Authors: Brooke Hastings
The intimate feel of Luke's hands on her body was quickly
rekindling the smoldering embers of the Maine firestorm, tempting Randy
to twist around and offer her lips. But suddenly his hands stilled and
then dropped away.
"Miranda," he murmured.
Randy opened her eyes and turned onto her back to look at
him. His features were taut, as though he were under considerable
strain. She automatically stretched up a hand to soothe away the
tension, but he captured it at the wrist and pressed a hard kiss into
the palm before releasing it. "I'd better go," he said.
Randy didn't want him to, but she didn't waste words
objecting. Instead she arched up, her hands reaching for his neck to
pull him down to her. He didn't resist her invitation for very long;
within moments his mouth was nuzzling her lips, then urgently parting
them. His tongue hungrily probed and conquered, as if he were starved
for the sweetness and softness of her mouth. But the kiss, as hot and
searching as it was, came to an abrupt end when Luke all but yanked his
head away.
Randy wouldn't have physically detained him a second time,
but apparently the look on her face accomplished the same result. Her
eyes were languid with desire, her lips moist and wantonly parted, her
hair sensuously tousled. With a helpless groan Luke buried his face
against the curve of her neck, seeking the sensitive little spot below
her ear. Randy wasn't so carried away that she failed to remember that
responding to his gentle nips with the passion she'd shown in Maine
would be a clear confession of who she really was. It was too soon, she
thought hazily, worrying that in another few seconds she wouldn't be
able to help herself. But Luke soon turned his attention elsewhere,
tracing the outline of her collarbone with his lips.
At the same time his fingers started to deal with the
buttons of her blouse. She eased herself down and stretched out, her
hands reaching out to hold him around the waist. Her blouse unbuttoned,
the camisole impatiently shoved up, Luke quickly trapped a hardened
nipple with his teeth and gave a sharp little nip that sent sensual
shock waves through her body. What little control Randy had left
abruptly snapped.
She groaned as he continued to tease her breasts, and when
his hand stroked her stomach and then moved lower her flaming body
restlessly responded. Somehow she managed to unfasten his belt so that
her fingers could reach down and caress him in turn.
He stiffened, choking out her name. The next moment he'd
swung his legs onto the bed so that he lay fully atop her body. She
returned his demanding, rhythmic movements almost wildly, her lips
opening submissively to receive his kiss. Between the thrusts of his
tongue and the urgency of his body Randy knew only that she wanted him
more than she ever had. When he ran his hand up her leg and started to
unfasten the side closing of her skirt, she helplessly moaned out her
wishes—a breathless, "Luke—oh,
Luke—please…"
The knock on the door sent Randy on the quickest trip back
to reality that she'd ever taken. She had time for only one frantic
thought—
Please let it be Mom—
before the door opened and William Dunne came striding into the room.
Luke rolled off her and started to fumble with his belt
while Randy bolted up and pulled down her camisole, then clutched at
the sides of her blouse. She knew her face must be scarlet.
Although her father looked absolutely stunned there was no
explosion—at least, not right away. "I came to see how you
felt," he said a little distantly.
Luke was standing up by now, his face drained of color.
Some loose change and a comb had fallen out of his pocket and Randy
automatically gathered them up with her free hand. The only thing she
could think to say was, "I'm sorry."
Bill Dunne's jaw clenched.
Now
he
was getting angry, it was obvious. But he totally ignored Randy's
apology and instead shot a tight-lipped look at Luke. "When you're
finished getting your clothes back on," he said, "I'd appreciate a few
words with you. In the den."
Luke glanced at Randy, then nodded. "Just a minute," Randy
said as her father turned to leave. "You're acting as though I had
nothing to do with this, like it's somehow Luke's fault. That's
ridiculous. And you had no right to walk into
my
bedroom without an invitation—"
"In
my
house, young lady," Bill
interrupted. A vein in his neck was throbbing with anger. "And as long
as you live in my house you'll obey my rules."
Young lady
? Randy thought furiously.
At
twenty-four
? She'd never yelled at her father
in her life, but his attitude made her livid. "So I'll move," she spat
at him. "Maybe clear back to California."
Bill's reaction was to glare at Luke and then mutter, "You
don't know what you're saying, Randy."
On the contrary, she knew exactly what she'd said. She
also knew that it was easier for her father to blame Luke than to admit
that she'd had an equal part in what he'd witnessed. She was about to
point that out when Luke laid a quelling hand onto her shoulder to stop
her.
"Let me handle it," he murmured. "If you're ready?" he
said to Bill.
The two men walked out, Bill Dunne in front, Luke Griffin
following.
As Luke followed Bill Dunne down the hall to the den he
wondered how it was possible to hold a woman in his arms, to kiss her
passionately and intimately caress her flesh, yet still not be sure of
who she was. Half of the evidence seemed to point in one direction and
half in the other. He now knew that "chubby vestal virgin" was a
preposterously inaccurate characterization of Miranda Dunne; in fact,
Sean Raley had apparently cost her not only her innocence, but a good
twenty to thirty pounds as well.
Raley's name was familiar from a TV movie Luke had once
seen and brought to mind dark macho looks and a strapping physique.
Raley was about as handsome as they come, and had obviously hurt
Miranda very badly. Although she seemed to have recovered quite nicely
by now, Luke realized that he was angered by the idea that Raley had
treated her so carelessly. He didn't even like the idea that Raley had
touched her.
Of course, in order for him to believe that the "Linda" of Maine and the "Miranda" of New York
were one and the same person, Luke would have had to
disregard a whole host of very logical evidence. He
would have had to believe that Miranda had never
breathed a word of what had happened to anyone, with
the obvious exception of her sister and Roger Bennett.
He would have had to believe that Roger had purposely
misled him on the phone. And he would have had to
believe that Miranda had skillfully altered her appearance, and was a good enough actress to have altered
her behavior as well. After all, "Linda" had gone
half-crazy when he'd nipped at that little spot below her
ear, but Miranda had scarcely noticed. "Linda" had
been the image of self-possession in Maine; whereas
Miranda had come almost unglued on Monday morning
when he'd given her a rough time about the White Hills
project. And he just couldn't picture the "Linda" of
Maine rushing to his defense with the hotheaded
impetuousness exhibited by Miranda only a few minutes ago.
Despite all this evidence to the contrary, however, he
would have laid odds that he was dealing with the same woman. The
reason was very simple. If he strained his memory to the utmost, he
might have been able to come up with a handful of women over the years
who'd attracted him so powerfully that his usually perfect self-control
had slipped. It stretched his credulity to believe that it could happen
twice in less than a month with a pair of sisters who were purportedly
very different.
The only problem was that no matter what his body told
him, his brain persisted in demanding proof. He'd checked around the
Dunnes' apartment, but there wasn't a single picture of Linda as an
adult. If she hadn't been in Paris he might have flown up to Cambridge
for a firsthand look. And now, as if the whole situation weren't
driving him crazy enough to begin with, he had to pacify his boss.
After the way Bill had reacted inside Luke could well understand why
Randy hadn't told him about Sean Raley. He'd treated her like a child,
and she'd responded exactly the same way.
Bill opened the door to his den and motioned Luke inside.
At least, Luke thought as they sat down in a pair of oversized club
chairs, Bill wasn't going to sit behind his desk and interview him as
though he were an errant employee.
While Luke sat there feeling uncomfortable Bill took his
time about lighting his pipe, puffing it a few times before he spoke.
"She's in love with you, Luke," he finally stated flatly.
Luke had no idea what to say. He'd half expected Bill to
chew him out like a top sergeant and wouldn't have been all that
surprised by a request for his resignation. But this deadpan
announcement about Miranda's feelings for him left him speechless.
When he sat there with his mouth shut Bill continued a
little angrily, "The way she acts with you—I've never seen
her like this before. If she isn't trading quips to get your attention
then she's working her tail off to impress you. I'm not proud of losing
my temper in there—I've never had to yell at Randy in my
life. Obviously I should have taken into account who she was
with
."
He shook his head. "Damn it, Luke, you were in there seducing my
daughter
!
What in hell did you think you were doing?"
"I don't know what to say, Bill, other than that I'm
sorry," Luke finally managed. "And that it's entirely my fault, of
course." A lie, but an honorable one. "I, uh, I was massaging her
neck—she had a headache— and things somehow got out
of hand." He paused before attacking what Bill seemed to consider the
heart of the matter. "And… as far as Miranda's feelings are
concerned, I think you're forgetting that we've spent a total of maybe
four hours alone together." Or was it four hours and a three-day
weekend? "People don't fall in love that fast," he finished a little
lamely.
"You have a lot to learn about life," Bill retorted. He
tapped his pipe on the table, an expression of leashed aggression. "I
would have proposed to Emily the first night I met her, but she was
only eighteen and I was afraid she would think I was after her money.
But all that's beside the point. All you need to understand is that I
don't want to see Randy hurt. Especially not by you. I don't believe
I'm capable of separating my feelings as a father from my judgment
about what's best for my company. Do I make myself clear?"
How do I manage to get myself into these things? Luke
thought, suppressing a groan. "Perfectly," he said aloud.
Bill nodded his satisfaction. "That leaves us with only
one problem," he said. "Randy expects to go to Philadelphia with you
next week. Under the circumstances, I think she should stay home."
Bill Dunne, thought Luke, didn't know his daughter even
half as well as he thought he did. "Miranda will tear a strip off both
our hides if either one of us allows a personal situation to get in the
way of what she wants to learn about the business. There's no way I can
tell her she can't come. But I promise you that I'll keep things under
control, Bill."
"Meaning?"
The word was flung down as coldly as a challenge to duel.
Luke immediately adopted his most reasonable tone. "That I'm attracted
to your daughter—very attracted to her—but that I'm
not in love with her. At this point I would certainly like to get to
know her better, but…" He hesitated, trying to find a
tactful way of stating the obvious. "At a certain point…
What I'm trying to say is, this isn't the eighteen-hundreds, Bill. I'd
like your permission to take Miranda out, but I can't promise not to
lay a finger on her."
Bill started puffing his pipe again, looking much too calm
for Luke's peace of mind. "Lay a finger on her. Delightful euphemism,
but both of us know what you mean. And it seems to me that you've
already reached that 'point' you alluded to." He paused, then added a
little curtly, "I'd suggest that you don't take her out at all unless
you're damn well serious about her—very serious."
There was nothing Luke could say beyond an irritated, "I
won't." The only saving grace to this whole blasted situation was that
it no longer mattered
who
he'd been with in
Maine. He'd been warned away, and he wasn't crazy enough to argue or
disobey. No matter how much Miranda attracted him, she wasn't as
important to him as his career.
Randy had very little success in calming her simmering
emotions, so she did the next best thing. She changed out of her
wrinkled skirt and blouse into a fresh dress and sat down on the bed to
wait for either Luke or her father to come in and tell her just what
those two men of the world had decided. When fifteen minutes went by
with no sign of either one she started toward the living room, intent
on demanding a few answers. She didn't see either Luke or her father,
but she did notice that a cluster of bodies, mostly male bodies, was
surrounding one of the upholstered chairs on the far side of the room.
Curious, she went over to find out what the attraction was.
The minute she found out she started to wish she'd stayed
in her room. Katrina Sorensen was holding court in the chair, her long
legs crossed sensuously and revealingly, the slit of her emerald-green
silk dress exposing a provocative length of suntanned thigh. Luke was
half sitting and half leaning on the arm of the chair, casually
fondling the back of Katrina's neck with one of his hands. Randy didn't
know whether to cry or try to strangle the man.
Emily approached her just as she was about to turn away,
her sympathetic look virtually announcing that she'd heard about what
had happened in the bedroom. "Come meet Katrina, darling," she urged Randy. The sea of
bodies obediently parted as, taking Randy by the hand, Emily led her
into the model's presence.