Cherokee Marriage Dare

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Maggie glanced down at her soup, and Luke frowned. He knew his lie had hurt her feelings.

But how could he tell her that for an instant in time she had actually become part of his heart? He didn’t understand why he’d felt such a tender, almost haunting connection to her. And he never wanted to go through something like that again. She had no right to touch his heart, not even for an instant.

“I bought a book about the Cherokee,” she said. “I curled up one night in bed and read about your ancestors. It’s a fascinating culture. So beautiful. So noble.”

He placed his empty cup on the mantel. “I’m only half Cherokee.” And he was neither noble nor beautiful.

Maggie watched him, and he felt self-conscious under her scrutiny. He knew she was studying his features—eyes lined with well-earned crow’s-feet, a nose that had been broken on the worst day of his life, a jaw as hard as granite.

“It’s still part of your legacy, Luke.”

“So you bought that book because of me?”

“Yes.” She tilted her head, her hair falling to one side. “The chapters about the Trail of Tears made me cry. All those people being forced to leave their homeland, starving and freezing and dying on the way.”

Something inside him nearly shattered. In some small way, she had cried for him. “I’m Eastern Band Cherokee. My ancestors hid in the Great Smoky Mountains in order to escape removal.” Men, women and children, he thought, whom the army had pledged to hunt down like wild dogs. But he supposed Maggie had read about that, too.

“Where do your parents live?” she asked, her voice still filled with emotion.

“My dad’s dead.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” She glanced at the fire. For a moment, they both fell silent.

He knew she was going to ask him about his mom next. Somehow, that hurt even more. His mother’s sheltered, fragile lifestyle was a constant reminder of the pain his family had endured.

“Is your mom close by?”

“No. She lives in the country.” In the same house where he grew up. The same quiet little farmhouse where the kidnapping had taken place.

“What does she look like?”

Like a woman who’d lost everything that mattered, he thought. “She’s fair-skinned, and her hair is sort of a silvery-gray. It used to be brown.”

Maggie smiled. “I bet she’s pretty.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “My dad thought so.”

She finished her soup, placing the empty cup beside his. Uncrossing her legs, she drew her knees up. Her face was a wash of golden hues from the fire, her eyes a watery shade of blue. He wondered how many times a day they changed color.

“Do you have any brothers and sisters?”

The question hit him like a fist. He clenched his stomach muscles to sustain the impact. “No,” he said as his heart went numb.

Not anymore.

The next day Maggie awakened to the sound of a screeching telephone. She pushed through the mosquito netting that draped her brass bed and squinted at the clock.

Groaning, she nearly knocked the phone off the dresser. Who called at five o’clock on a Sunday morning? On her private line, no less?

“This better be important,” she said into the receiver.

“It’s Luke.”

A shiver shot straight up her spine. She’d worn Luke’s sweats home yesterday. And needing to feel connected to him throughout the night, she’d also slept in them. The fleece-lined fabric brushed her skin like warm, masculine hands.

His hands, she thought as she heard him breathe into the phone.

“What’s going on?” she asked, trying to sound professional. Clearly an early-morning call from Luke related to business. As far as she knew, he didn’t make personal calls, at least not to her. “Did you get a breakthrough in the case?”

“No. But I picked up your bodyguard at the airport, and we’re on our way over. So get out of bed and put on some coffee. He’s moving into your place today.”

Maggie shot up like a rocket, nearly tearing the mosquito net from the ceiling. Her bodyguard? “You’re not going to sic some big, burly brute on me.” In spite of her family’s wealth and celebrity, she did her damnedest to live a normal life. Which meant no maids, chauffeurs, cooks or bodyguards. She cleaned her own house, drove her own car and fixed her own meals. Granted, her house was a two-million-dollar loft, her car was a Lamborghini and she purchased her food from a gourmet market, but she was still self-sufficient.

“I have the most sophisticated alarm system ever devised,” she went on. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“Too bad. Your brother already agreed with me that Bruno should move in with you until this case is solved.”

Her brother. She should have known Rafe had a hand in this. He and Luke seemed to think she was some sort of helpless female. “What kind of stupid name is Bruno?” She pictured a no-neck, muscle-bound Gestapo guarding her front door.

“I’ve seen Bruno in action, Maggie. And I’m not changing my mind about hiring him. We’ll see you in fifteen minutes. And if you don’t let us in, we’ll break in, proving to you how useless that alarm system of yours is. You don’t even have a security camera.”

She fumed. She raged. She paced the floor with darts in her eyes. Luke was going to suffer for this. And so was Bruno. She would make the bodyguard’s assignment a living hell, ditching him every chance she got.

Maggie washed her face and brushed her teeth, but she didn’t change her clothes or put on a pot of coffee. If Luke wanted freshly brewed coffee, she would gladly kick his rear all the way to Colombia, where he could pick his own damn beans.

Luke and Bruno arrived in the estimated fifteen minutes. Luke buzzed her, and she pressed the remote and opened the security gate at the entrance of an underground parking structure, then shot out of the loft and waited at the indoor elevator that led to her living quarters. The industrial building had been remodeled to suit her needs, but she’d kept the old-fashioned, gated elevator because she liked its vintage style.

She heard the elevator ascending, and when it stopped, her jaw went slack.

Luke’s companion was on a leash.

Bruno, it appeared, was a dog. The most powerful-looking creature she’d ever seen.

“That’s my bodyguard?”

Luke and the beast exited the elevator. “He’s not what you expected?”

“You know damn well I thought Bruno was a man.”

The dog didn’t react to his name or to the sharp tone in Maggie’s voice. Luke, however, had the gall to arch an eyebrow at her. Apparently he didn’t care that he’d ruffled her feathers at five in the morning.

“Now why would I hire another man to move in with you? Hell, Maggie, I could have done that myself.”

Then why didn’t you? she wanted to ask. Why didn’t you become my personal bodyguard? My roommate?

Because he’d given the job to Bruno.

She shifted her attention to the dog. He stood about thirty inches tall and probably weighed a good two hundred pounds. Heavy-boned, with a fawn-colored body, his muzzle bore a dark mask.

“What is he?” she asked.

“An English mastiff.”

She studied Bruno’s serious face. She doubted the big dog would ever roll over with his paws in the air, begging for a belly rub. Maggie patted his head, deciding she would have to loosen him up. Teach him to do dumb doggie things. The poor fellow behaved like an armed guard with a rifle up his butt.

“There’s no point in standing in the hall,” she said, inviting Luke and Bruno into her home.

The first thing Luke noticed about Maggie’s loft was the skylight. Dawn blazed from the ceiling, sending lavender streaks throughout the room.

Her decor was bold, yet decidedly female. A variety of textures, ranging from watered silk to carved-and-painted woods, made up the living room. Leafy plants grew from clay pots and scented candles dripped melted wax. The oak floors were whitewashed, and one entire wall was covered with a mural of mermaids rising from the sea.

Instinctively, he knew Maggie had painted it. He felt the enchantment flow over him like a cool, sensual wine.

Moonlight and mermaids. He turned to look at her, and saw that she watched Bruno instead.