For His Little Girl

He grinned. “Yes,” he said slowly, and they both laughed.

“Where do you keep the coffee?” she asked. “I can never remember.”

“I’ll make it,” he said hastily, guiding her to a chair. “You sit down and let me wait on you.”

She gave him a sleepy smile. “Not too much cream, please.”

“As though I didn’t know how to care for your figure by now,” he said, starting to grind coffee.

She opened the robe wide, giving him a grandstand view of her perfect shape. “It takes work to keep it like this,” she observed.

He grinned. “Cover yourself up. I’m still wornout after last night.”

“No, you’re not. You’re never worn-out, Luke.” She came up behind him and put her arms about him, pressing close in a way that nearly made him drop a spoon. “And I’m not worn-out, either—at least, not with you.”

“I noticed that,” he said, smiling, as some of the riper moments of the night came back to him.

“We go so well together—in every way.” When he didn’t answer she gave him a squeeze and persisted, “Don’t you think so?”

Luke was glad she couldn’t see his face right then. A life spent avoiding commitment had left him with antennae on permanent red alert. They were yelling now, warning him where this conversation was leading, telling him that the next few moments would be crucial if his pleasant life was to remain pleasant.

“I know we go perfectly together in one way,” he said lightly. Turning, he kissed the tip of her nose. “And who needs more?”

She pouted. “Sooner or later, everyone needs more.”

Oh, Lord, she’s going to take it right down to the line!

“Not this baby,” he said, still keeping his tone friendly. He kissed her again, this time on the lips. “Let’s not spoil a beautiful friendship.”

She let it drop, but he didn’t think it would be for long. He knew Dominique’s awesome willpower. It had gotten her onto the books of the best modeling agency in Los Angeles. It had gotten her the plum jobs by methods that, Luke suspected, wouldn’t bear scrutiny. What Dominique wanted, Dominique got. And now, it seemed, she wanted to tie him down.

His heart quailed at the thought of the coming battle. He wasn’t afraid he would lose, because where his survival was concerned he had reserves of stubbornness that surprised people who’d seen only his laughter and cheerful kindness. But it seemed such a waste to be fighting when they could be doing other things.

Fight? Hell, no! He never fought with women. There were other ways to let them know where he stood. Subtle ways that left them still feeling friendly enough for a night of pleasure.

Luke both liked and adored women, not merely their bodies but the way their minds worked. He was enchanted by their oddities, their strange little secrets, and the way one of them would unconsciously teach him lessons that he could apply to others.

There wasn’t one of his lovers who wouldn’t welcome him back to her bed with glee. He wasn’t conceited about this; he was profoundly, humbly grateful for their generosity. He wanted to go on being grateful. And no man was grateful for a ball and chain.

Subtlety. That was it!

“You poor darling,” he said, kissing her tenderly. “Take this coffee and go back to bed while I make you something very special to eat.”

“What do you mean, ‘poor darling’? I don’t need to go back to bed.”

“Don’t you? You look a little sleepy still.”

“You mean I look tired?” she squealed in horror.

“No, no, just sleepy,” he soothed. “And it’s no wonder, after last night. You were just great.”

“Well, I know what you like,” she cooed, moving her hands over his skin.

“Don’t do that,” he begged, giving a skillful performance of a man afraid of being physically roused. Actually the reverse was true. Now that he knew what was on her mind, his senses seemed to have shut down, as they always did when he heard wedding bells. But it wouldn’t be kind to let her suspect this. And Luke always tried to be kind.

Gently but firmly he led her back up the stairs, murmuring, “Go and snuggle up, baby, and let me pamper you.”

He knew that was the offer no woman could refuse. And it would buy him a little time.

Maybe an hour. If he was lucky.

After he’d coaxed Dominique under the covers he returned to the balcony, looking up into the sky, silently imploring the angel who protected fun-loving bachelors to fly low over his nest.

From far off he could hear the faint sound of a plane preparing to land at LAX. But somehow, he doubted if his good angel was aboard.

Ladies and gentlemen, British Airways flight 279 from London to Los Angeles will be landing in twenty minutes. It is 12:10 p.m. local time, and the temperature is seventy-five degrees….

Ten-year-old Josie looked back from where she was glued to the window. “Mummy, we took off at half past nine in the morning, and we flew for eleven hours. How can we land at half past twelve?”

Pippa yawned and stretched as far as conditions allowed. “Los Angeles is eight hours behind London, darling. I explained it all with the map.”

“Yes, but it’s different when it’s real.”

“That’s true.” Inwardly Pippa was working out how long it would be until she could have a good cup of tea.

Josie was doing calculations. At last she sorted it out to her own satisfaction. “We’ve been flying backward,” she said triumphantly.

“I suppose we have.”

“You see, you can time travel.”

Flying backward, not eight hours but eleven years. Flying backward to revisit the naive girl of eighteen whose heart ruled her head, who’d loved one man totally, knowing that he only loved her casually.

Turn time back to the moment before she’d met Luke Danton. There she was, standing in the basement corridor of the Ritz Hotel, lost, wondering which way to go, trying the first door she saw, finding herself in the kitchen, where she had no right to be. And there was the handsome, laughing young man grabbing her arm, scooting her out, practically ordering her to meet him later.

Hurry past that door, quickly, while you still can. Run to the end of the passage and there’s a flight of stairs. Now you’ll never know he exists. Turn time back and be safe.

Safe. No Luke. No blazing, ecstatic four months. No anguished loneliness. No glorious memories. No darling, wonderful Josie.

She pushed open the door. And there he was….

It was crisis time.

Of course, he could always say bluntly, “No wedding! No way! And goodbye!” But Luke hated to hurt people, and he was fond of Dominique. He just didn’t want to marry her.

He suspected a connection between this and a recent crisis in her life. After being a top model for six years, Dominique had been stunned to lose out on a job she really wanted.

To someone younger.