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She asked because she felt she had to, but she knew his answer would be negative. Luke Devlin still didn’t look like the kind of man who’d ever be caged behind a white picket fence.
“Nope. Single and free as the breeze.”
That was Luke, all right. The college friend she’d known and loved, and he could still make her laugh. They had met in first-year American History when they’d been paired up to work on a Civil War assignment. Claire had gone on to major in English literature and Luke had settled for being a major babe magnet. She had occasionally played the role of platonic place-holder, hanging out with him after one of his many breakups, letting the old girlfriend think she was the new one. She had always been surprised they fell for it because, let’s face it, serious, studious and slightly overweight Claire DeAngelo was not Luke’s type.
A number of years ago she’d run into one of his old college roommates and he’d told her that Luke had joined the Seattle Police Department. Finding out he’d become a cop had been a shocker but finding him here, working as a window washer, of all things, was a complete bombshell.
“Free as the breeze, huh? Sounds just like the old days,” she said.
“Not quite. I had a pretty serious girlfriend for a while, but it didn’t work out.” His smile faded by a few watts.
What was this? Luke Devlin with a broken heart? Not possible. “Welcome to the club.”
“Seriously? Any guy who’d dump you would have to be crazy.”
“That’s one adjective that works.”
Luke grinned at her. “Misery loves company, isn’t that what they say? We should grab a bite to eat when I get off duty. Off work. We can catch up on however many years it’s been.”
After the insanely busy week she’d had, and especially after that last phone call from her ex, why not? She hadn’t been on a date since Donald left, which meant she technically hadn’t been on a date since before she got married. Not that a casual, off-the-cuff invitation to “grab a bite” constituted a date, but it would be more fun than sitting down to a salad, alone.
“Dinner would great,” she said. “What time?”
“I’m off at five. How does six o’clock sound?”
“Six will work. I’ll meet you downstairs at my front door.”
He kissed her again, on the cheek this time. As she walked away, she half expected him to swat her rear end the way he used to, but it seemed that even a guy like Luke grew up, at least a little. She looked back when she reached the entrance, but he’d already climbed onto the window-washing platform. That’s when she noticed the red lettering on his black T-shirt. Lucky Devil, with three prongs on the tail end of the letter y. She was still laughing when she let herself into the lobby and pushed the elevator button. Back in college she would have given almost anything to go on a date with Luke Devlin, even though he’d had a campus-wide reputation for getting lucky. Now she knew better than to give herself to a bad-boy-cop-turned-window-washer, but for the first Friday night in forever, she had dinner plans.
* * *
LUKE TOSSED THE LAST couple of pylons into the back of the truck. I’ll be damned, he thought. After all these years, he kinda sorta had a date with Claire DeAngelo, and he had just enough time to run this load over to the shop and get back here to meet her. Before he climbed into the cab, he reached up and yanked on the ropes to make sure the platform was secure on the roof rack. Better change your shirt while you’re at it.
He was back at Claire’s condominium complex at five minutes to six. He’d made it home in time to take his dog, Rex, out for a run and grab a shower and a change of clothes, and still made it here with enough time to spare to make it look as if he had all the time in the world. He wasn’t sure why that was important, but he didn’t want to make Claire wait. For one thing, knowing her, she wouldn’t.
He leaned against a light standard, arms folded, and while he waited, he kept a watchful eye on everyone who came and went from Claire’s building. After his years with the Seattle Police Department, maintaining a keen awareness of his surroundings was deeply ingrained. Claire wouldn’t know he was a cop and given his lousy study habits in college, she was probably not surprised to see him washing windows. Just as well. It meant he wouldn’t have to tell her he had her building under surveillance, or why.
She took his breath away the instant she stepped through the door. The reticent, sometimes even awkward study-buddy he’d hung out with in college had outgrown her awkwardness and blossomed into a beautiful, confident woman. She had the same soft blue eyes, still wore glasses instead of contacts, still dressed conservatively but with a lot more style.
She smiled when she saw him and raised one hand as if to wave.
“Claire!” The man who called her name was striding toward her.
She froze and her smile faded.
Okay, something wasn’t right here. Luke straightened and quickly stepped up beside her.
“Donald, what are you doing here?” she asked.
“You hung up on me. We need to talk about selling the penthouse, Claire. And I want that book.”
Ah, yes. The ex. The guy was a little taller than she was, very well dressed and about as intense as they come.
“Not. Now.” Keeping her voice calm seemed to require some effort. “I have plans.” She glanced up at Luke as though seeking confirmation.
Since Luke didn’t like the look of this guy, he was more than happy to play along. He slung an arm across her shoulders and extended a hand to her ex-husband. “Luke Devlin. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Claire’s ex looked momentarily confused and then shot Luke a frosty glare. He grudgingly accepted the handshake, though. Luke didn’t like his grip any more than he liked him. He was trying way too hard to be firm. For one fleeting second, Luke considered making the guy say uncle.
Don’t be a dumb-ass, he chided himself.
“Donald Robinson,” the guy said. After he pulled his hand away, he zeroed in on Claire again. “You can’t keep putting this off.”
This guy wasn’t getting the memo.
Luke drew her closer. “Like Claire said, now’s really not a good time. We should get going, babe. We don’t want to be late.”
She looked up at him, lips ever so slightly parted, and gave him the kind of smile that suggested there was actually something going on between them. Since Donald wouldn’t know there wasn’t, Luke lowered his head and gave her a light, lingering kiss.
“You are so adorable,” he said, purposely making his voice go soft and quiet. “Isn’t she adorable?” he asked Donald.
Donald stammered something that sounded more like an excuse than an apology, and backed away. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said to Claire. “I’ve lined up an appraiser.” He looked uncertainly from her to Luke. “Will you...ah...will you be at home tomorrow?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I guess you’ll find out when you call.”
For a few seconds Donald looked like he wasn’t going to let this drop, but then he threw up his hands and, without saying anything, swung around and walked away. “And I want that book back,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m serious.”
“Oh, my God,” Claire said after her ex disappeared around the corner. She ducked out from under Luke’s arm. “I am so sorry. And grateful. Thank you. Donald can be...”
An asshole? “Hey, no problem. I probably owed you anyway.”
They both laughed at their collective memories from college days, and she seemed to relax a little.
“Any idea where you’d like to eat?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“There’s a little Irish pub downtown, not far from the market. Best burgers and fries in town.”
“Sure. Sounds wonderful.”
He couldn’t tell if she meant it or not but jeez, look at her. The powder-blue sweater he’d admired earlier was now topped by a cobalt-colored suede jacket. Both emphasized her dazzling blue eyes. She’d always had a classic style and great taste in clothes, and her taste in food was probably more sophisticated than burgers and beer. His was not and he saw no point in faking it.
“Is this place close enough to walk?”
“Guess it depends how much you like walking,” he said. “I’ve got my bike and a spare helmet.” He hoped she’d go for it. If she rode with him, he would have an excuse to bring her back home, and that would give him an opportunity to get inside the building. He was curious about the condo Donald was so determined to unload, but more than that, he wanted to see where she lived in relation to the penthouse they were staking out.
“A bike?” she asked.
“Yeah. Well, a motorcycle.” He gestured to where it was parked next to the curb.
She looked decidedly undecided.
Come on, live a little, he was tempted to say. But that would get her back up and then she’d say no. Instead, he casually handed her a helmet as though he assumed she’d done this a hundred times.
* * *
EVERY SINGLE ONE OF CLAIRE’S instincts—including a few she didn’t know she had—screamed at her to say no. But somehow the helmet was in her hands and then she had it on. She must look like a bobblehead, since she definitely felt like one.
“I’ve never ridden on a Harley-Davidson.” She’d never even pedaled a ten-speed.
Luke grinned. “Then I’m happy to uphold that tradition. This isn’t a Harley.”
“Oh.” She gave the black beast a closer look, took in the silver lettering on the side. Ducati. It still looked like the kind of machine a biker would ride, and Luke, with his longish dark hair, well-worn leather jacket and black boots, looked exactly like the kind of guy who would ride it. His jacket wasn’t biker-black, though. More the color of espresso. Or dark chocolate. And while Harley-Davidson sounded dangerous and intimidating, Ducati sounded sexy. Like Luke.
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.”
