Hot Target

“I don’t believe it,” Katie said. “Finally she’s going to leave him.”

“Nothing is for sure,” Donna warned, “and frankly, it’s best you don’t say a word to her about this. She seems to do everything you tell her not to do and vice versa.”

Katie rested her elbows on the table. “Isn’t that the truth?”

“Too bad she needs that attorney for a divorce,” Donna said. “He’s a cutie pie, that one.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t happy she needs him for the divorce,” Katie said laughingly. “That makes him open season for you.”

“It goes against my better judgment to date someone I have to see every day.”

Katie snorted. “That’s called marriage.”

“Which is not on my agenda. So thanks, but no, thanks,” she said. “Speaking of men, how’s Luke doing?”

Katie frowned, determined to avoid the personal place this was going. No way was she admitting that not only had Luke taken her to the E.R. and tended her injury, he’d tended to her pleasure, too. If she didn’t admit it had happened, it hadn’t. Right? Right. That was her strategy, and she was sticking to it.

“Actually,” Katie said. “I just forwarded you an e-mail from Ron with the team roster. We need to run background checks on everyone and look for secondary links to Luke.” She thought back to the party. “Also—there was an agent I met here. I’ll e-mail you his info. He was trying to grab Luke’s attention.”

“Aren’t they all? The man is a hot commodity.”

“Regardless, it might be worth checking out. He showed up at a charity event that Luke was attending when Ron didn’t feel the need to be there. I’m wondering if it wasn’t specifically to court Luke. Perhaps he wants to be the hero who rebuilds Luke’s career once it tanks.”

“Nothing is going to tank Luke’s career,” Donna assured her, “as long as he pitches well and stays out of any self-induced trouble, like drugs and alcohol.”

“Luke is convinced he’s going to have a great season,” Katie said. “And it’s early, but so far, he appears to be pretty squeaky clean. He doesn’t even have beer in his fridge. Just a fetish for protein shakes and, apparently, ice cream.” Blizzards. He’d talked about ice-cream treats as she would talk about chocolate. It was cute, endearing even. She liked Luke. Why did she have to like him, damn it? She finished up her talk with Donna and forwarded the e-mails.

With a sigh, Katie tossed a pen on the table; she’d been scribbling some notes as she scanned the Internet. Her drinking glass was empty, and she did a slow stroll to the kitchen, her calf far more painful than her knee, which was a huge relief. It meant she didn’t have a serious flare-up to contend with.

She was refilling her glass with iced tea when the front door opened and closed. Katie turned to find Luke standing in the kitchen doorway, the picture of country boy sex appeal—his light brown hair rumpled, as if the wind or his fingers had gotten a hold of it.

Her mouth went dry; her nipples tightened against her thin bra. She abandoned the glass and crossed her arms in front of her chest, afraid he’d notice her obvious reaction. No matter how much she wanted to stick to strictly business with Luke, her body wasn’t cooperating. And no matter how hard she tried to keep her eyes level with his, she did a full-out inspection of his faded jeans and the light blue T-shirt that fit his chest like artwork rather than cotton. To complete his look, there were the scuffed boots that somehow made the entire look ten times more sexy. It was clear—you could take Luke out of Texas, but you couldn’t take the Texas heat out of Luke.

“I see you got past the new security panel okay,” she said, having called Luke on his cell phone and left a message with the keypad entrance code.

He sauntered forward, leaning on the kitchen island, facing her, close to her. So close. Wonderfully close. Sinfully close. She had to get away.

“Worked fine,” he said, glancing around the kitchen. “Looks like there was no permanent damage here.”

“You lost some dishes and plates,” she said, following his lead. They were making small talk. Avoiding what was between them, or perhaps working toward it. Avoiding was better. Not forever, but tonight.

Thunder rolled outside the window, shaking the glass door, almost as if Mother Nature knew her thoughts and objected to her strategy.

“Your crew is going to get a bumpy plane ride in,” Luke commented.

She stared at his chest. It seemed a good plan—not looking into those all-too-knowing eyes. Instead, she found herself admiring the damn blue T-shirt again, and worse, mentally visualizing how glorious he’d been without it, how wonderful that smooth, taut skin had felt beneath her hands.