known her right away. She hadn’t changed much. Even the baseball cap snugged over her crown was the same. He snorted out a laugh that was lost to the wind. The woman just couldn’t give up on the Detroit Tigers even though they hadn’t won a World Series since 1984.
Despite her poor taste in baseball teams, she looked good. Better than good, actually, even with her dark hair sprouting from the back of the cap, perspiration dotting her upper lip and dirt streaking her right cheek. Her eyes were still a couple shades darker than caramel and she’d kept her figure, that long-legged, slim-hipped athletic build that had given him many a sleepless night in his youth.
He frowned, realizing that none of the women he’d dated during the past decade had looked anything like her. There had been blondes and redheads, but not a single brunette. Certainly none of those women had been a fan of baseball much less able to pitch one low and inside while the bases were loaded in the bottom of the ninth.
That had been only one of Ali’s talents, of course. Remembering the others nearly had him crashing his bike into the unforgiving trunk of a sugar maple.
He’d thought he’d forgotten her. No, that wasn’t true. He’d never forgotten her. But over the years he’d convinced himself that adolescence and inexperience had magnified and romanticized the feelings he’d once had for her. In a way, she’d been the girl next door, since their grandmothers had lived side by side. He and Ali had always known one another and hung around together since Luke and her older brother, Dane, had been good friends.
Then, the summer she was seventeen, the pigtails he’d once pulled had become the sleek tumble of hair he’d weaved his fingers through. God, he still remembered the magic of that first kiss and the way her slim arms had wrapped around him and held tight when he would have backed away. He’d been twenty at the time and Luke had known that everyone on the island, including her family, thought their match was a mistake.
Looking back now, he didn’t blame them. He’d had no prospects at all, just big dreams as he’d pumped gas for the luxury cabin cruisers that stopped at Whitey’s Marina. Ali, on the other hand, was set to graduate top in her class and had plans to go away for her degree after completing a couple years at the community college on the mainland to save money.
He’d always figured his leaving had been as much a favor to her as a way out for him. Despite being accepted at the University of Michigan a few hours’ drive downstate, she’d begun to talk about staying on Trillium, taking correspondence courses or transferring to a less prestigious university near Traverse City and commuting a couple days of the week. Both of their futures had seemed so doomed.
Then his grandmother had died.
Luke could still hear the words Elsie Banning had spoken to him as she lay in a hospital bed, hooked up to an assortment of beeping, buzzing machines.
She’d gripped his hand with her knobby fingers and in a voice barely above a whisper she’d commanded, “Be happy, Luke, and make me proud. You’re not your father. It breaks my heart to see you settle for being less than what you were meant to be.”
Even now, her words drove him. He revved the bike’s engine, catching air as he crested another hill. Before touching down again on the other side he caught a glimpse of the big lake glittering in the midday sun. His grandmother had always loved that lake and the limitless potential she said she saw in its sheer vastness.
“I’ve made something of myself!” He shouted the words as he raced against the long shadows of his past.
At thirty-four, he enjoyed the distinction of being one of the few dot-comers who’d gotten rich and then wisely gotten out before the bubble burst. Since then he’d invested in more traditional ventures, primarily real estate, cultivating a reputation as a shrewd dealmaker. He’d accomplished every goal he’d set and exceeded even his own very high expectations.
He was Luke Banning, successful businessman, respected entrepreneur. No one pitied him now or looked askance at him when he walked into a room. Hell, people paid him large sums of money and sat shoulder to shoulder in crowded auditoriums just for the privilege of hearing him share his expertise.
“I’ve made something of myself,” he shouted again, wondering why his triumphant return to Trillium didn’t feel quite as sweet as he’d imagined it would.
And wondering why it was that for all he had accumulated over the years something still seemed to be missing.
CHAPTER TWO
ALI thumbed through the clothes in her closet once again. Even though Audra wasn’t in the room, she swore that every time she selected something, she heard her twin whispering, “You’re not going to wear that, are you?”
And so it was that with a mere forty minutes before the Conlans were to meet with Luke Banning, Ali found herself standing in her bra and panties, and dithering between a navy skirt and a black skirt that were the exact same conservative cut and by the same maker.
Gazing at the garments, she muttered aloud, “When did I become so damned boring?”
Exasperated, she tossed both skirts onto the small mountain of clothes on her bed and stuffed her arm into the far reaches of the cramped closet. After a minute of fruitless fishing, she finally produced what she was looking for: A suit the color of freshly spilled blood.
The jacket cut in sharply at the waist and then fell away at the hip. As for the skirt, it was a little shorter than the rest of her closet’s offerings. Instead of ending primly just below the knee, it skimmed to the middle of her thighs. She’d bought it on sale last fall while shopping with Audra, which explained the vivid color and more daring cut. She’d planned to take it back. In fact, the tags still dangled from one sleeve. Now she was glad she’d kept it. Black, tan and navy just didn’t suit her mood today.
Blood-red did.
Half an hour later, she stood in front of the full-length mirror that was affixed to the back of her bedroom door and surveyed her appearance.
None of this, she assured herself, was for Luke’s benefit. She’d been thinking about making some changes, paying a little more attention to small details like putting on eyeliner and a faint sweep of blush to highlight her cheekbones.
Besides, she didn’t want the man thinking that all she owned were blue jeans and ball caps. She wanted him to see her as a professional and an equal. And okay, she could admit it. She wanted him to see her as a woman…a woman who was off-limits.
She’d left her hair loose. She couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t yanked it all back in some sort of clip or another. When they were girls, she had envied Audra her wild tumble of curls. The grass always being greener, her sister had complained mightily that Ali had lucked out with her stick-straight mane. Today, Ali had to admit, she rather liked the way it fell to her shoulders in a sleek cascade the same color as the antique mahogany bureau that had once belonged to her grandmother.
The suit fit as well as she remembered, accentuating curves she hadn’t known she possessed. She would die a slow and painful death before admitting it to Audra, but Ali really liked the way it looked and the way it made her feel: professional and put together, with the side bonus of sexiness.
Then she glanced down at her shoes. The serviceable black pumps with the rounded toe looked like something an arthritic grandmother would wear now that they were matched with a chic suit and a white silk blouse.
She didn’t want to do it, but Ali finally broke down. Picking up the telephone, she dialed Audra’s number, praying that her perennially late sibling had not become suddenly punctual and already left for the resort. A breathless Audra picked up on the fourth ring.
“Aud, you haven’t left.” She sighed in relief.
“I’m on my way, I swear. Practically out the door as we speak. Seth just…and then I…” She trailed off on a throaty laugh that made words unnecessary. Ali swore she felt herself blush.
“Newlyweds,”