Page 42 of Condemned By Secrets

“Yes, what?” Anna’s voice was soft and her breath quick as she tilted her head back to meet his gaze.

The dazed look on her face nearly crushed Luther’s resolve. He took a deep breath and looked away from those golden-brown pools so full of desire. No matter what her eyes said, he wasn’t going to push her. He needed her to say the words—to ask. Because he wasn’t going to take her when she wasn’t ready. “Yes, I have a crowbar.”

“Oh.”

But good intentions only went so far. Struggling against his own need, Luther released her, and the ache returned to his chest. “I’ll go get it.” Not looking back at her, he walked away before he took things too far, too fast.

CHAPTER 17

“Is this furniture or décor?” Luther asked as they finished unboxing Anna’s most prized possession.

“Both!” It was a bench made from architectural salvage—a testament to history as well as art. Seeing the bench again was like seeing an old friend, and Anna couldn’t help running her hands along the top of it.

The back and seat were fashioned from 18th-century paneled doors made of heart pine. They had been stripped to a honey-gold color that warmed under her hand. The arms were 19th-century wooden corbels she’d spent weeks scraping off years of chipped paint. She’d finished them in a clean, crisp white that let the eccentric Victorian details shine.

Tracing a finger along the delicate swirls, she beamed at Luther. “Isn’t it gorgeous!”

The white of the arms contrasted with the black of the legs, which were made from pieces of cast iron railing posts that had been cut and welded on.

Anna took a step back and glanced down at it with her hands clasped together. It was missing the cushion. The funky geometric pattern in black and white would pull the stark colors of the arms and legs together. She had it in a boxsomewhere. Anna surveyed the small mountain of them in her living room. She’d find it . . . eventually.

Or was it in one of the crates? Anna’s forehead wrinkled as she tried to remember. Each of the crates Luther and Shane had carried in held a preserved piece of architecture. Some were wall décor, like the antique fanlight they’d yet to unbox and the stained-glass mirror she intended to hang by her front door. Even her headboard was made from a salvaged archway with delicate wood carvings. She couldn't wait to unbox it. The smaller crates held items like candlesticks made from balusters, bookends that had once been wall brackets, and shelves that had served as decorative molding. Maybe she’d put it in one of those? No, that wouldn’t make sense. How would she open them?

Shrugging, Anna turned back to Luther. “I’m so glad it didn’t get damaged in the move.”Or when you and Shane dropped it.She grinned at Luther, delighted her fears about cracks in the centuries-old lumber were unfounded.

“I’m glad it didn’t damage me.” She heard Luther mutter. “Do you know how heavy this thing is?” he asked louder.

Anna laughed. “No, but with dense wood and cast iron. . .” She tapped a finger to her lip in thought. “I’m guessing pretty substantial. In fact, I’m impressed you and Shane were able to carry it up two flights of stairs. I think they used a forklift when they took it out of my apartment in D.C.”

Luther’s eyes narrowed at her. “You could’ve warned us.”

“Uh-huh.” Anna was trying to hold in a laugh, but her eyes gave her away.

“Think that’s funny, do you?” Luther advanced on her, and she took a step back.

He kept coming and she hit the wall. “What are you doing?” Anna side-stepped and then started backing in the opposite direction, keeping Luther in her sights.

He turned with her, though, and his eyes promised mischief. “I’ll show you funny.”

Anna reversed into a stack of boxes and squealed as she felt herself tumbling backward over them. Before she hit the ground, Luther was there. His arms caught her and pulled her up against him.

She had to suppress a moan as her body hummed from the contact with Luther’s. Her arms were caught between them, so she splayed her hands over his chest. His heart stuttered at her touch, and she glanced up at him. The mischievous gleam in his eyes was gone. In its place was a pulsing need so strong it made her catch her breath. Staring into those dark, hungry depths, Anna swallowed, both hoping and fearing Luther would kiss her again.

She chewed her lip as she waited and was surprised when he pushed her back to arm’s length, then turned away.

“What do you want to open next?” Luther returned to the first crate they’d opened and picked up the crowbar.

The distance left her feeling cold, and she suppressed a shiver. Had she misread what she’d seen in his eyes? Anna’s mouth twisted. It was possible. Her experience was limited enough to make her second-guess.

Brushing off the sting of rejection she refused to acknowledge, Anna cleared her throat and gestured at the next crate she saw. “How about this one?”

Luther walked over with the crowbar as if that charged moment had never happened. “Sure.”

He started to pry open the large shallow crate, and Anna chastised herself. Theyshouldjust be friends. It would be for the best. Wouldn’t it? Staring blindly at the wooden box, she started to pick at her fingernails—an anxious habit she’d broken years before. She needed him as a friend, a shoulder to lean on, especially with the whole Richard situation.

Yes, it’s for the best.

Despite what she told herself, Anna wasn’t entirely convinced. Whenever Luther was near, her system reacted in a way that was more than friendly. Even now, as she watched the muscles in his arms bulge when he pried at the crate, her nerve endings were on full alert, and she wanted to touch him, to trace her finger along those ridges.

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