have known when you kept mentioning wedding nights that you’d try something.”

Anger bit. “If I’d been trying to seduce you, Maggie, you’d be on your back in that bed right now. It was an impulse, not an attack. You looked pretty, so I kissed you.”

She glared at him. “You can’t go around kissing everyone you think looks pretty! No, wait—I guess you can. You do. But you can’t go around kissing me whenever the urge strikes.”

It occurred to him belatedly that her reaction had been perfect. If he forgot himself again when he was making her feel wanted, she’d punch him. Even through the remarkable haze of lust she inspired, that would get his attention.

He grinned, pleased with her. “I’m weak, but I can learn. If you clobber me like that every time I give in to the urge, maybe it will go away.” He turned. “Go ahead and sleep in, if you like—it’ll be your last chance for a while. After tomorrow, you’ll be up early, running laps.”

“I hate laps.”