He might be right, but Miranda felt a warm glow of pleasure that he’d chosen her as his refuge.

Before she could say anything, he continued, his tone reflective. “I can’t remember the last time I did something I knew for a fact was wrong.”

“You’re a highly principled person.”

She felt him shake his head. “The temptation hasn’t been there. Until now.” He tipped her face up so their eyes met. “Do you know how damn good this feels?”

“Really damn good,” she said.

“I was cranky as a bear about going to that gala without you.” He dropped a kiss on her lips.

Miranda felt it all the way to her toes.

“There was a necklace there I wanted to buy you.”

She held up her hand. “No more gifts.” Knowing he’d wanted to buy her something was enough of a thrill.

“I haven’t given you anywhere near what you’ve given me. You broke me loose. I don’t know how—” He fell silent.

“How what?”

“How about a glass of that wine, after all?” he said.

She could tell he wasn’t going to finish his sentence for her. “Red or white?”

“Real men drink red wine.” His humor didn’t reach his eyes. They were shadowed by something she couldn’t read.

Before she could get up, he rose to his feet. “I’ll give you a hand.”

She led the way to her small kitchen. When Luke stepped in, the space seemed to shrink, so she could practically feel the air moving when he did.

Pulling her best bottle of merlot out of the tiny built-in wine rack, she rummaged through a drawer for a corkscrew.

“I’ll take care of that,” he said.

As she put the wine and the corkscrew in his strong hands, she glanced up at him with a smile. “I was pretty grumpy about not being with you tonight, too.”

It took him only a few seconds to extract the cork. “Good to know.” His answering smile flashed and was gone as he poured the garnet-colored liquid into the two balloon glasses she set out.

“It’s not that I begrudged the charity your presence at their gala,” she said. “It’s that we have so little time left, I hate to give up even one day.”

His glass halted in midair. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “You have to go back to football on Sunday. You don’t have, um, relationships during the season.” She’d read all about how Luke didn’t date during football season. She didn’t expect to be the exception.

“So you know about that.” He finished lifting the glass to his lips and swallowed a slug of wine. “I didn’t start out with the intention of getting this involved.”

That stung, even though she understood. He had gotten more involved than he expected, which was a backhanded compliment.

“I didn’t, either,” she said with equal honesty. “Sometimes circumstances weave themselves together to create a moment out of time. And when someone walks into that moment, you can’t stop what happens. You just savor it for what it is . . . a strange, wonderful interlude.”

“An interlude.” He stared down at the wine he swirled in his glass. “Is that what this is?”

“What else could it be?” She’d expected him to be relieved that she knew the parameters of their relationship. So why didn’t he look pleased?

He lifted his glass with a smile that didn’t come close to warming his eyes. “To interludes,” he said, touching the rim to hers. Then he tossed back the entire glass. “Strange and wonderful.”

He refilled his glass and met her eyes. “Maybe it could be—” An electronic tone sounded from his inner jacket pocket. “Ah, hell!” he said, reaching inside his tux and bringing the phone to his ear. “Hey, Ron.”

Miranda wanted to strangle Ron, even though he must be the friend cleaning up after Trevor. Luke had started to say something about their relationship. Some sort of possibility. Maybe it could be . . . what? A dangerous flicker of hope came to life in her heart.

“Thanks, man. I’ll send over those tickets tomorrow.” Luke’s shoulders went rigid. “I’m going to make some things real clear to him.”

He disconnected, and drained his wineglass to the bottom. “My friend Ron says the coast is clear. I guess that means I should go.”

So he wasn’t going to finish their interrupted conversation.

“Stay here as long as you like,” she said. She’d welcome any time she could steal with him.

“I have to talk to Trevor.”

“What are you going to say?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his expression grim. “Hell if I know. I was pretty definite about the rules, but he either doesn’t listen or doesn’t care. Or both.”

Miranda saw the hurt in Luke’s eyes. For all his confidence and success, his brother’s betrayal still wounded him. “It must be hard to be your brother,” she said. “Trevor knows that he’ll never be as successful as you are.”

“He could be, in his own field,” Luke said. “He’s smart, really smart.”

Miranda thought of Trevor’s free use of his brother’s apartment and the concierge services that went with it. “I get the feeling you’ve helped Trevor a few times along the way.”

“Why wouldn’t I when I have the resources to do it?”