She intrigued him—she was full of twists and turns and little surprises, and Luke hadn’t been captivated quite like this in… maybe in forever.
He swung his legs off the side of the bed and stood, padded over to his dresser and rummaged around for a pair of boxer briefs. He donned jeans over them and haphazardly buttoned a couple of the buttons to keep them from falling off, then followed the sound of Madeline’s voice down the hall. She was in his living room, standing at the picture window, looking up at the mountains in the distance. “I know,” she said into the phone, “I was so excited. You know how big of a sale this is for me.”
Luke smiled to himself and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. If they had a medal for selling difficult houses, he was pretty certain Madeline would have wrested it from the poor slob’s hand to don it.
“That’s what I was thinking,” she said, and touched a finger to a raindrop that was stubbornly clinging on the outside of the window. “I should get some great listings now, don’t you think? I mean if I can sell that, I can sell, right?” She laughed at her own interpretation of her skills, then quieted, listening. “Mm-hm,” she said. “He turned out to be a great help. Thanks so much for setting that up for me. He’s already got a couple of people he thinks would be interested.” She turned around, saw Luke standing there, and Luke saw the change in her expression—it went from smiling to guarded.
He ignored that. He walked over, kissed her head, stroked her silky hair, and touched her face. Madeline smiled, but it was a nervous little smile, and a funny little shiver traced up Luke’s spine.
“So listen, I need to go. I am going back to Pine River today… Yeah, sure,” she said, and turned away from Luke again. She added softly, “Can I just text you later?”
He didn’t like the way she was speaking—quietly, nervously, and maybe even a little cryptically. He didn’t like it one bit.
“Okay. You too. Bye.” She clicked off her phone and tucked her hair behind her ear, then smiled.
Luke didn’t smile. “Let me guess—Stephen?”
Madeline bit her lower lip and nodded. At least she didn’t lie about it.
Luke didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t as if he thought last night had somehow magically transformed them into a couple, washing away all the issues surrounding Homecoming Ranch. He was a big boy, he could take that she had some sort of relationship in Orlando, no matter how loose it seemed to be. But he thought he might be entitled to a little bit of courtesy—maybe she could have held off calling her boyfriend at least until after she’d left his house.
But Luke didn’t say anything; he turned around and walked into his kitchen.
“I called him because he helped me with some stuff yesterday, and I knew he would want to know what had happened,” Madeline said contritely.
She had to call him this morning? Before breakfast? “You don’t have to explain, Madeline,” Luke said, and flashed her a cool smile over his shoulder. “We’re both big kids.” He turned his coffeemaker on, and reached into the cabinet for two mugs. He didn’t like that one moment he was feeling buoyant and more alive than he thought he’d ever felt in his life, and in the next, he was feeling like a chump. What really infuriated him was that logically, he didn’t believe he had any right to feel that way. They’d had a spur-of-the moment, socked-in-by-a-storm sexual encounter.
But he’d felt something between them last night. Something big and thick with lots of roots that could, possibly, if tended, grow around them. Hadn’t Madeline felt that, too, if only a little? If only enough to put off calling the boyfriend until Luke was out of hearing distance?
“I have to call Bree,” she said apologetically. “I need to get the ball rolling on the DiNapoli sale.”
And now, he felt like an ass. She was tiptoeing around him, practically asking his permission to call her office. He’d been on the other end of this scenario more than once, having sex with a woman who thought that came with a tether and ownership instructions, and now, here he was, wishing he had a tether so this one couldn’t get away. “Yeah, of course,” he said, and turned his head, flashed her a smile. “Cream in the coffee?”
“Black, thank you,” she said.
Why did that not surprise him? Black was easy—no decisions, no judgments, no need to second-guess how much cream or sugar to use. Just black. “Make your phone call. I’ll make you coffee.”
“Thanks.” She disappeared into the living room.