Dearest Enemy (10 page)

"Why would anyone want to destroy an entire town?"

"The rancher who bought the land didn't want a bunch of rotting buildings."

"Seems a shame."

"There were folks who would have done that here, too, if we'd let them."

"I'm glad you didn't," Callie said. "The ruins give this place character. That's why I find your attitude about The Mansion so hard to understand."

Before Luc had a chance to comment, Ketch came to the table juggling earthenware mugs filled with steaming coffee, a cream pitcher and a basket of
sopaipillas
dusted with powdered sugar.

"Serena just made these. Eat 'em while they're fresh.
Unless you got some puritanical aversion to having dessert first."

"Decadence," Callie said with delight.
"Exactly what I need right now.
Thanks."

Light and sweet, the deep-fried dough melted in her mouth as she bit into the crusty surface.

"You ever have these before?" Luc asked, licking the sugar from his fingers.

Endearing in its playfulness and unexpectedly sensual, the gesture stirred her pulse. She forced herself not to dwell on the seductive question of just how his strong hands would feel against her skin. Although she struggled to push aside the reaction, the tension humming faintly through her veins told her she'd failed.

"At dinner one night.
In Albuquerque."
As a distraction, she bit off another piece of the confection. "But these are much better."

"Guess you found out what a great cook Serena is the other day." He sipped at his coffee.
"When you were here with J.D."

What she hadn't wanted to hear from the architect now niggled at the corners of her mind. "Are things always so awkward between the two of you?"

Surprisingly, he grinned at her. "That little run-in was more than awkward.
Especially since we haven't seen each other for a while.
But it's always the same. We didn't part friends and nothing's changed."

"You seem to get along just fine with her husband."

"I don't know the guy."

"Whereas you and J.D. have a history?"

This time his smile spoke of regret. "You could say that." He leaned back against the pew. “We grew up together, dated in high school,
were
really close. At least I thought so. But college kept us apart and afterwards....” He seemed to search for the right words. “Afterwards, it seemed like we wanted different things out of life.”

“People can grow apart as they grow,” Callie said. “And that can hurt.”

“
Es verdad
.”
She raised an eyebrow. “It’s true.”

“She’s obviously moved on. What about you?”

He looked at her in a way that promised nothing but hinted at everything. “I’m working on it.”

Ketch returned. "How hungry are you?"

Luc and Callie looked at each other and laughed. "Starving," they said in unison.

"Good. Serena's whipping up something special so I didn't bring menus. Be back in a few minutes."

When Luc dropped her at the house, Callie expected him to drive off. Instead, he removed a bedroll and backpack from the cargo area of the SUV and walked up the steps with her.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Camping out.
Inside."

"Excuse me?" One hand rested on the doorknob, but she stopped short of turning it. "I don't remember mentioning that I want — or need — company. I’m no damsel in distress, you know.”

"I know. I'm staying anyway."

“Over my dead body,”

“Not if I can help it.” He pointed to her hand. "Open up."

What she knew of him told her further argument would be futile. Once inside, Luc surveyed the entry hall.

"Where do you sleep?"

"Upstairs."

"Room?"

"Corner, on the left," she said warily.

"Good. I'll be down here, where I can hear and intercept anything dangerous. You'll have your privacy."

Callie glared at him. "This isn't necessary. I can manage just fine on my own. And I resent the implication that I can't."

"We've been through this, and settled it, so there must be something else bothering you." He took a step that brought him close enough for her to see a sleepy sensuality warming his eyes. "Are you afraid of me?"

"No," she said quickly.
"Of course not."

"Then what?"

His tone had softened to a whisper that teased her senses and awoke memories of the magic that could move between a man and woman. “Afraid” didn’t come close.

"Nothing."
Why had breathing become so difficult?
"Nothing at all."

"You're lying, Callie."

"I beg your pardon...."

"No, I beg yours."

One hand pulled her close. The other slipped into her hair, supporting her head. Warm and firm, his lips gently brushed hers from side to side as if sampling some newly discovered delicacy. Lovely, she thought,
then
gave herself a mental shake. To her great distress, she was enjoying his caress much too much.

The unexpected kiss, the feel of his fingers entwined in her hair and his body so close to hers weakened her legs. She grasped his shoulders for support. He wrapped her in a powerful embrace, pressing her against him. She felt his arousal. The heat that flowed like a molten river through her body cooled only slightly when they separated.

He kept his arms around her waist and examined her face, that familiar smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

"I've wanted to do that since you first rode in."

"So our meeting wasn't accidental?" He shook his head.

"I couldn't believe my luck when I found you only a mile away from where I first saw you." He stepped back, leaving her feeling bereft. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

"I’ve wanted to know how your lips would taste," he said, "but I'm not ready for more.”

It was her turn to smile. “I think you are.”

He blushed and Callie melted again. “Appearances notwithstanding,” he said, “too many differences stand between us. No pun intended."

She felt only relief. One of them had to remain strong. Clearly, she couldn’t trust herself to be the one. "Well then, since our curiosities have been satisfied, I'm going upstairs to get some sleep." She took a few steps and turned back to him. “There’s a washroom near the kitchen, but if you want to shower, you’ll have to use the upstairs bathroom. It’s at the opposite end of the hall from my room. There are clean towels in both places.”

As she continued to climb the stairs he saluted her with two fingers at his brow. "Sweet dreams,
querida.
Duerme bien
."

Once Luc heard a door on the second floor close, he flipped off the light switch and made a bed for himself in the darkened entry hall. As he stared at the ceiling, his thoughts drifted upstairs.

If his parting words contained any magic, her dreams would leave her refreshed while his, filled with her image, her scent, the lingering sweetness of her lips, and the feel of her body pressed against his would leave him thirsting for more. His lie would buy him time to figure out what was happening with his eyes and what he needed to do about them. And then there was the business about this house and the plans for the valley. Until all that was resolved, he intended to keep his distance. So what had this evening been about? He snorted.

“What?” His throbbing groin, that’s what. And she knew it.

He silenced his pesky inner voice by pulling on a sweater and going out into the night. Distance and the cool air might distract him. Certainly, given a choice of something to stare at, he preferred a black canopy of sky pierced by starlight to the shadowy confines of The Mansion. The stars turned fuzzy and indistinct as he watched from the top step of the veranda. This kind of thing happened too often lately, threatening every aspect of his previously well-ordered life.
Time to visit his
compadre
, Eduardo Vega, and see what the good doctor had to say.

In the morning, Luc removed a gym bag containing a change of clothes from the car. Not a uniform, of course, but fresh briefs and tee shirt and a rolled up pair of jeans.

“I sure could use a shower,” he said.

But that would bring him too close to her. And that way
lay
danger. In a washroom the size of a broom closet, he stripped to the waist and washed his face and upper body. After toweling off, he rummaged around in the bag and came up with a straight razor. He soaped his face again and made a lather that would do almost as well as shaving cream. After the first swipe at his beard he glanced over his shoulder and got a glimpse of Callie watching him.

He grinned into the mirror. “Hoping I’ll puncture my jugular?”

She cleared her throat, but could do nothing about the blush that stained her cheeks or the yearning he saw in her eyes.

“Sorry,” she said after a silent moment. “I didn’t mean to gawk.” She made a left turn into the kitchen.

He leaned out the door. “You can stay and watch, if you want,” he called out. She didn’t respond.

At his task again, he took comfort in the fact that he seemed to unnerve her as much as she did him. The thought pleased him more than it should, and nothing he did drove it away. “
No me gusta nada
,” he muttered to the mirror. “I don’t like this at all.”

They shared a large but silent dose of caffeine that neutralized a nearly sleepless night. After a polite farewell, he stepped
outside,
intending to leave before Nick and his men arrived. Callie followed him into the clear, bright light of early morning — only to be greeted by the knowing grins of workers unpacking their tools and materials for the day.

Nick glanced up at them. "Glad you kept watch here last night, Sheriff. J.D. and I were kind of worried about Callie being alone."

Luc noticed he'd spoken just loud enough for his men to get the message that he wanted their natural assumptions kept under wraps.

The contractor strapped on a tool belt.
"Any more vandalism?"

"No, but you'd better check the rig just to make sure."

"Will do," Nick said as he turned away.

Luc examined Callie's face, noticing a new blush dusting her cheeks. "Sorry. I meant to avoid that."

She shrugged. "I'll live."

"Most happily, I hope, Señorita Patterson." He tugged at his hat brim.
"
Hasta luego
."

"If by later you mean tonight, forget it. I don't expect to need guarding."

Before driving away, he gave her a look filled with irony.

Callie spent the day photographing and sketching the house, beginning a record of the progress made at each step along the way to bringing The Mansion to life again. While the light lasted, she diagramed what was left of the garden and original plantings to show J.D. and the landscape designer.

No sooner had Nick's crew left than Luc arrived with a shopping bag filled with cartons of Chinese takeout.

"What, no tacos or burritos?" Callie asked.

"Life would be boring if that's all we ate."

Despite his calm speech, the almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes and a tightness around his mouth warned her she'd hit a nerve.

"For your information," he added, "we're even worldly enough to recognize a bagel when we see one."

Having tapped into a sensitivity she'd hardly suspected, she struggled to undo the damage. "I didn't mean what I said as a … slur.
Really.
It was supposed to be a joke … payback for your inference about my brother...." Knowing she'd failed to make things better she added, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

"I believe you."

Despite his words, Callie sensed a reserve he hadn't shown before. The lilt that gave his speech a special, almost musical quality had given way to something more formal, guarded. She hated that she'd caused him to be self-conscious, but only, she told herself, because his cooperation spelled success for her project. Could she find a way to put him at ease? She went to the cabinet for plates and utensils.

"Would you please clear the table?"

"No problem," he said. "Where do you want these books?"

"Anywhere out of the way."

"What’re you doing with this one on Spanish colonials?"

Hoping she hadn't offended him again she turned to watch his face. "I was trying to find out about your family."

A glint of humor returned to his eyes. "Did you?"

"Not so far, but I'm not finished yet."