Free Delilah's Weakness by Kathleen Creighton

had activated a dimmer switch, Delilah thought. Although he was smiling, the laughter didn’t touch his eyes.
    "I’m…having a little trouble with the courts. My company’s temporarily shut down. A little forced vacation, you might say."
    "Oh, come on," she snapped. "And there’s nothing in the world you’d rather do with your vacation than herd sheep? You live in Mammoth, right? Maybe you hadn’t noticed, but the skiing isn’t too shabby up there this time of year. Or wait—maybe the bright lights are more your style. Reno’s just a short airplane ride over the mountain. And, for that matter, where were you going when you crashed? You must have had something—"
    "How’d you get to be so damn cynical?" Luke exploded, then reined himself in with visible effort. "Look, I don’t understand the third degree. You’re looking a pretty good gift horse in the mouth, it seems to me. You have a big problem here, and I thought—"
    "You thought I’d jump at the offer?" Delilah paused in front of him, incredulous. "Mr. MacGregor, I don’t know you from Adam. I’ve known you less than a day, and your story is, excuse me, more than a tad farfetched. I can’t buy it, and I can’t figure out what you really want from me, and that makes me very nervous."
    Luke smiled at her, and his voice acquired those husky, spine–tingling dissonances. "Would you believe I fell madly in love with you at first sight and just want to be near you?"
    "No," Delilah said, unmoved. "I wouldn’t."
    He hesitated just long enough, allowed his gaze to become just intense enough, to start a shiver on its way down her spine. Then he gave a shrug that seemed to say, "It was worth a try." He said blandly, "I’ll bet you’d believe me if I said I just wanted to jump your bones."
    She managed to keep her voice at the opposite end of the temperature scale from her temper. "I wouldn’t believe that either."
    With real curiosity he asked, "Why not?"
    "I’m sure you don’t have to go this far to find a presentable set of bones, Mr. MacGregor."
    "Okay, can we cut the ‘Mister’ stuff? My name is
Luke."
Now he had a stubborn, implacable look—the look of a man bent on getting what he wanted.
    It occurred to Delilah there might be a darker side to the charming Luke MacGregor, even a ruthless side.
    He started to rake his fingers through his hair, encountered his injury, winced, and made an impatient gesture with his hand. "I’d just like to stick around for a while, that’s all. I thought I could pay my way and help you out at the same time." He got up from the table and strolled to the window. Again he touched the wound in his scalp, then dropped his hand to his side.
    Every move he makes is graceful, Delilah thought, watching the pull of expensive fabric across his shoulders. She was beginning to think she’d have been better off with Amos. At least she knew what he wanted.
    "Mr. MacGregor," she ventured, swallowing a dryness in her throat. "Are you running from the police?"
    "No!" He looked at her in surprise, and then smiled. "No." He went back to looking out the window. He seemed pensive, subdued. It occurred to her that he was deliberately making himself seem less vibrant, less alive. Less threatening. "I like it here, Delilah. I could use a place like this right now. Quiet, peaceful, no internet, no phone—"
    "No phone!" She pounced with the air of one crying, "Ah–hah!" "I thought you
wanted
a phone."
    "To call out," he said pointedly.
    "Then you
are
trying to avoid somebody." She took a deep breath. "Mr. MacGregor, it seems to me
you
are the one who needs a favor."
    Seconds ticked slowly by. He isn’t a very good liar, she thought, noting the tension in his shoulders. She wondered if he would decide to tell her the truth, and whether she’d be able to tell if he did.
    Crossly, and with a touch of embarrassment, he said, "All right. When I, uh, landed in your field, I was on my way to see someone."
    A woman, Delilah supplied silently.
Of