Chapter 5

"Get one thing straight, SantAngelo, I'm only here to...What's that?"

Skye had stormed into The Nooner under a full head of steam, her only reason for being there to tell Mr SantAngelo in no uncertain terms what she thought of his high-handed attitude. She had pumped her emotional muscles in preparation for this latest in her seemingly constant battles of will with this most contrary of informants. She had no intention of giving in to the warm shiver that was always at the ready whenever he came into her vision, the flutter of a thousand nervous butterflies every time she heard his silk-and-honey voice. This time she was going to tell him off and make it stick.

With that resolve in mind, she had strode purposefully into the `little bistro', as he had called it, told the hostess her name - the poor girl had looked at her with please-don't-eat-me doe eyes - and stalked to his table. SantAngelo had been seated, sipping ice water and perusing the menu. When he saw her, he rose and waited for her to get close enough to hear him. But before he could spout a single pleasantry, she had begun her diatribe. His only response had been the slight lifting of one eyebrow and a not-quite-convincingly furtive glance at the table. Following his eyes, Skye spotted a large glass filled with some light brown substance.

"I took the liberty of ordering you a drink to help you relax. Please," he waved a black-silk-covered arm in the direction of the booth, "have a seat."

Nostrils flaring, Skye reminded herself that they were in public and she did not wish to make a scene. She eased her tall frame into the booth, glancing at the glass in front of her. It was unusually tall for an alcoholic beverage, with a straw sticking straight up from its center. Filing it under `I'll figure it out later', she returned her attention to SantAngelo as he seated himself across from her.

Lord in Heaven he was a pleasant eye-full! Today he wore a black silk suit with a blood-red shirt. Just enough coal black chest hair peaked out of the open collar to whet her appetite. Her fingertips tingled as she imagined how it would feel to run them though that thick mat, easing over muscle and sinew, stomach and hip, till they glided into even thicker black Heaven, wrapped around...

"Would you like to order from the menu or just devour me a la carte?"

Blinking to free herself from the grip of her erotic fantasy, Skye fought a blush, busying herself with laying her napkin in her lap just right. His warm chuckle made it worse and she glared to let him know she did not appreciate his humor.

"Please, Skye, could we have a temporary truce? You see, since my first experience with your gender, I have found women extremely easy to manipulate. I can usually talk them into just about anything. But you, ah, you were different. Which, of course, annoyed me so I became a bit difficult. If you will allow me, I would like to take this luncheon opportunity to make amends."

Though Skye watched him as closely as she had ever watched a suspect, she found nothing in his eyes or body language that said he was jerking her around. His ebony eyes were soft today, glowing like black velvet. The line of his mouth was more welcoming, his whole attitude more relaxed than she had ever seen him. Maybe a new start wasn't such a bad idea.

Feeling suddenly shy and off-center, Skye toyed with the straw that adorned her mystery beverage, taking a sip while she digested his words.

"Malt. This is a chocolate malt!"

His smug look brought back the urge to throttle him, but only for the second the expression lasted. Then he smiled, showing straight white teeth, and shrugged.

"Do you like it?"

"It's my favorite. When I was a kid, my grandpa..."

Skye caught herself, wondering what on Earth she was doing talking to a man she hardly knew - an informant, for Heaven's sake! - about her past. Desk duty must be getting to her worse than she realized.

Luke listened politely, hoping Skye would elaborate, give him more of herself willingly. It hadn't taken much research on his part to learn about her weakness for chocolate malts. He had hoped touching on a pleasure from her past would make her want to talk to him, tell him about herself, her likes and dislikes, her desires for her future, her fears, all the things he found he desperately wanted to know about Agent Skyelar Garfield.

Why? What was there about this beautiful woman that was so different? He had been with many beautiful women in his life, some skilled, some innocent, but all just means to an end. He occasionally desired a physical release so he spent himself inside the feminine organ created for the purpose. That was all sex had ever been to him. A physical release. He had never felt true desire for a specific woman. But now, as his eyes roamed over Skye's well-formed body, warming himself at the hearth of her ice-fire visage, he felt an ache begin in the vicinity of his loins that disturbed him. Analyzing her for exploitable weaknesses was acceptable, falling victim to her feminine web was not.

"May I take your order?"

Luke's eyes rose slowly to pin the waitress with sparks of flame, the contour of his lips shifting ever so subtly, changing his smile into an annoyed snarl. His dark tone illustrated his dislike of interruptions.

"I will summon you when we wish to order."

The skittish waitress took two steps back, blinking as though she had been slapped. Skye felt sorry for the poor kid - she was all of sixteen under her Cindy Crawford makeup - and came to her rescue.

"I've eaten here enough to know the menu by heart. I'll have tuna salad on wheat, hold the pickle, chips and a coke - no ice. The malt goes on my ticket."

Luke had to mentally bite his tongue to keep from tearing into Skye in front of the help. How dare she countermand him! He kept his eyes on the waitress as Skye gave her order, not wishing Skye to know how angry she was making him. Her insistence that she buy her own lunch was the last straw. He shifted his gaze to Skye's face, letting only the barest tip of the iceberg of his anger shine through his black glare. The slight widening of her eyes indicated she had noticed his displeasure, the peaking of one brow told him she didn't care.

"Skye," he forced the words through tightly gritted teeth, "I will pay for lunch."

Skye shook her head. The glimmering platinum waves of her long hair bouncing about her shoulders brought to his mind the image of young, innocent children jumping rope and giggling.

At him.

Brats!

"Thank you, Mr SantAngelo, but since this is a business meeting I will put my lunch on my expense account."

Luke inhaled deeply, realizing in surprise that he was actually shaking with the effort it took to control his fury. How could this woman make him so angry in such a short time? It seemed a talent only she possessed. One he sincerely wished she would lose.

"Skye, I invited you, I feel..."

As her warm palm slid over the back of his hand where it lay on the cool tabletop, Luke felt an electric jolt singe him clear to his toes. Thoughts froze in his brain, words on his tongue. Skye leaned closer to whisper, "Be thankful I'm not emasculating you by insisting on paying for your lunch and give the poor girl your order before she joins Alice down the nearest rabbit hole, never to be seen again."

The electricity of Skye's touch combined with Luke's temper to create a maelstrom within his chest that was threatening to explode. He imagined the restaurant engulfed in flames, the doe-eyed witless twit of a waitress screaming as the hungry fire consumed her, the cheap Formica tabletops bubbling as they melted onto the pseudo-parquet floor. Ah, what a gratifying picture.

Snapping himself back to reality, Luke once again graced the waitress with his gaze, only this time his eyes were hooded, seductive, drawing her in. She smiled tentatively, cocking one hip with flirtatious instinct.

"I'll have a steak, very rare, salad with French dressing and a baked potato with sour cream and chives. Water will be fine."

"Thank you," she squeaked as she fled back to the kitchen to tell her friends about the strange, sexy man eating lunch with what, in her opinion, had to be one of those European models.

Luke watched her go, unaware of the feral gleam in his eye, the snarl still twisting his lips.

"Planning a little waitress hors d'oeuvre?"

Black brows raised innocently as Luke slyly slid his eyes to meet Skye's sarcastic question.

"That one would be a tender morsel, but I'm in the mood for," his dark eyes slid over Skye, appraising, complimenting, caressing every inch of her till gooseflesh rose on her arms, "beef, at the moment."

Skye took great interest in her malt for a minute, gathering her thoughts, which seemed easily jumbled whenever He was around.

`Good grief," she thought with equal parts awe and disgust, `I just capitalized him!'

With a barely noticeable shake of her head, she returned her piercing gaze to Luke's face, catching and holding his fiery eyes with her icy intensity.

"Did you call me here just to make nice, or do you really have something for me?"

Luke leaned forward, pulling her hand into his grasp before she could discern his intent.

"Oh, yes, Skye," his husky whisper raised the hair on the back of her neck and ignited a slow-burning blaze at her core, "I have something for you. You have no idea."

She found it hard to draw a deep breath as his breath fanned her face, the soft scent of mint teasing her nostrils. He slid her malt aside, though she took no notice, and pulled her closer until their lips brushed when he spoke.

"Anything you wish is yours, beautiful Skye. Open yourself, give me...," he growled as he took her lips in a fierce, engulfing kiss, "...everything!"

Skye felt so lost, yet so centered; so confused, yet so certain all the answers in the universe lay within her reach. Her eyes closed of their own volition as Luke made love to her with his lips, teeth, tongue. He nipped, licked, sucked, blew cool fire across her burning lips. Her muscles no longer obeyed her, answering instead to his commands. When his hand tangled in her hair and pulled lightly on the silken waves, her head obediently leaned to one side, then the other, to allow him complete possession of her mouth. Skye moaned against his lips, shivering with pleasure as he responded with a deep-throated growl. He gave no quarter, gently brushing his hand over her ear, then slowly easing one fingertip along the folds within, while his other hand held her firm, a willing prisoner to this exquisite torture.

As Luke's tongue began its rhythmic dance, sliding between her lips, then retreating, entering fully, sliding back to brush along the underside of her lip, then plunging to fill her, Skye felt tiny contractions begin deep inside her body. What was happening to her? It felt so good to relinquish her precious control to this man, this enigma so full of masculine power and presence she should have been overcome by the need to run in the opposite direction long ago. Instead, she wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms and stay there forever.

Forever. Was this the way her mother had felt as she lay in the arms of the man who had never been called `Father'? As, in a few minutes of mindless passion like Skye was feeling at this moment, she had destroyed all her chances for a life of college and career, sentencing herself instead to depressed motherhood and early suicide? Control - so important, so precious - given to a man was control lost forever.

Leaving a bruise that, on any other man, would have been visible for days, Skye slammed her hands against Luke's shoulders, shoving away from him. Her actions caught him so unaware, he had no time to hide his feelings. Tiny beads of sweat accented the passion that colored every plane of his handsome face. His eyelids slid open slowly, his expression changing from bliss to growing anger as his eyes came into focus.

"Why," he hissed through clenched teeth, "did you push me away?"

Skye's expression had lost all its softness, hardening to a mask of icy aloofness. Her voice held no more warmth than her ice-blue eyes.

"I am not a plaything for your casual entertainment, SantAngelo. I came here today on FBI business, not as an afternoon quickie. Either you come up with something to pique my professional interest or I make that order to go."

Eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring, he fought the snarl that threatened, barely winning the battle. What the hell was the matter with this woman? She had him bouncing from flaming desire to erupting anger in the space of a single breath passing between her beautiful full lips.

"Is being such an accomplished tease one of the talents you developed for your profession or merely a well-beloved hobby?"

Tiny slivers of pale blue ice shone from behind narrowed eyelids. She pulled the malt glass to the center of the table, glaring at him. Toying with the straw, the corners of her mouth began to rise in an evil grin that would have done him proud. Her voice was black silk.

"SantAngelo, my mother always warned me not to take presents from strange men. She said it would make them think I owed them something."

Mesmerized by the sudden change in Skye, Luke watched as her lips closed around the straw, feeling as though those same lips were closing around the most sensitive portion of his anatomy. He blinked sensuously, tipping his head back and lowering his lids to watch her through long black lashes. As she moved the straw slowly through her lips, her blood red lipstick staining its surface, his loins filled to bursting with the need for release.

"Just in case she was right."

With a quick flip of her wrist, Skye tipped the tall malt glass into Luke's lap. It did a perfect flip in mid-air and landed, top down, squarely on his overheated loins.

Wide-eyed with shock, Luke just stared as Skye rose to her feet and glared down at him.

"Maybe that will cool you off. Don't bother me again unless you have something of professional interest to me."

With that, she turned and strutted from the restaurant, head held high, back straight, hips enticing every man's eyes to follow them.

Especially one pair of jet black eyes, shooting sparks of red flame. Those eyes, though filled with an anger hot enough to melt the plastic container full of sugar packets, also shone with a desire that had never before filled their black depths. Yet deep in the heart of one very angry Luke SantAngelo grew a grudging respect that, more than anything else, ensured further contact between the man of fire and his icy prey.