"Let me get this straight. You’re eloping to Las Vegas with an old lover and you’re asking me to break the news to your fiancé that you’re dumping him?" Cat stared at her step-sister in disbelief.

"Really, Cat, you don’t have to make it sound so....sordid." Devon Kowalski paused in her packing, her neatly plucked brows drawn together in a distressed frown, her lower lip hovering on the edge of a pout. With her big blue eyes and delicate features, she made a heart tugging picture of hurt innocence. Cat, who knew for a fact that she’d practiced that particular expression in front of a mirror, was unmoved. She arched her brows and waited and, after a moment, Devon’s expression shifted to a more genuine, if less attractive pout. "You’re the one who likes to read those trashy romance novels," she snapped. "I’d think you’d understand me wanting to marry for love."

"I understand wanting to marry for love," Cat said. "What I don’t understand is how you can break off your engagement this way. You owe it to Luke to talk to him, tell him what’s going on. You can’t just put news like this in a note and ask me to hand it to the man."

"Well, I can’t mail it. I mean, what if it doesn’t get there or something? And it would be tacky to just leave a message on his answering machine," she said with a self righteous air, as if inviting Cat to congratulate her on her sensitivity. What Cat really wanted to do was thump her on the head to see if there was anyone home in there.

Devon folded a blue silk nightie and tucked it along the side of the suitcase she was packing and then reached for a handful of panties and bras, all pastels and lace and began tucking them into nooks and crannies in the suitcase.

Watching her, Cat wracked her brain for what she could say to make Devon change her mind. Oh, not about breaking the engagement. Frankly, Luke Quintain should drop to his knees and thank whatever gods he liked that Devon’s high school sweetheart had returned from the wilds of Minnesota or Michigan or wherever he’d been just in time to sweep Devon off her dainty size four feet and out of Luke’s life. Not that Devon was the Wicked Witch of the West but she was spoiled and selfish and unlikely to make anyone a particularly good wife. Luke was definitely better off without her. Actually, the high school sweetheart was probably better off without her, too, but that was his problem. No, it wasn’t the engagement she wanted Devon to change her mind about, it was the method of breaking it.

Devon might think that leaving a message on the answering machine was tacky but this wasn’t much better. And Cat wasn’t all that crazy about being the bearer of bad tidings. It wasn’t that she expected Luke to lop off her head but she hated the idea that, whenever he thought of her, it would be as the person who’d given him the news that his fiancé had run off with another man. Not that he was likely to think of her at all, she admitted wistfully. Once the engagement was broken, he’d probably put Devon Kowalski and everyone associated with her right out of his mind. And even if he did think of her, it was clear that his taste ran to fragile little blondes with big blue eyes, not tall, leggy redheads with generous curves. Fragile was not a word that ever applied to a woman who stood five feet, nine inches in her stockinged feet, Cat admitted with a faint sigh.

"Don’t you think you owe it to Luke to talk to him, explain about Rick coming back from Michigan and how you realized you were still in love with him?"

"Luke will be upset. He might say mean things," Devon said, as if that explained everything and Cat supposed it did. One of Devon’s biggest talents was avoiding unpleasantness of any kind. As far as she was concerned, the thought that Luke might say something ‘mean’ was reason enough to avoid the encounter. It would never occur to her that, when a man found himself dumped four weeks before the wedding, he might be entitled to say one or two mean things.

Cat leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb and watched in silence as Devon zipped the suitcase closed and set it on the floor before going to her dressing table where she began sorting through the rows of bottles, her expression serious as she considered the important question of what makeup to pack for an elopement.

Devon’s room always made Cat feel a little like Gulliver entering the land of the Lilliputians or maybe Dorothy stepping out of the tornado-tumbled farm house into Oz. The rest of the rambling old house was filled with mismatched furniture, worn rugs and faded draperies. A handful of nice, if slightly scruffy, antiques sat cheek by jowl with garage sale rejects. It was comfortable, livable, undistinguished. In contrast, Devon’s room was all pale, polished wood and thick peach carpeting. Floral drapes in peach and soft, warm green hung at the windows. The overall effect was feminine without being frilly and it suited Devon perfectly, which was the whole point, of course. Devon’s bedroom was designed to compliment her the way a black velvet lined jewelry box was meant to enhance a strand of pearls. And it succeeded admirably.

The peaches and cream prettiness of it always made Cat feel too... everything. She was too tall, her coloring was too vivid, her legs were too long, her hair was too red, too curly. It wasn’t so much Devon’s bedroom that made her feel that way, Cat thought, as it was Devon herself. When she’d first met Devon, she’d been a gawky thirteen-year-old, all legs and arms and hair. Devon had been twenty, a tiny, blue eyed blond, delicate as a china figurine. A brief spell of hero worship had died a natural death under the influence of Devon’s benign indifference and unremitting shallowness. Even at thirteen, Cat had known there was more to the world than make up and boys.

"I really think you should tell Luke you’re breaking off the engagement," she said, giving it one last try. "If you’re going to break his heart, you at least ought to do it face to face."

Devon shook her head as she selected half a dozen bottles and set them aside. "No. Luke has a nasty temper. I’m not going to let him spoil this for me. Besides, I’m not breaking his heart. He’ll be mad but it’s not like he’s in love with me or anything." She caught Cat’s surprised look in the mirror and huffed a little sigh as she turned to face her. "Look, I didn’t tell anyone this before because it wasn’t anyone’s business really and I knew people would think it was...well, maybe a little weird but there’s nothing wrong with it. No one was being hurt or anything." Devon must have seen Cat’s total lack of understanding because she stopped, drew in a deep breath and got to the point. "Luke and I had a...um...a sort of business arrangement."

"Business arrangement? I thought you were getting married."

"We were. That was the business part of it." When Cat stared at her blankly, she laughed, more annoyance than humor in the sound. "You shouldn’t find it hard to understand. Don’t they do that kind of thing all the time in those books you read? What do they call it?" She groped a moment and then smiled when she found the phrase she was looking for. "A marriage of convenience. That’s what we were going to have. Only with sex because, really, how convenient would a marriage be without sex?"

A marriage of convenience? Devon and Luke Quintain? The thought made Cat’s head spin. That sort of thing didn’t happen in real life. Real people didn’t make pretend marriages. Except apparently they did or at least they made pretend engagements although maybe the engagement was real, even if the marriage was - would have been - fake. And could you call it a fake marriage if they were sleeping together?

"Why?" It was the only word that managed to slip past her confusion.

"The usual reasons," Devon said, shrugging lightly. Cat’s mind boggled at the idea that there were ‘usual reasons’ for a marriage of convenience. Before she could try and sort out what they might be, Devon continued. "Luke’s grandfather wants him to get married for some reason. Luke didn’t tell me why exactly but apparently, he’s got something to hold over Luke’s head. He has to be married before his thirty-sixth birthday, which is in a couple of months."

"Okay," Cat said, dragging the word out as she absorbed this new information. "That explains what Luke was getting out of the marriage. What about you?"

"You have to ask?" Devon rolled her eyes and Cat flushed as a sudden image of Luke popped into her head. No, she supposed she didn’t have to ask. The man was not only ridiculously good looking but he had that indefinable something that made something tighten low in her belly. It was pretty obvious why Devon would--

"Money," Devon said, cutting through Cat’s thoughts.

"Money?" she repeated, trying to shift her thinking from blue, blue eyes and thick dark hair to crinkly green stuff. "Money?"

"Come on, Cat. The man’s richer than God." Devon laughed. "His great grandfather owned half of the San Fernando Valley back when it was nothing but chicken ranches and orange groves and his grandfather managed to make money even during the Depression. I don’t know anything about his father but Luke is some sort of real estate wizard. Every time he draws a breath, he’s making more money."

"And he was going to...what? Give you money to marry him?"

Devon wrinkled her nose. "It sounds so...sordid when you put it that way," she protested. "But, yes, Luke was giving me money to marry him. A whole lot of money, actually." She sounded wistful.

"And you’re giving that up to go live on a dairy farm?" Cat asked and then winced at the incredulous tone of her voice.

The idea of Devon living on a dairy farm had been difficult to grasp even before she knew the truth behind her engagement to Luke Quintain. Now, it seemed even more incredible. It wasn’t that Devon was mercenary. Not exactly. It wasn’t money that Devon loved. It was all the pretty things it could buy. Shopping wasn’t a hobby, it was an avocation. It was one of the things that made her good at her chosen career as a decorator - she got to shop for beautiful things and get paid for doing it.

"Money can’t buy happiness," Devon said with the air of someone presenting a new truth. Cat might have been impressed by this new, improved Devon if she hadn’t continued. "Besides, I have the engagement ring Luke gave me and that’s worth a fortune." She picked up a small leather jeweler’s box from the night stand and snapped it open to admire the ring inside.

"You can’t keep that ring," Cat protested, appalled. Even from several feet away, she could see the way the light caught on the diamonds.

"Why not?" Devon snapped the case shut and closed her hand around it as if afraid Cat might try to snatch it from her. "Luke gave it to me. It’s mine."

"Luke gave it to you because you were going to marry him."

"I was going to marry him."

"But you’re not going to marry him now," Cat pointed out.

"I don’t see what that has to do with it." Devon picked up her purse - British tan leather, made by Coach and another gift from Luke - and tucked the ring box safely inside. "It’s not like I lied to Luke. I did plan on marrying him. He gave me the ring and it’s mine. I’m sure he’d want me to keep it."

"Traditionally, you give the ring back."

"So?" Devon set the purse on the bed and turned back to finish packing her make-up. "Traditionally, you’re supposed to be madly in love with each other when you get married. Luke and I had a business arrangement. He gave me the ring for getting engaged to him. We were engaged and the ring is mine. Besides, it’s worth a lot of money. It would be stupid to give it back."

That was so typically Devon, that mixture of naiveté and ruthless practicality. With a sigh, Cat gave up any thought of trying to her to change her mind. Short of arm wrestling, there was no way Devon was giving that ring back. Realistically, it wasn’t as if the value of the ring was going to make a significant impact on Luke Quintain’s bottom line. Whatever it was worth, it was probably pocket change to a man who bought and sold Los Angeles real estate like baseball cards.

"So you’ll take the letter to Luke," Devon asked, focused, as always, on getting what she wanted.

"I don’t think-"

Devon picked up the envelope and held it out. "If you don’t take it to him, I’m just going to drop it in a mail box."

Cat hesitated but she knew the other woman well enough to know she’d make good on her threat. Even if it hadn’t been a love match, Luke deserved better than to have the U.S. Postal Service give him the news that he was being jilted. She crossed the room reluctantly and took the envelope, which was addressed in Devon’s childishly round handwriting with - incredibly - a tiny heart dotting the ‘i’ in Quintain.

"Devon, are you sure you-"

"I’m positive." Devon zipped shut the tote holding her cosmetics and glanced around the room to see if she’d forgotten anything. Satisfied that she had all the essentials, she looked at Cat. "I really appreciate you doing this," she said, as if she hadn’t virtually blackmailed Cat into it. She frowned a little. "I’m sure Luke will remember you. Pretty sure, anyway. I mean, who can forget that hair."

Cat slid the envelope into the back pocket of her jeans and resisted the urge to smooth her hair. It wouldn’t do any good anyway. In her better moments, she fancied the mass of tumbled copper curls had a sort of Botticelli by way of Titian look about it. On a bad hair day - and she’d had more than her share - she thought it was more red mesh scrubber after a trip through the garbage disposal. Either way, she’d learned that there wasn’t a whole lot she could do to influence things.

Twenty minutes later, Cat stood on the sagging front porch and watched Devon and her soon-to-be husband drive off down the long gravel drive, on their way to Minnesota or Michigan by way of Las Vegas. She wished them luck. She was fairly sure Rick was going to need it.

She pulled the letter out of her back pocket and tapped it absently on her hand. Staring out at the haphazardly landscaped yard, she considered her options. She could wash her hands of the whole thing, pop the letter in a mailbox and never give it another thought. But she wasn’t going to do that. Even if it hadn’t been a love match, no one should find out they’d been jilted in such an impersonal fashion. She’d go to see Luke, give him the letter, tell him how sorry she was that things had worked out this way. It was the right thing to do.

And wasn’t it handy that doing the right thing gave her an excuse to see Devon’s ex-fiancé again?

###

There’s nothing like falling in love at first sight. That throat tightening, heart pounding rush of fear and adrenaline, the sudden knowledge that everything - everything - is different now, that your life will never be the same, that you will never be the same.

The first time Cat Lang fell in love, she was ten. She and her mother were living in Nevada in a shabby old house that had once been a brothel. Naomi was deep in her oil painting phase and the attic apartment had what she claimed was the perfect northern exposure. Cat liked the banisters, which were good for sliding down and the tangled thicket of shrubs and weeds that masqueraded as a back yard but, best of all, was Albert Federman, who lived with his aunt and uncle on the bottom floor. He was fifteen, a tall, thin boy with white blond hair and pale blue eyes. She saw him for the first time the day she and Naomi moved in.

They moved too often to have accumulated much by way of household goods but there were half a dozen boxes, as well as an eclectic assortment of tote bags and two plastic laundry baskets, all wedged into the back of a rust-pocked yellow station wagon with fake wood sides. Naomi had carried up one box and a tote before getting distracted by the amazing play of light through the leaves of the big sycamore that dominated the overgrown backyard. Cat left her to her rapt contemplation and went back downstairs to bring up another load. A veteran of more moves than she could count, she knew that the sooner everything was unloaded and put away, the sooner it would start to feel like home. She was on her way up the cracked walkway, arms straining with the weight of one of the laundry baskets when Albert came out the front door and offered to give her a hand.

And she looked up at him, standing there with the sun behind him, creating a halo behind his pale hair and his smile revealed one crooked front tooth and she felt her heart just fall right at his feet. She knew, in that one instant, that this was what true love felt like.

Maybe it had been. It had lasted all that summer and maybe, if Naomi hadn’t decided that oil painting really wasn’t what she was meant to do after all and Nevada was just too crassly commercial to truly nurture her spirit, maybe if they’d stayed, she and Albert Federman would have lived happily ever after. But they’d moved to Sedona and she’d started school at a commune Naomi had joined and her broken heart had eventually recovered and Albert had become a sweet memory.

She’d half forgotten that moment of knowing, that sudden understanding that everything was different now. Until Devon brought Lucas Quintain home to meet her father and Cat was suddenly ten years old again, feeling her heart pound so hard that she was sure it must be visible from the outside, feeling that quick rush of fear and excitement. This was it. This was the moment when her life changed forever. This was the one. But the joy, that odd feeling of recognition had lasted barely a heartbeat. This was Devon’s fiancé. No matter how many times she told herself that she couldn’t mourn something that had never been hers, she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of loss.

And now, here she was, on her way to tell Luke that he was a free man again, whether he liked it or not.

Sighing, Cat flipped on the turn signal when she saw the Flintridge exit coming up. Fat lot of good Luke’s newly single condition would do her. Just for fun, why not list all the reasons he wouldn’t be interested in her. First, his taste clearly ran to petite blondes, not leggy redheads. Second, he was hardly going to look favorably on her after she handed him Devon’s letter. Third, even if he could overlook that, he probably couldn’t overlook the fact that she was related, in a convoluted fashion, to the woman who’d just unceremoniously dumped him. Fourth, fifth, sixth and on into infinity, she wasn’t the kind of woman likely to interest a wealthy real estate tycoon.

The VW coughed asthmatically as the road narrowed and began to climb into the Flintridge hills. The houses sat back from the road, sheltered amid towering live oaks. Discrete mansions, Cat thought and then wondered if that was a contradiction in terms. Could a mansion be discrete? Maybe, to qualify for the title of mansion, a certain flamboyance was required, which would make these just really, really big, really, really expensive houses.

There wasn’t much traffic as the road wound up into the hills. She passed two Mercedes - both black - a silver gray Rolls and a hunter green Jaguar convertible. The driver of the Rolls gave her a puzzled look and Cat giggled as she drove through the intersection. Apparently, tomato red, thirty year old Volkswagen Squarebacks were not exactly a common sight in this neighborhood. She gave the sun faded dashboard an affectionate pat.

"Don’t pay any attention to them, Ruthie. They wouldn’t know real class if it bit them on the nose."

The VW chugged its way up the next hill and around a long, sweeping curve and there was the address Devon had given her, neatly emblazoned on a rustic redwood post that sat to the side of a driveway sheltered by the overhanging branches of an ancient live oak. Cat edged Ruthie up to the top of the driveway and hesitated a moment, contemplating the steep slope that dropped away from the street. All that was visible of the house was an angle of roof and a sharp glint of sunlight reflecting off a window.

Luke was down there, expecting his fiancé to arrive for a quiet dinner. He was probably expecting her to spend the night. Devon hadn’t said as much but Cat assumed she and Luke had been sleeping together. The thought added the acid bite of jealousy to the bevy of butterflies that had taken up residence in her stomach. Really, maybe mailing the letter wasn’t such a bad idea. Maybe it was really a good idea. It would allow Luke a certain privacy to deal with the news he’d been jilted. And would allow her to escape like the yellow-bellied coward she apparently was. Muttering under her breath, she turned into the drive.

The house was not at all what she’d expected. She’d envisioned something starkly modern, all redwood and glass with lots of eccentric angles. Instead, Luke’s home was surprisingly conventional. The lower part of the walls were stone with white siding above. Multi-paned windows, a gray tile roof and a wide front porch with stone pillars and wicker furniture completed a quietly elegant picture. The landscaping was neat if unimaginative, relying heavily on the natural beauty of the big oaks that sheltered the house. It looked like a home rather than the showplace she might have expected from someone who made bundles of money buying and selling real estate.

As soon as Cat shut off Ruthie’s engine, the silence pressed in around her. It was the kind of stillness that made it easy to forget that Los Angeles, in all it’s smoggy glory, lay just over the hill. A mockingbird called a stolen melody and was answered by the raucous cry of a scrub jay. If she hadn’t been so painfully aware of the reason she was here, Cat could have savored the quiet beauty. But she wasn’t here to enjoy the semi-bucolic splendor of her surroundings. She was here to tell Luke that he’d been dumped in favor of a dairy farmer from Minnesota. According to Devon, the news wasn’t going to break his heart but it seemed unlikely to make his day either.

The doorbell was a quiet two toned chime. After ringing it, she shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, fighting the urge to shove Devon’s letter under the door and then run like mad. Before she could succumb to temptation, she heard the sound of a deadbolt sliding back. From listening to Devon talk, she knew Luke had a housekeeper so when the door opened so she was not prepared to find herself looking into Luke’s blue eyes.

"Cat?" He sounded surprised, which was understandable. At least he knew who she was, which was a relief. It would have been embarrassing if her heart was beating double time for a man who didn’t even recognize her.

"Luke, I...didn’t expect you."

He arched one brow in surprise. "I live here," he pointed out.

Cat felt her face heat and knew he could see the color coming up in her cheeks. There was no hiding a blush with her pale skin. "I was expecting your housekeeper."

"It’s her day off." Luke looked past her and she wondered if he was looking for Devon. If that was the case, he didn’t say anything when he saw that she was alone but just stepped back from the door. "Why don’t you come in? It’s a little chilly for standing in doorways."

Cat hesitated a moment before accepting his invitation. She wanted to tell him that standing in the doorway was just fine with her but his words had made her aware of the cold air finding it’s way past the bulky cable knit sweater she wore with her jeans. Besides, she could hardly just shove the letter at him and run.

"Thanks." He led her across the entryway with its glossy hardwood floors and through an arched doorway into a large but surprisingly cozy room. Soft, blue-green carpeting covered the floor and the furniture looked both elegant and comfortable, a rare combination in Cat’s limited experience. A bank of windows along one wall let in the angled beams of the setting sun, painting everything in gold and red. There was a small fire in the fireplace and the subdued hiss of the flames added a warm intimacy to the atmosphere.

"Would you like something to drink?" Luke asked, glancing over his shoulder at her.

Cat shook her head. "No, thanks."

"You don’t mind if I have something, do you?" He picked up a bottle from the tray that sat on an end table. Amber liquid splashed into the bottom of a snifter. "I was planning on an after dinner brandy but I have a feeling I’m going to need some fortification earlier in the evening."

He glanced at her, arching his brow in question. Cat flushed and stared at him mutely. This was where she should say something to smooth the way for the bad news yet to come. Something mature and intelligent, something sympathetic but not maudlin, something gentle but not mushy.

"Devon’s not coming," she blurted out. Oh yeah, that was good, Cat. Real sensitive.

"I kind of figured that." Luke took a swallow of brandy and Cat couldn’t stop herself from staring at the clean lines of his profile. He was wearing jeans and a black v-neck sweater that looked soft and touchable. The thin knit clung to the solid muscles in his shoulders and chest and Cat’s fingers twitched with the urge to put her hands on him, to feel the contrast between the soft knit fabric and the solid muscle beneath.

No matter how many times she told herself it was ridiculous to think you could fall in love with someone at first sight, she couldn’t ignore the awareness that curled in the pit of her stomach. It was more than just attraction, though that was certainly a part of it. This was something else. Something deeper. And it scared her to death.

"So, give it to me straight." Luke turned to look at her, long fingers cradling the snifter. "I take it Devon’s absence is permanent?"

Cat nodded reluctantly. He didn’t look like a man whose heart was breaking. He looked irritated and...maybe a little relieved. Or was that just wishful thinking on her part?

"She’s decided to become a nun? Having a sex change operation? Run off to join the circus?"

"A dairy farm," Cat said and Luke’s brows rose.

"She’s joined a dairy farm? I didn’t know you could do that."

"Not joined one so much as...well, actually, she’s sort of marrying one."

"Marrying a dairy farm?" One corner of his mouth curved up. "She’s going to need a pretty big church, isn’t she?"

Cat hadn’t expected to find any humor in the situation but there was no resisting that lopsided smile. It only lasted a moment but it left her feeling a little steadier, a little more in control.

"She’s actually just marrying the guy who owns the dairy farm."

"Well, that’s a relief. For a minute there, I thought I’d been thrown over for a bunch of Holsteins." Luke took another swallow of brandy and shook his head. "A dairy farmer? I never pictured Devon as the milkmaid type."

"Rick was her high school sweetheart. He lives in Minnesota or it might be Michigan," she said, frowning. "Whatever. He came out here to touch base with old friends and--"

"Hit a home run with my fiancé," Luke finished for her and she nodded.

"He...ah...seems like a nice guy."

"Well, that’s a relief. I’d hate to think I’d been dumped for a jerk." Luke’s smile faded and he sighed. "Is there a reason she couldn’t do her own dirty work?"

Cat thought about lying, telling him that Devon had wanted to talk to him herself but she couldn’t think of a plausible reason why she hadn’t been able to do just that. Besides, why should she worry about trying to make Devon look better in Luke’s eyes?

"She thought you might be upset."

"Upset?" Luke snorted. "Just because my fiancé runs off with another man a month before the wedding?"

He tossed back the last of the brandy and looked at the bottle, as if debating the wisdom of pouring another drink. Cat pulled the letter out of her back pocket and crossed to him. "She...left you this."

He stared at the envelope for a long moment before taking it from her. He didn’t open it immediately and Cat shifted uneasily, wondering if this was her cue to leave. Maybe he’d prefer to open the letter in private? Before she could decide, he was sliding his finger under the flap, pulling the single sheet of peach colored paper out. From where she stood, Cat could see that there were only a few lines of writing and she wondered what Devon had said. As if reading her mind, Luke spoke.

"She says she’s sorry to leave me in the lurch like this, knows I’ll understand that true love is more important than money and hopes I won’t have too much trouble canceling the wedding arrangements and adds a P.S. that she’s keeping the ring." He turned the sheet over to see if there was anything more. There was nothing and he crumpled both letter and envelope and tossed them into the fireplace. The sharp gesture made Cat flinch.

"I did suggest that maybe she should return the ring," she offered hesitantly.

"I don’t give a damn about the ring," Luke snapped. He ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it into thick dark waves. "Sorry. I didn’t mean to snarl at you. It’s not your fault your sister ran off with a dairy farmer."

"She’s not really. My sister, I mean. She’s not my sister." Cat wasn’t sure why it mattered. Usually, she gave little thought to her rather convoluted family relationships. "She’s not even my step-sister, not officially."

"I thought her father and your mother were married."

"No." She shook her head. "My mother and I moved in with Larry when I was thirteen. After a few months, Naomi got a chance to go on this spiritual retreat in Mexico and she just sort of...didn’t come back."

"She abandoned you?" Luke asked, sympathy and surprise mixed in his expression.

"No." Cat’s denial was automatic. "Not abandoned. Exactly. I mean, she knew I was with Larry and she didn’t just disappear. After Mexico, she had a chance to study with this healer in Peru and then there was a sort of gathering of spiritual types in India and she just sort of...didn’t come back." She shrugged, careful not to look at him. She understood Naomi but she knew most people didn’t. "So, I guess Devon is sort of my unofficial step-sister but it’s not legal or anything."

"I’m sure you’ll understand that, at the moment, I’m inclined to think not being related to Devon is probably a good thing," Luke said. "You sure you don’t want something to drink?"

It didn’t sound like he was in a hurry to get rid of her. She allowed herself a tentative smile. "Water would be nice."

"With or without carbonation?"

"Without." She wrinkled her nose . "The stuff with bubbles tastes like medicine."

"One water, no bubbles, coming up." He disappeared out the door, presumably on his way to the kitchen.

Cat drew a deep breath and rubbed her palms along the sides of her jeans. Well, she’d given him the bad news and she was still here. He seemed more irritated than angry and not at all heartbroken. Apparently, Devon had told the truth about her engagement. Which opened up all sort of interesting questions and even more interesting possibilities.

Luke came back in, carrying a glass of water and a tray of hors d’oeuvres.

"Are you hungry? My housekeeper left these for tonight and it seems a shame to let them go to waste. The shrimp things are terrific."

Definitely not heartbroken, Cat thought, taking the glass from him. He set the tray on the marble topped coffee table and sank into one of the overstuffed chairs that flanked it, gesturing her toward a seat with one hand and reaching for the brandy with the other. She settled uneasily on the edge of the sofa and took a nervous sip of her water.

"Devon told me about the thing with your grandfather." She hadn’t planned on saying anything about it but Luke didn’t seem offended.

"Did she?" He swirled the brandy in his snifter, watching the play of firelight on the amber liquid.

"She said you had to get married before your thirty-sixth birthday but she didn’t say why."

She waited for him to tell her it was none of her business. Or to skip that and go straight for ‘get out’. But he shrugged and leaned his head back against the chair, his eyes fixed on the fire now, his expression unreadable.

"My grandfather wants me to settle down and breed two or three little Quintains to carry on the dynasty. I made the mistake of telling him I wasn’t interested in carrying on the dynasty so he came up with this scheme to force my hand."

"Why thirty-six?" Cat asked. "I mean, why not thirty-five or forty? Thirty-six just seems kind of...arbitrary."

Luke rolled his head to look at her, his mouth twisting in that lopsided smile again. "It doesn’t seem arbitrary that he’d blackmail me into marriage but setting my thirty-sixth birthday as a deadline does?"

Cat shrugged and grinned a little sheepishly. "Well, it does all sound a little...odd."

"Odd. Yeah, you could call it that." Luke took a sip of the brandy and then sat forward abruptly. Setting the snifter on the table, he picked up a shrimp. "As far as I know, the only reason for setting thirty-six as the deadline is that it happens to be my next birthday."

Cat nodded as if that made sense. She took another sip of water and told herself that the idea rolling around in her head was insane. It was one thing to think...but she couldn’t actually say anything. Could she?

"So you...still have this deadline hanging over your head? He won’t give you extra time because Devon canceled the wedding?"

"Maybe." Luke scowled at slice of prosciuto wrapped melon. "Hard to say. He wasn’t overly impressed with your not-quite step-sister so he may cut me some slack. Or he may not."

"When is your birthday?" Yes, that was good. She sounded interested, casual. Not at all like someone on the verge of losing her mind.

"Two and a half month." Luke set the melon slice down and reached for the brandy. "Seventy-six days, to be exact."

"That’s not very much time." She leaned forward and set her glass on a coaster before clasping her hands together and pressing them between her knees to hide their nervous shaking.

"Not much time," Luke agreed.

"You could...I mean...It’s maybe a little odd but not really any odder than the whole idea of...Not that there’s anything wrong with..." She realized she was babbling and shut her mouth with an audible snap. Luke was looking at her, one brow raised in question, his expression mildly curious.

"What could I do that isn’t any odder than marrying your not-quite step-sister?" he asked.

Cat stared at him, thinking that she knew exactly how a deer felt when it was caught in the headlights. Paralyzed, helpless, watching doom rush toward it. Only she was her own doom and she was going to do it, going to say it.

"You could marry me instead."