like a melting jewel.
But this wasn’t a date, and in spite of the wine sparkling in his glass, Luke was in complete control of his senses.
Maybe not in complete control. But close. As close as his body would allow while in Maggie’s presence. As long as they weren’t touching, he would survive her proximity. No more dances, no more warm, gentle seductions. Luke couldn’t take another bewitching. Not after what he’d said. What he’d felt.
He glanced up and caught her watching him. Waiting, he supposed, to see if this cozy dinner had affected him, if it would make him easier to deal with. He knew she was plotting something. Those blue-green eyes shimmered with what he’d come to think of as muse magic—enchantment that could steal into a man’s soul.
Luke frowned, disturbed by his train of thought. Maggie Connelly was a woman, not a muse. And he was too practical to get caught up in mythical nonsense.
Then why had she inspired him to hold her close? To sway flawlessly to the music? To whisper words he hadn’t meant to say? Luke hadn’t spoken the Kituwah dialect since he was a boy.
He shook his head, intent on clearing his mind. Dwelling on that moment wouldn’t do him any good. He still had this other business with Maggie to contend with—whatever the hell it was.
“Level with me,” he said. “Tell me what’s going on.”
She reached for her wine. The light from the chandelier cast an enchanting glow. Luke ignored the gilded streaks in her hair, the gold that gleamed like a treasure.
“I’m going to help you solve my family’s case.”
He clenched his jaw. So that was it. The grad student wanted to amuse herself by playing detective. No way, he thought. No damn way. Tom Reynolds, his experienced partner, had been killed while working on this investigation. The last thing Luke needed was an amateur sleuth—a gorgeous female—dogging his heels, getting herself into all sorts of trouble.
“This isn’t a game, Maggie.” He drilled her with a hard stare. “People are dying out there.”
“You think I don’t know that?” She bristled before her voice turned raw. “King Thomas was my grandfather. And Prince Marc was my uncle.”
And both men were dead, Luke thought. Killed in a boating accident that hadn’t turned out to be an accident at all. “I’m sure you’re well aware that the Kelly crime family is responsible for what’s been going on. And they have ties in Altaria.” He leaned against the table. “This is a sophisticated operation. An international crime ring. There’s someone in the royal household who’s a key player in everything that happened.”
“And that’s why this matters so much to me. I have a right to know why members of my family were killed. Altaria is a second home to me.”
He pictured her in Altaria, sunbathing on the white sandy beaches, strolling the cobblestoned streets, breathing in the cool, clean air. Altaria was an independent kingdom on the Tyrrhenian Sea, just off the southern coast of Italy. Yes, he thought. Maggie Connelly belonged to that world, to the picturesque island that captured the essence of her youth and royal blood. He didn’t doubt that she had been King Thomas’s favored grandchild.
“This case is too dangerous for sentiment.” And he wasn’t about to put her in the center of a critical investigation.
“My grandfather and my uncle are gone,” she countered, pushing her plate away. “And I need closure.”
Luke heaved a rough sigh. If there was one thing he understood, it was the thirst for justice. But Maggie’s situation was different from his. She wasn’t responsible for the despair in her family. “I can’t let you get involved.” He had a darn good idea why King Thomas and Prince Marc had been killed, and the danger was still out there. A danger that threatened Mother Earth. Biological warfare wasn’t child’s play.
She set her chin in a defiant gesture. “I’m already involved. I have a piece of evidence, something I’m sure is related to this case.”
Silent, he studied her for a moment. Pretty Maggie—the free-spirited coed, the high-society party girl. She had to be bluffing. There was no way she could have uncovered vital information. “Really, Nancy Drew? And what might that be?”
Irked by the mockery, she met his gaze head-on, her eyes suddenly more green than blue. Like one of those mood rings, he thought with a spark of humor. The lady did have quite a temper.
“A few weeks ago I found a CD in a lace shipment from Altaria,” she said, knocking the amusement right out of him. “The software is encrypted, so I couldn’t read the file, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that it was smuggled out of the country.”
Luke’s entire body tensed.
Another pirated file.
Damn it, he thought. Damn it all to hell. Maggie’s discovery was enough to get her killed. “Who else have you told about this?”
“No one.”
“Good.” At least she had the sense to keep quiet. Unable to finish his meal, Luke set his fork back on the table. This case was tying his stomach in knots. “What were you doing nosing around at the warehouse?” She wasn’t involved in the Connelly import business.
She sent him a tight look. “I wasn’t nosing around. I custom ordered some lace for a dress. When it arrived, the warehouse forwarded the package to me.”
A package that had accidentally contained one of the stolen files. Luke shook his head. Maggie had gotten herself tangled up in biological warfare over a dress. Somehow that made perfect, idiotic sense. “You’re going to turn that CD over to me and forget that you ever saw it.”
“Oh, no, I’m not. I’m keeping it until you agree to let me help you with the investigation.”
She tilted her head at a regal angle, and Luke cursed beneath his breath. Women in Altaria couldn’t inherit the throne, but that didn’t make Maggie Connelly any less of a princess.
Her oldest brother, Daniel, had inherited the throne. Although his very public, very lavish coronation was scheduled at the end of the month, he’d already taken a private oath before the United Chambers, becoming king of the small, sovereign nation. And now King Daniel had stolen files to worry about, information that had been smuggled out of his country. He doubted the monarch would appreciate his sister withholding evidence.
Luke had the notion to wring Maggie’s royal little neck. “You’re not getting away with this,” he said.
“And neither are you,” she retorted.
Their gazes locked in a battle of wills. Luke cursed again, only this time out loud. In that long-drawn-out moment, he knew he had met his match.
And now, damn it, he had to figure out what to do about her.
The Connellys’ Chicago mansion was a classic Georgian manor, located in the city’s most fashionable neighborhood. The brick structure sat like a monument, surrounded by a sweeping lawn.
Luke had been escorted to a sitting room, but he didn’t feel like sitting. Instead he stood beside a marble fireplace, waiting for Maggie’s brother Rafe. Overall,
