hoped sounded like jealousy might just be Luke in his defensive big-brother mode. But at this point, she’d consider the glass half full.
“Hey, chill. What’s your problem? She’s over twenty-one and single. You aren’t her father.”
“No,” Luke said grimly over her head. “I’m her brother.”
“You aren’t that, either,” Nick said softly. “Are you, old son?”
CHAPTER FOUR
THIS ENTIRE SITUATION was untenable, Luke swore. How was he going to hide how he felt about Cat?
From her?
From Nick?
From himself?
He’d done it before with some success. But her power was stronger now. He felt himself sailing directly into the Bermuda Triangle at warp speed.
Luke carried her into the dark bedroom, settled her on the bed and heard the front door close behind his ex-best friend.
He pulled off her shoes and tugged the comforter over her, then left the room and stalked back into the kitchen, where he poured a mug of brandy-laced coffee. Morosely, he sat at his small kitchen table and stared at the oil slick on top of the black liquid before reaching for his PalmPilot. The handheld computer was the nineties version of the little black book.
A. Paul Abbott. Brian Andrews.
Luke transferred names into another file labeled PARTY with all the enthusiasm of a man anticipating a train wreck. Robert Kingston. Cy Kronin...Luke paused. The guy had shifty eyes. Really shifty eyes. He deleted Cy’s name. Steve Manfield. Good guy. Quiet. A possible. Bob Nelson? Owned his own company. Had a couple of dogs. A full set of parents...
Luke’s folks had been divorced about three years, and he had lived with his mother when Cat and Faith had moved in with his father. He’d disliked both females at first sight. Cat had been tall for her age, with enough wild red hair to cover a small horse, and wall-to-wall freckles. She’d looked sweet, and sad, and a whole lot of trouble. And worst of all, his father had adored her, and Nick thought she was a little doll. His for the taking.
Luke took a swig out of his mug, ashamed as the flood of memories spotlighted his own less than sterling behavior.
Okay, face it. I was jealous as hell back then. He’d been secretly thrilled when, a year later, his father had informed him of his impending divorce. Good, Luke had thought with satisfaction. He’d never warmed to Cat’s mother, Faith. The irony of her name was not lost on anyone.
There was only one little glitch to Luke’s joy at her departure. She’d left behind The Kid.
What kind of mother left a seven-year-old girl with her ex-husband? His father had been delighted. He’d doted on Cat, included her in everything he did. Luke hadn’t wanted a sister. He sure hadn’t wanted her. And he’d told her so in no uncertain terms. On numerous occasions. With all the arrogance of youth, and with no consideration for her feelings.
Later, he realized she’d wanted the same things he had—a father, a mother, a family. To be loved. A place to belong.
Luke felt the sting of shame all over again. To be fair, he’d been a kid himself. He’d felt abandoned and shoved aside. He hadn’t, at thirteen, thought or cared about how The Kid felt.
Luke got all the way to the end of his address book. Allan Zukker. Even eliminating those he thought unsuitable for one reason or another, there was still a decent selection. But because the criteria for females wasn’t nearly as stringent as those for males, Luke ended up with an unbalanced list—more women than men. Which suited him just fine, except the party wasn’t for him. It was for Cat.
He pushed the computer away. He’d even out the list later.
Luke buried his head in his hands. He didn’t want the party. He didn’t want to introduce Cat to a man who might not appreciate her, might not treat her right. She’d been hurt enough in her life. Cat needed to be loved. Cherished.
Luke pushed his chair back and strode into his living room. Nope. There were no two ways about it. He’d made his bed. Now he had to lie in it. No matter how damn uncomfortable it was. He tossed a pillow and blanket on the black leather sofa and turned out the light.
Yep, he thought, flinging himself down on his back, fully clothed. He was going to have to bite the bullet and help Cat find the man of her dreams.
Even if it killed him.
* * *
THE PARTY WAS a roaring success. At the moment, E.L.O.’s “Don’t Bring Me Down” was competing with raised voices and the din of heels on bare wood floors. Cat had rolled up the area rugs for dancing.
Earlier they’d gone into a cooking frenzy, each trying to outdo the other. The result was a rather eclectic amalgamation of foods and beverages. Luke’s Mexican salsa, tamales and Chinese egg rolls. Cat’s spaghetti and meatballs and Greek salad. Everyone was having a great old time.
With the exception of the host.
Cat was across the living room putting the finishing touches to the buffet with a huge leafy something in a red ceramic pot. She’d persuaded him to buy half a dozen plants at the store, insisting he lived a sterile existence without living things around him. No matter that Luke knew he’d never remember to water the things.
He remembered the alarming amount of plants scattered around his dad’s house, but had given up without too much of a fuss. Cat was a born nurturer. She needed to be needed, even if by just a few houseplants.
He felt as nervous as a mother bird pushing her chick out of the nest for the first time. Luke watched her without seeming to, and tried to see her as his friends would. With his luck they’d have the immediate hots for her.
At the moment Cat was the center of attention of a pack of chest-puffing, lip-smacking, posturing males. Luke monitored the behavior of his friends with a jaundiced eye. They might as well let her inspect their teeth, check their brokerage statements and call old girlfriends for references.
Mike leaned close to whisper in Cat’s ear. She laughed. The sound rippled just beneath the music. Luke felt it in his gut.
Her looks were addictive, her compelling, innocent sensuality impossible to ignore. God knows, he was trying. Her sassy mouth and sharp wit were destined to drive some lucky guy to the brink of madness. His friends circled her like sharks in a feeding frenzy. He intercepted a lascivious look from Ted, so busy flexing his muscles and trying to hide his receding hairline he didn’t even notice Luke’s warning glower from across the room.
“If you keep glaring like that no one will go near her.” Nick raised his voice to be heard over the music, and handed him a beer. “All they’re doing is talking about the stock market.”
Luke pulled the tab, then took a swig. “Allan had his hand on her ass.” Cat wore perfectly respectable, not-too-tight, black pants and a teal T-shirt. She wasn’t wearing jewelry, and hardly any makeup. And she outshone every woman there.
“And a very sweet ass it is, too,” Nick said. “Chill. The whole point of this soirée is for Catherine to meet people. She’s
