Secret Desire. Gwynne Forster

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      Now who could that be at eight o’clock Saturday morning, and where was Tex, the doorman? Remembering Luke’s words of caution the previous night, Kate opened the peephole. Anxiety, joy, fear, and eagerness battled for possession of her nerves, set her belly to churning and her heart thumping. She slipped the lock and threw open the door.

      “Luke…Who…Where? I thought you were in North Carolina.” She sought to calm herself in the face of his nonchalance and in the absence of any obvious emotion on his part. From the expression in his eyes, she could have been a broom standing there.

      “I asked you to call me if you needed me, but you didn’t. I had to see that you’re all right. It’s my job.”

      Her joy at seeing him unexpectedly, at knowing he’d wrecked his weekend to see her, withered like wild dandelions beneath a shower of weed killer.

      Her gaze caught the fist of his left hand, opening and closing in rapid succession as if he were keeping time or pumping air, and she looked back into his eyes, still casual and indifferent. If she had the nerve, she’d…

      “I’ll bet you haven’t had breakfast, so why don’t you come on in and have some coffee?”

      When his lips parted, she knew he intended to refuse. She hadn’t planned it, but then something in her reached out to him. She took his hand and tugged at it, displaying an aggressiveness that she knew surprised him.

      “Come on. It’s Saturday, and you have the day off. You can afford to waste half an hour with me, and I make great Columbian coffee.”

      He let her hold his hand as he followed her to the kitchen, and she doubted he would have gone so docilely if she hadn’t staggered him with her forwardness. The feel of his big hand in hers filled her head with intimate ideas about him, and fired her body like torched gasoline. He didn’t caress her fingers, merely let her hold his hand, so she had to release it.

      He sipped the coffee without taking his gaze from her eyes. “I’m not in the habit of doing what I don’t want to do.”

      Uh-oh. Here it comes, she thought. “I don’t understand,” she said, though she knew he hadn’t wanted to enter her apartment.

      “I think you do. I had my reasons for speaking with you at your door. For both our sakes, don’t test my attraction to you. You may catch me when it’s at fever pitch, and the temptation to howl outweighs everything else.” He set the cup on the kitchen counter. “I’ll be in touch.”

      She caught herself twisting her hands and stuck them behind her, praying he hadn’t noticed. Best to brazen it out. She laid back her shoulders, tossed her head and smiled.

      “As far as I’m concerned, Luke, you’d have to do a lot to unravel your character. Besides, you can’t turn a Town Car into a Jeep.”

      She couldn’t figure out the message in those fiery gray eyes, but his words settled it. “No, but you can trash it. Thanks for the coffee. I’ll find my way out.”

      He strode toward the short hallway, stopped and turned. “Where’s Randy?”

      She stood straighter, intent on his knowing that nothing and no one got the better of her. “Randy’s painting. It’s one thing I don’t have to urge him to do.”

      “Take care.” He walked swiftly, almost as though he scented a prize.

      She hated seeing women stand akimbo with their hands on their hips, but she did it then, frustration gripping every muscle of her body. Disgusted with herself, she threw up her hands and headed out back to her garden.

      She paused on the porch. Why was she so riled up? She didn’t want to become involved with him or any other man, did she? Her knees nearly buckled as the truth pierced her thoughts. She wanted him. She’d made a play for him because she’d recognized the vulnerability in him. He saw what she’d done, and let her know he didn’t like it. Maybe she was reaching for a thin reed, but she was thirty-eight years old, already past her prime, and had never been in the arms of a man who put her interests, her fulfillment and her well-being above his own. Luke Hickson would do that, and she wanted him. Deflated and saddened when she recalled his disinterested behavior minutes earlier, she reminded herself of the times when he’d behaved otherwise.

      “Why can’t I have him, if he wants me?” she asked. She looked at herself in the hall mirror, at the tiny lines at the edges of her still beautiful eyes and the slight creases across her forehead. I’ll take the consequences.