One Good Turn by Judith Arnold Page A

had wasn’t love, he wanted it. And he had no intention of letting go.
    * * *
    SHE WAS FALLING in love with him.
    It was too soon, really. She’d known him less than two weeks. Just because he was intelligent, just because he was rivetingly handsome, just because he was thoughtful enough to shorten his pace to match hers as they strolled westward toward Georgetown in the balmy, starlit evening, just because her hand felt so secure in his... None of that could explain her certainty that she was destined to love Luke Benning.
    It was always possible that he’d made his noble statements about not being demanding merely to soften her up—but she couldn’t believe that. It was also possible she was willing to label her feelings for him love because she was desperately attracted to him—but she knew the workings of her mind and her heart too well to be able to fool herself. If she wanted to make love with him badly enough, she wouldn’t rationalize. She would just do it.
    She did want to make love with him—but even more, she wanted to
love
him. She wanted to know all the warmth inside him, warmth he seemed to have spent too much of his life containing and ignoring. She wanted to savor the trust that was building between them, not to rush it but to let it blossom at its own leisurely pace. For the moment she wanted nothing more than to experience the love his fingers were making to hers as his hand enveloped hers.
    “Do you have any plans for tomorrow?” he asked as they ventured into her neighborhood.
    She peered up at him and smiled. “You tell me.”
    He returned her smile, and her heart quickened at the unique beauty of his features. If it wasn’t love she was experiencing, it was something equally exciting—and whatever it was, she was thrilled by it.
    “We could drive down to Mt. Vernon for the day if you’d like.”
    “Would you like that?” she asked, frowning slightly. Last Saturday they’d gone to the Air and Space Museum; Mt. Vernon was like another museum. Just because she was appreciated all the historical tourist attractions Washington had to offer didn’t mean Luke wanted to spend every weekend staring at museum displays.
    “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t want to do it,” he assured her. They turned the corner onto her block. “I could even arrange for a picnic lunch, if you think you could stomach some more shrimp and chicken wings.”
    “I think you’re plotting to make me fat,” she scolded.
    “Found out at last,” he confessed, eyeing her petite figure and chuckling.
    They drew to a halt at the foot of the stairs leading up to the front door of the brownstone where she lived. Still holding her hand, Luke turned her to face him. “All right,” she capitulated, scaling the first step so she was nearly standing eye to eye with him. “Make me fat, see if I care. We’ll go to Mt. Vernon and eat shrimp.”
    “I’ll pick you up at eleven.”
    “Great.”
    Still he didn’t release her. She didn’t want him to. She concentrated on the shape and strength of his hand enfolding hers, the dry smoothness of his palm, the tapered length of his fingers, the light pressure of his thumb against her wrist. She wished he would take her other hand in his, as well.
    He did. He held her hands at her sides and moved closer, close enough to brush his lips over hers. It was barely a whisper of a kiss, yet it ignited tiny shocks of energy throughout her entire body. Reflexively she gasped.
    “I’m sorry,” he said, though he didn’t look the least bit repentant.
    She meant to tell him she forgave him. She meant to clarify that, while she was fairly traditional about love and lovemaking, there were really no hard and fast rules about a kiss between friends.
    What she did was lean forward until their mouths were touching again.
    She heard a barely audible groan coming from him—or perhaps from her. Their lips fused, moved, opened, and then their tongues found each other. Luke let go of