Why is Luke staring at me like that? His eyebrows sink low, and deep lines etch his mouth, his eyes lingering on my cheek.
Am I…?
I dart a hand to my face and furiously swipe at my cheeks.Whyam Ilikethis? “These tears aren’t over you!” I bark at Luke. “I’m frustrated. I’m… I’mangry!”
He throws another frantic look behind him. “Let me drive you home. Or you can come up to mine.” His hand brushes my elbow. He’s trying to coax me to edge off the sidewalk, closer to his car. “We can talk properly if we don’t have an audience.”
I wrench my arm out of his grip. “I’d rather dog-ear every single page of my hardback copy ofThe Woman in White!”
“I think that might be an Elsie Hoskins version of an insult.”
I despise his grin. This isn’t a joke. And we aren’t friends. Furious, after a rough swipe of my cheek, I spin on my heel and escape. Well, I try to. He easily keeps pace beside me.
“Els, let me explain.”
“Explain what? Your scoring system? Perhaps you’d like to reassure me that I started off as a solid six on your metric, but you deducted points for… for…” Well, whatisn’twrong with me?
“You’re unquestionably a ten out of ten.”
I snort in disgust and keep right on walking.
“I mean it,” he says. “You’re intelligent, so perfectly sweet—”
“Spare me. I don’t need your compliments.”
I do, though. I adore them. I want to curl up in his lap and let him tell me about how wonderful I am all night long. Does it matter if every word is a lie?
Luke sighs. “I’m trying to explain—”
“Don’t bother.”
“It’s important I try. Kristen… Other people… They’ve been asking a lot of questions about us. We haven’t exactly been discreet about the fact we’re, well… I suppose we’re…”
Why is it so hard for him to finish that sentence? He’s the one who asked for thearrangement. He’s been very careful to explain what it is—and what it isn’t. We aren’tdating. There are no expectations.
I help him finish whatever lie he’s conjuring up by suggesting, “We spend time in each other’s company?”
“We do a lot more than that.”
“Engage in sexual intercourse?”
A quiet laugh shakes Luke’s shoulders. “I wish you knew what it does to me when you talk like that. But yes. We enjoy each other’s company and engage insexual intercourse.” His suggestive smile falls away when it clashes with the thunder of my expression.
“Engaged.” I overemphasize theD. “Past tense. There will be nothing further between us that’s…physical.”
Except perhaps a well-timed slap. Can I do that?That’s very dramatic.I bite down on my lip.Andwrong. Even in my fit of self-righteous anger, I keep my hands still by my side.
“When Kristen confronted me, I panicked,” he says. “Thereisa journalist in town covering the festival.”
“Don’t you worry. If she hunts me down for a comment…” I bare my teeth in a sinister sort of smile.
The color drains from Luke’s face until he’s whiter than his linen shirt.
Sighing, I shake my head. “Do you really think I’d do that? I have no intention of talking to that journalist oranyjournalist. Ever.”
I got offers when my divorce papers were filed. After it was finalized, too. Magazines. TV. I’d be cruising home in a car as nice as Luke’s if I could sacrifice my principles and dish the dirt about all the people my ex-husband ruined to make his millions.
“I trust you,” Luke says. “It’s everyone else who’s the problem.”
