Luke by Jennifer Blake Page B

the bed, she put her fingers on his good shoulder and gave him a nudge. “Luke?”
    Nothing happened.
    â€œLuke, wake up.” She shook him again thoughshe was reluctant to be too rough for fear of hurting him.
    He didn’t move. He wasn’t going to move. He was out of it, and it was her own fault for passing out medication. She should have let him suffer.
    She put her fingers to her mouth as she stared at him, at Luke Benedict sleeping in her bed. A soundless laugh shook her, followed by a wave of weariness. What a thing to happen, yet she couldn’t feel surprised. It was exactly the kind of incident that would have bedeviled the heroine of one of her novels.
    So, what now?
    It was her suite and she was exhausted. Whatever the fallout might be, she would deal with it in the morning. For now, she’d had enough. She was going to bed.
    She’d also had enough of being harassed and threatened. On that subject, she’d just taken one of her “bathtub” decisions—the relaxation of bath time being when she saw things most clearly and often had her best ideas. If Luke Benedict had a hand in what was being done to her, she was going to find out. If that meant delving deeper into his family history or spending more time with him, then so be it.
    Research was her forte. Putting together bits and pieces from many sources then reaching a conclusion based on logic and informed intuition was what she did for a living. How much different could it be to figure out who was trying to harm her, whether it was Luke or someone else?
    There had to be some explanation. It wasn’t random harassment; the events of the past few days proved that much. When she had the all-important why, then the who should be clear. Once that occurred, the person responsible was going to realize she was no helpless victim. She would see to that, no matter what it took.
    There was one thing more. If Luke Benedict thought a night spent naked in her bed was going to change anything, he was much mistaken. He would know it, too, before he was another day older. She was also going to see to that detail.

6
    A s the lights clicked off in the suite, Luke lay perfectly still and allowed himself a few seconds of amazement. He was in; he’d made it. He was spending the night with April. The possibility had hovered in the back of his mind as he set out for New Orleans the day before, but he’d never really expected it to materialize.
    Who would have thought it?
    Not that he could claim to be sleeping with her exactly. She’d pulled the heavy bedspread from the bed and dragged it with her to the living room sofa. At least he thought that was where she’d gone; he’d check it out when he was sure it was safe to open his eyes.
    She’d covered him before she left, though. She’d actually loosened the lightweight blanket on the bed and flung the extra width across him against the air-conditioned chill of the room. What did that mean? Or did it mean anything beyond simple consideration? He didn’t care; he was still grateful.
    Not that his acid burns were as big a deal as he’d led her to believe. They weren’t exactly comfortable, of course, but he’d had worse. To have April hovering over him had just been such a novelty thathe couldn’t resist playing the wounded soldier. He’d also been curious to see how far her concern would stretch. Now he knew.
    He’d expected to be dragged off the big bed and sent on his way when she came out of the bathroom. That he hadn’t puzzled him. Gratitude was one thing, but this was something else.
    Or was it? Maybe he only wanted to think so. Yes, and maybe gratitude was a poor substitute for what he had in mind. What would she do, he wondered, if he eased off the bed, went and knelt beside the sofa, and…?
    He was an idiot to even think about it. He’d gotten this far, hadn’t he? The last thing he needed was to scare her away now.