Tiana kisses Eva’s forehead. “That’s exactly what your mom said. You’re two of a kind.” She pauses, touches Eva’s shorn head. “Except for your hair. What did you do? Where did it go?”
“Oh. I cut it off.” Eva makes a face, shrugs philosophically. “I was mad at Mom.”
Tiana looks at me, and I make a face. What can I say? I have a drama queen for a daughter, and that’s just the way it is around here right now.
Luke appears in the entry, and Tiana looks at him and then at me, and her dark arched eyebrows rise even higher.
I vow to kill her later. “Tiana,” I say as nicely as I can, “this is my friend Luke Flynn. Luke, meet one of my best friends from high school, Tiana Tomlinson.”
Tiana is barely five three, and Luke looks humongous next to her as he extends a hand. “Tiana Tomlinson the journalist?” he asks.
Tiana smiles broader, dimples deepening on either side of her mouth. “It’s a pleasure,” she says, shaking his hand, and she’s just become Luke’s fan. Few people call her a journalist, even though she’s one of the brightest minds out there. Years ago, she covered the war in Afghanistan and was shot at, threatened, and even held hostage for a mind-numbing seventy-two hours before being released.
Now Tiana is the anchor for an evening newsmagazine that competes with Deborah Norville and Inside Edition, but she bristles when her program is dismissed as fluff. She’s smart, she works hard, and she knows how to nail, and deliver, a story.
“Luke Flynn,” she repeats, head tipped as she studies him, and I can tell she’s intrigued by Luke. But why wouldn’t she be? He’s six feet seven, beautiful, built, and brilliant.
“I should go,” Luke says. “You all seem to have some catching up to do.”
“Pah,” Tiana answers breezily. “Don’t let me chase you out yet. We’ll be up all night gossiping anyway.”
“And we haven’t had my cake,” Eva chimes in. “And last time Grandma came, she didn’t eat my cake, either.”
I guess Luke’s not going home anytime soon. “Let’s have that cake, then,” I say, and lead everyone back into the living room.
While Tiana and Eva sit on the couch, Luke takes one of the chairs opposite, and I go to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee and cut the cake.
I’m slicing the cake when I feel eyes on me. Looking up, I see Luke watching me, his expression so steady, so serious, that my hand grips the knife tighter, harder, as I try to keep my emotions in check.
I like him here. He looks good here. Even better, he feels right here, and I’m ready for this, ready for a man to be in our lives.
But what if I get attached and he doesn’t?
What if my heart gets clobbered again?
Chapter Nineteen
Luke leaves after ten so I can attempt to put a rather hyper Eva to bed. While Tiana corrals Eva in Eva’s room, I walk Luke to the door.
“Thank you for having me over,” he says, reaching into his jeans pocket for keys. “I’m just sorry I had to embarrass you at Scrabble, what with it being your best game and all.”
“And I was just about to tell you I’m glad you came.”
“You’re still glad.”
“Not as glad.”
“I’d call you a liar, but I want to be invited back.” His eyes meet mine and hold.
I note the rather sly curve of his lips. “Oh, don’t worry,” I answer sweetly. “You’re not coming back.”
“Now I know you’re a liar.” Luke closes the distance between us and dips his head, briefly covering my mouth with his. Even though it’s a fleeting kiss, it still sends sharp, needlelike tingles up and down my spine.
For the past ten years, I haven’t missed this crazy adrenaline rush of desire. I haven’t missed breathless, erotic sex. Haven’t thought twice about passion. But that’s changing with every Luke Flynn kiss.
By the time he lifts his head, I’m a quivery, sex-starved mess and he’s got a mocking glint in his eye. “Good night, my chicken.”
My heart’s pounding. “Get lost, Luke.”
Laughing softly, he leaves, and I close the door behind him, my knees knocking. For a minute I just stand there, trying to catch my breath. He makes me feel like the oil painting I bought in a SoHo gallery ten years ago, a big red-and-brick canvas with an even bigger pumping heart.
With Eva in bed and Luke gone, Tiana and I sprawl on the couch in our PJs, open another bottle of wine, and talk, talk, talk. I built a fire earlier, and it’s crackling happily away now. As we sit and talk and laugh, I know there’s nothing better than being with your very best friends, especially those friends who go way back to childhood, back before you even knew who you were.
“So Marta has a boyfriend,” Tiana teases, elbow propped on a big smushy pillow.
I shove another pillow behind my back. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“He likes you.”
“I barely know him.”
Tiana giggles, and her gold brown eyes twinkle at me over the rim of her wineglass. “So what’s it like dating after a hundred years of solitude?”
“It was ten years, thank you very much, Gabriel García Márquez, and we’ve had maybe two dates.”
“Two dates or two hundred, he’s quite a catch.”
“Because he’s tall? And built?”
“And handsome as sin?” she adds, sipping her wine. “That’s all good, but I’m more impressed by his brain. The man’s brilliant.”
“How do you know?”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on, Marta.”
“Because he went to Harvard?”
“Because he’s only one of the most successful, gorgeous, and eligible bachelors in the country.”
“A gross exaggeration.”
“You don’t know who he is, do you?” Tiana grins at me and leans forward to say in a stage whisper, “I profiled him last February in our ‘Hot Hunks and Dreamy Bachelors’ show. Women are nuts about your Luke Flynn. They’re always throwing themselves at him. Drives your honey crazy—“
“He’s not my Luke Flynn, and he’s not my honey.”
“Because he’s p-i-c-k-y. He doesn’t want just anybody, he’s waiting for the right body, and sweet pea, I think you’re that body.”
“Tiana, I swear to God, I will smother you with this pillow if you keep talking.”
“Don’t believe me? Google him.”
“I’m not going to Google him.” I take a huffy breath, not telling her I’d meant to but life got in the way.
She snorts with laughter. “You look so mad.”
Every word she says just makes my skin go cold, and for some reason my heart starts to hurt, my chest growing tight and heavy. I press the pillow closer to my heart. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what? Telling you the truth? Telling you that you just spent two and a half hours playing Scrabble with one of America’s most successful and gorgeous men?” She leans forward, smacks a kiss on my forehead. “My poor, dear darling. Your Luke Flynn is the founder, president, and CE
O of BioMed, a company he started in his twenties and has taken international. He’s . . . huge. Rich. Millions. Billions—“
“No.” I jump up, get to my feet. I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want Luke to be this. “No.”
“Why not?”
Tiana doesn’t understand. She works with celebs and the rich and famous every day. She’s used to the spotlight, has grown comfortable in the limelight. I just want a regular guy, as in a regular medieval warrior guy. Like Luke in his battered truck and with his long, steady gaze, the man in the school gym who stands too big and tall at the back.
That’s the Luke I want. That’s the Luke I need.
Not some rich guy. Not some Bellevue man.
“What?” Tiana asks, her laughter fading. Her glossy brown hair swings across her cheek. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re really upset.”
But I am. It was scary enough falling in lust with Luke, and that was when I thought he was just some ordinary Viking Highland warrior guy. But now that I know he’s founder, president, and CEO of a billion-dollar international company and one of America’s heartthrobs? Can’t do that. Don’t want any part of that.
I want low-key.
I want simple.
I want no boxes, no traps, no games, no pretense. The moment you’re in a position of power, the moment you make serious money, you’re surrounded by people who want something from you, who see your stuff and your bank account and what you represent rather than who and what you are.
People with serious money have a different playbook and rule book.
People with money think they can buy anyone and anything, and maybe they can’t actually own you, but they try.
I know. Just look at my dad.
“Marta, he’s nice.” Tiana’s voice is low and urgent. “He’s a good person, and he clearly adores you. What is there to be afraid of?”
Everything.
Absolutely everything.
Exhaling, I sit back down on the couch and squeeze the pillow again. “Can we now talk about something else?” I gulp some wine and smile at her. “Like your interview with the First Lady?”