Pitch Black (Romantic Thriller, Completed)

Chapter 19

The roar of the Porsche's engine drowned out anything I might have wanted to say as we rode back to Luke's place, making the silence more bearable. Was I doing the right thing? Head battled heart, but neither had much to lose at that point. If nothing else, I could rest for a few days then head north as I'd originally planned.

Luke took my hand again as he led me from the car. Sweaty palms. Caused by his dash through the station, or nerves? I was getting used to his touch, and while old me would have stepped back and glared, new me took a deep breath and swallowed. Relax, Ash. Grasshoppers invaded my stomach as he fitted his key in the front door. When I left on Sunday, I'd expected to come back but not under these circumstances.

"Have you eaten?" Luke asked.

I shook my head. My appetite had deserted me again.

"What the...?" Luke started as the door swung open.

"Fuck," I muttered, leaping in front of him. The house had been trashed. "Stay here; I'll check the place."

Shit! I forgot I was supposed to be playing the helpless female.

Luckily, Luke didn't notice. "Don't bother. It was Tia."

The vase from the hall table lay shattered on the floor, a puddle of water spreading from the remains. The table itself rested on its side, the polished surface chipped and scratched. I picked up a screwdriver from the floor and looked up at an abstract painting now more fucked than the artist originally intended.

"Your sister did...this?"

"We had an argument."

The carnage continued from the dining room to the den. A tornado would have done less damage.

"Must have been some fight."

Luke's sigh settled in the still air. "It was."

"What was—?" Never mind. "You fought about me, didn't you?"

"She told me what she'd done, about getting you sacked, and I blew up at her." He nudged his broken surfboard with his foot. "She didn't take it too well."

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"No reason for you to be sorry. It's Tia who's the problem."

I bent to pick up a stray pool ball from the den floor. "I'm contributing to it."

How did one teenager make so much mess in so little time?

"Hey, leave that." Luke crouched beside me and turned my chin to face him. "Nora can clear that up tomorrow."

"Nora?"

"My housekeeper. She works Monday to Friday. Now, will you leave it?"

"I'll help her in the morning."

"Fine. But tonight we're going to bed."

He stood, lifting me with him, then wrapped me up in his arms. His motives were a mystery, but he'd cared enough to come after me.

"Were you planning on doing that together?"

"Do you want to?"

Did I? Good question. I totted up the months I'd been without in my head and found it reached double figures. That last time hadn't even been in a bed. A rather rushed effort on a kitchen island, if I recalled correctly. A certain blond CIA agent had lured me into his apartment with a promise of donuts, and we'd been tearing at each other's clothes before the door swung closed. I'd got a bruise on my elbow from bumping into his fridge, and my backside nearly froze on the marble counter. Worse, I never did get my donut. Asshole.