We sat together on the couch an hour later silently holding hands. Neither of us knew who my passenger had been, but his passing affected us anyway. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this turn of events. I don’t suppose his death was my fault, just as it wasn’t Luke’s, but some of the guilt had to settle on my shoulders. I had, after all, been the pilot.

We’d left the body where it was, figuring that someone official would eventually want to see the whole scene. Luke did climb inside from the pilot’s side to look for anything salvageable. There had been a couple plastic crates and a duffel bag. The crates were wedged in from the roof buckling, so we left them and took the bag.

The radio hadn’t worked. Maybe, if I had my memories, I could’ve fixed it. I didn’t know. Luke had said someone would start to miss him in a couple days since he usually came down on the weekends. They’d know he didn’t have his phone, someone would worry, they’d find the bridge out, and mount a rescue mission. He was certain of all that, so I believed it too.

He’d actually said he hoped I didn’t mind sticking around a while longer. I quelled the relief pumping inside me and assured him I didn’t.

“I’m going to start dinner,” Luke said now. He stepped over the duffel bag and disappeared into the kitchen.

I stared at the bag, not wanting to open it. Didn’t know why. Well, it might contain answers and, apparently, I didn’t want any yet. I followed him into the kitchen to avoid it.

I soon found myself sitting at the table, chopping vegetables and watching Luke. Was there anything he couldn’t do? He had three pots and a skillet going. I wasn’t sure what he wanted to make, but was too content just sitting, smelling, and watching to ask. I figured if the beginning could smell this good, the outcome would be heavenly.

As Luke buzzed around the kitchen explaining his every preparation like a master chef teaching students, I wondered if I had ever done this before. Was there a man somewhere who had allowed me into his culinary domain to be a taste-tester and potato-cuber? Following on the heels of that was another thought.

“Do you have a man in your life?”

He quirked an eyebrow at me. “Where did that come from?”

“Right. Sorry. Never mind.”

He smiled. “It’s all right.” Stirring his concoction, he smiled a little less. “I was engaged once. George was my, well, manager, I guess. Maybe more of a press agent.”

I let the failed engagement lie. “Painters have managers and press agents?”

“Well, he booked shows for me, gave official statements to the media, dealt with caterers and whatnot. He handled everything, and all I had to do was paint. I was happy.” He shrugged. “Turned out George was, too.”

“He liked controlling things, including his fiancé,” I guessed.

A vision materialized in my mind of Luke all splotched with rainbow colors, surrounded by canvas, and chained to the wall like a fairytale character.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, “I like take-charge guys. Hell, when I get painting, I forget about the details of anything else, so I need the help. But there was this one moment when I sort of…woke up.”

He leaned a hip on the counter and stared out the window. The lighting was perfect to emphasize the cut of his cheekbones and the odd color of his eyes.

“I was about to get out of a limo taking us to the opening of my tenth show in Chicago. He’d been going on and on about an article one of the papers had done on me.” He gave me a sort of embarrassed grin. “I was flattered that someone would go to such trouble researching me for that much space with five pictures. But George…” He shook his head and sighed. “He was upset because I wasn’t smiling in two of the photos, didn’t look professional enough in another, and that he wasn’t in any of them.”

I frowned, trying to understand. “And that changed your mind about him?” Because he’d bitched about photos?

Luke shook his head. “I changed my mind when he told me to ‘remember to smile this time, for Christ’s sake.’” He turned back to his cooking. “All the other times he’d done and said things like that… I don’t know. They just finally solidified. I realized we were together because it was convenient to wrap a relationship around our business arrangement. It turned out not to be that difficult to say good-bye for either of us.”

For whatever reason, a relationship of convenience I could understand. Maybe there was something like that in my past? When nothing resembling a memory surfaced, I moved on.

“Is he still in Chicago managing painters?”

“Sort of. He bought a gallery, last I heard.” He was quiet for a moment, stirring and tasting. “And he hated it up here. Couldn’t stand the isolation.”

“I love it here.” I realized I probably shouldn’t have said that when he gave me a bright smile. “Room service is a little slow, though.”

He laughed and turned back around, tending to his pots again.

What was George like otherwise? Luke’s comment about liking take-charge men seemed to be his way of saying he thought I was one and he appreciated that about me too.

Damn it. If we were anywhere else, if I had my goddamn mind, we would be perfect together.

“I’m ready for the potatoes,” he said, bringing me back from my fantasies.

I scooped up as many potato cubes as my hands could hold and took them to him. Watching his profile instead of what I did, I dropped the potatoes in the skillet and scorched the side of my hand on the rim. With a curse, I snatched my hand away only to have it snatched again by Luke as he dragged me to the sink and thrust it under icy water.

Feeling both thankful and damned, I stood there, his back to my front. He rattled on about how he saw the danger coming and didn’t react fast enough to stop me. He apologized for grabbing me. I moved a little closer and breathed deep the scent of him all mixed up with the deliciousness of his culinary skills. My heart throbbed.

As he chattered on about how my wound wasn’t too bad, I leaned just that much closer and dipped my head to come within millimeters of touching my lips to the side of his ivory throat. Then my eyes drifted shut and my lips caressed him into silence.

I held his hand under the frigid water and sighed against his skin, feeling him shiver. I showed him how unable I was to resist, and he let me. I couldn’t help wondering if maybe as wrong as this was, as stupidly selfish, maybe there was something good in it. It certainly felt good, Lord help me.

My other hand found its way across his stomach, wrapping my arm around him, and easing us that scant inch closer, pressing us together. He exhaled hard and his other hand landed on mine, pressing my fingers more firmly into the muscles of his abs. I wanted skin, so while I got my first real taste of him along the column of his neck, I took our fingers down to come back up under his shirt. He tilted his head, letting me have what I wanted, and gave a breathy moan. I got my other hand out of the water to cup one tempting pectoral and elicit that moan again, only deeper this time, when I scratched a nipple with my fingernail.

Just when my fingers discovered a trail of hair below his navel, his hand tightened on mine and pulled me away. I made a protesting sound when he moved so I couldn’t reach his neck anymore either. Then it clicked.

Luke was saying no.

I let him go and stepped back. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head as he turned the water off. “Not your fault.”

“I just… I…”

“I know. Me too.”

“But we shouldn’t.”

“Right.” He turned around and looked me in the eyes. “You could be married, and I don’t—”

“No ring.” I held up my left hand. It was stupid of me to debate this; I knew he was right.

He shook his head. “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. It could’ve come off in the crash. Maybe you don’t wear it when you fly because your fingers swell.”

I snorted. “Reaching.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, bringing my attention to the wet handprint I’d left there. “Damn it, Jack, maybe the fucking this sparkles and when sunlight hits it rainbows shoot all over the cockpit and blind you.”

I grinned at him. “You really like me.”

He sighed and gazed up at the ceiling for a moment. “I do. I’m just not giving in to any of that without knowing who the hell you are. I won’t do that to you, or to me. This isn’t some kind of no-strings hook-up here. There are real people who could be hurt, including you, if you’re committed to someone.”

I wanted to touch him. Stroke his cheek, pet his hair, hold his hand… Instead, I just said, “You’re a good man, Luke Walker.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m trying.”

I made the weirdest sound of agreement I could then said, “Strong in you, the Force is.”

He laughed, loud and startled, and was gorgeous for it.

It didn’t feel so much like rejection anymore, and that was okay. This was the sane, adult approach to take and we’d be glad we took it later. Besides, living with a man who wanted me meant I had to be doing something right.