Hurt.
Wanting to help, she moved to the back door, if for no other reason than to alert them of her presence, but then Edward spoke again.
“Sara says you’re doing good,” Edward said.
Ali hesitated because they were almost actually talking, and if she butted in now, they’d stop.
“You didn’t bring these pastries over here to tell me that you know I’m good,” Luke said.
“Okay, fine. I brought them so that you’d think about continuing to help Ali.”
Luke stared at him. “Let me give you some advice,” he finally said, “stick to what you do best, which is butting out of the stuff that matters.”
Ali sucked in a breath. Walk away, Ali. Just leave them to this. But she couldn’t. She ached for them and wanted to somehow fix it. Again she reached for the door, but Luke sighed, his voice softer when he spoke again. “And I’m going to keep helping Ali. Jesus. You think I wouldn’t? But I’m leaving soon, you know that.”
“When?”
“If my commander had his way, I’d already be gone.”
“Then you need to hurry up,” Edward said. “Figure this shit out now. You getting anywhere?”
“Yes, but too slowly,” Luke said, sounding frustrated. “This town, for all the rumors, likes its secrets.”
“Positive thinking, boy-o,” Edward said. “It’s all about positive thinking.”
“Yeah? Since when?”
“Things change,” Edward said, so quietly that Ali almost missed it. “People change. It’s never too late to get to the bottom of all the secrets.”
“You sound like a fortune cookie,” Luke said.
“This isn’t a game, Luke. This is every bit as important as any of your big, fancy city cases.”
“Hell, I know that. How could you think I don’t know that?”
“Because you’re taking your sweet-ass time getting to the bottom of it. You’re the hotshot. Make it look like Mr. Fancy Town Clerk gave her that money.”
There was a stunned beat of silence.
“She didn’t steal the money,” Luke finally said.
Ali didn’t know which shocked her more, the fact that Edward thought she’d stolen the money…or that Edward would suggest that Luke frame Teddy.
“Okay,” Edward said, “of course not.” He paused. “But seriously, if you go with the angle that Marshall gave it to her—”
“How about the angle that she’s innocent,” Luke said.
“Well, sure, but that’s going to be a challenge, isn’t it? I mean she was caught red-handed with that money band in the pot.”
“She was framed.”
Ali couldn’t breathe. She simply couldn’t drag air into her chest. She brought her hand up and pressed it against her rib cage but it didn’t help.
“You think she was framed,” Edward said.
“Yes,” Luke said.
“You think she’s innocent.”
“Yes.”
Edward’s voice filled with relief. “Good. Then you’ll help her. Even after you leave, you won’t be able to stop yourself. It’s what you do.”
“You haven’t read the papers lately, I take it,” Luke said dryly.
“It’s what you do,” Edward repeated firmly. “Stop reading your own press. And also, Eddie Kitzsky needs your help. He thinks his guys are stealing from the till at the bowling alley.”
“So why doesn’t he fire them?”
“Because they’re his nephews, and his wife’ll kick his ass. He wants you to catch them at it and then kick their asses for him so he can stay married.”
Luke bit into yet another pastry and let out a heartfelt moan—a sound that did something unspeakable to Ali’s good parts.
“So good,” Luke said, licking sugar off his lower lip. “Pastries should always be for dinner.”
“Might want to slow down a little,” Edward said. “That’s your fifth or sixth one.”
“So?”
“I used to be able to eat like that,” Edward said wistfully. “The night of the auction I ate a ton, and then sat on the pot whole next day because of it.”
Luke went still. “You were at the auction?”
“Everyone was at the auction. I drove the seniors, who were like a bunch of drunken sailors on a four-day leave. I’m telling you, you get old and suddenly you can’t hold your liquor anymore. Or your bladder.”
“You were at the auction,” Luke repeated.
“Just said so, didn’t I?”
“There’s been some problem with the surveillance cameras on the building,” Luke said. “Apparently they’ve been down for several weeks, but it’s not in the budget to fix until next quarter. You see anyone come out with a big bag?”
“Like a purse?” Edward asked. “Only every woman in the place.”
“No, this would’ve been bigger than a regular evening bag,” Luke said. “Something the size of a large briefcase or duffle bag.”
“I see where you’re going with this,” Edward said, “but I wasn’t looking. I was playing Angry Birds on my cell phone while the crowd dispersed. What about the gas station across the street from Town Hall? Maybe their cameras caught some action.”
“I’ll check with Sawyer. Thanks.”
“I gotta go take my pill.” Edward started to walk away and then stopped. “As for you, get to it already. And by get to it, I don’t mean get to it. Not with Ali. She’s too sweet for you.”
Luke frowned. “Why do people keep telling me that?”
“Because it’s true.” Edward walked away, around the side of the house and out of sight.
Ali had to hustle to look busy. Ears burning, she began making breakfast for dinner.
Don’t get to it…
Too late, she could have told Edward. And anyway, sleeping with Luke—again—was the last thing on her mind.
Except it wasn’t. Not even close. Right now, it was the only thing on her mind. He might have honed his instincts by being a detective on the hard, tough streets, but he knew how to apply them to making love. He could read her body and know what she needed before she knew. He loved to touch. He loved to kiss, loved to taste.
He was magic.
But that was beside the point. The point was her life was out of control.
And Luke’s life? Also out of control.
Around her, the house was quiet. Too quiet. Had Luke left too? Gone out on the water on his paddleboard? Begun another renovation project? Gone around the front to come in and then gone to bed? If she’d eaten an entire plate of pastries for dinner, she’d need to go to sleep too.
She turned back to the stove. When the phone rang a minute later, she jumped, and then answered breathlessly.
“I’m looking for Luke Hanover,” a cool female voice said.
Another reporter. “How are you people getting this number?”
“This is Angelina Montclair from the Chronicle. Tell him I’ll give him a fair interview, facts only. Tell him—”
Ali hung up.
The phone immediately rang again, and she snatched it up, getting angry. “Stop calling here or I’ll—”
“He needs to give this interview,” the reporter said, tone firm. “If he doesn’t, his career’s going to be in the toilet. If he wants to save it, he needs to—”
Ali hung up again, and then on second thought, pulled the phone from the wall. And even though she’d been expecting Luke to walk in any minute, she still nearly leapt out of her skin when he came up behind her. He crowded her so that she could feel the heat of him at her back. Her eyes drifted shut to better savor the experience.
“Protecting my honor?” he asked, voice low enough that she couldn’t gauge his mood.
“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “And it’s turning into a full-time job.”
“Except for when you’re eavesdropping,” he said.
Well, crap. She turned to face him and winced. “Okay, yes, I was eavesdropping. Some people turn to alcohol or chocolate. I eavesdrop.” Her face was heated. “It used to be the only way I could learn stuff from my mom, not that that’s an excuse. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said quietly, something in his voice making her chest tighten. “You don’t have to eavesdrop with me, Ali. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know—always.”
She searched his gaze for a clue to his thoughts, but got nothing. “I wanted to tell you I was there, but you two were talking, and I didn’t want to interrupt. Are you going to help Mr. Kitzsky?”
“Yeah. His nephews are idiots, but not completely moronic. They know where their bread’s buttered. I’ll clunk their heads together, and that’ll be it.” He looked over her shoulder into the pan. “Smells great.”
What smelled great was him. It was all she could do not to turn her head and bury her face in the crook of his neck and inhale him.
“I’m guessing that omelets are your specialty,” he said, sounding a little amused. She hoped.
“Yep.” She flipped the omelet, but then had to admit the truth. “Actually…omelets are the only thing I can cook.”
He tipped back his head and laughed, and the sight was so innately sexy that he took her breath. “Do you really think the gas station might have footage of the thief walking out of Town Hall with the money?” she asked.
He stole a slice of cheese and popped it in his mouth. “So you did hear everything.”
“Including the part where your grandpa thought I stole the money? Yeah.” She tried to sound neutral, but was pretty sure she failed.
Luke let out a breath and reached around her to turn off the burners. “If you were listening, then you heard exactly how much he cares about you.”
She didn’t say anything to that. She couldn’t. There’d been a lot of people in her life who’d claimed to care about her. It didn’t always mean much. “He tried to bribe you with pastries to help me.”
“I can’t be bribed.” He met her gaze. “You know I never do anything I don’t want to do.”
Her heart gave a little treacherous leap. He was in board shorts again, as sky blue as his eyes, with a drawstring that was loose. One little tug, she thought. His muscles were taut, his skin damp. He’d been paddleboarding.
She had no idea why the sight of him, a little wet and a lot hot, made her both of those things as well. “I don’t either…” she whispered, “do things I don’t want to do.”
“Liar.” He stroked a finger along her cheekbone and then tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, lingering at the sensitive skin there.
She shivered, and his eyes heated. “You’re a pleaser,” he said.
“Was,” she corrected. “Was a people pleaser. No more. I’ve turned over a new leaf. I only please myself now.”
A very small smile curved his mouth, and he lowered his head so that they shared their next breath. “There’s an image,” he murmured. “You pleasing yourself.”
She let out a low, nervous laugh, and he bent to nip her lower lip.
“I’d want to watch,” he said.
Oh, Lord. “I think we’re getting off the subject here,” she managed.
Eyes on hers, he slowly ran his hands up her arms and then back to grip her hips. Okay, the hell with getting off subject, she thought, as his mouth brushed hers with just the lightest pressure. She heard a moan, hers, and at the sound, Luke got more serious about the kiss, taking it deep and hot until she swayed toward him.
A long, delicious moment later, he pulled back a fraction and looked down at her. She realized her fingers were curled into his biceps and that she was actually trying to tug him closer. But he wrapped his fingers around her wrists and pulled her hands away, taking them down to her sides. “We said we weren’t going to do this,” he said.
Aroused from head to toe, she nodded. “Right.” And then shook her head. “Why is that again? Is it because the first time was so awful, or because people keep telling you not to sleep with me?”
“If I can’t be bribed, I sure as hell don’t give a shit what people think.” His voice was low and incredibly sexy, and he tightened his grip on her wrists, still restraining her from touching him.
Which was suddenly all she wanted to do.
“As for it being awful,” he said, “we both know it was the polar opposite of awful.”
“So…?”
“So we said we weren’t going there,” he repeated, and she wasn’t sure if it was disappointment or relief when he let her go and turned away.
“Actually,” she said to his back. His bare back. Tanned. Sleek. Ripped with strength. “You said that we weren’t going to go there. Because even though you’re leaving and it was so awful, I still want to. Go there, that is.”
With a half laugh, half groan, he faced her again. “Ali. We can’t.”
“I know.” His board shorts were low, revealing gorgeous abs, cut obliques, and a most impressive erection. At the direction of her gaze, he let out another tortured-sounding laugh and then walked out of the kitchen, vanishing into the depths of the house.
A few seconds later, she heard a shower go on.
It was several minutes before she could breathe or swallow. Still shaky, she divided the omelet, leaving half on a plate for him.
She ate, listening to the water run, noting that he stayed in there a long time, during which she did her best not to imagine what he was doing.