by Lucy Parker
“I have something far more important to do today, so I’m going to make this brief.” Luc met the cold blue stare with equal calm. “Even by your standards, trashing the character of the recently deceased is low. Advising that the city celebrate his death is atrocious. Jack Lamprey may not have had your flawless moral character,” he said ironically, “but he wasn’t a criminal, and he has a grieving family who don’t need to see this.”
Byrne’s smile made Luc’s hand itch. “Ah, yes. His family. Would we specifically be referring to the lovely Lily? She’s rather like a one-woman production of The Wizard of Oz, isn’t she? Dorothy’s pretty face and the Scarecrow’s unfortunate plight. ‘If I only had a brain.’”
Luc kept his expression bland, although the hand he’d tucked into his pocket also curled into a fist. “I want the online version of that article taken down within an hour.”
“Do you? How disappointing for you—”
“If I see anything remotely similar appear on your site or in print again, I’ll have my legal team comb through every defamatory word you’ve approved over the past few months, I will compile a watertight case for slander, and I will destroy you in court.” Luc continued to speak over Byrne’s retort. “I’m aware that you’ve been trying to push me into that corner, presumably to generate even worse publicity for my family and increased sales for you. I would happily have avoided this situation. It’s a fucking waste of time, it’s a drain of resources, and yeah—I do still feel that you had a valid grievance against my grandfather.”
Byrne’s nostrils and lips were white and pinched. “How magnanimous of you to admit it.”
“Against my grandfather,” Luc repeated. “Who died a long time ago. I don’t appreciate constantly paying for someone else’s sins. You’ve had that experience yourself.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
“Meaning that, yes, your father was the victim of a conman. However, he made the decision—with utter recklessness—to put his family’s entire livelihood at risk by investing in one of Johnny Savage’s businesses. Johnny’s track record was no secret. Your father let himself be blinded by false promises, but his own choices bordered on criminal stupidity.”
Byrne’s face flushed a dangerous shade of magenta and he took a step forward. Luc profoundly hoped that he wasn’t going to end up in a one-sided fistfight with a sixty-five-year-old man—or have another heart attack patient on his hands.
He tempered his tone, but didn’t soften the message. “It took years of saving and investments, with my own money, to restore the Queen Anne, but no matter how much that project meant to me, it would never be worth risking my family’s financial security.” Pointedly, he added, “I assume you have insurance against litigation here. You wouldn’t be paying out of your children’s pockets if I took you to court.”
Byrne didn’t deny that, but his fury was still palpable. “That doesn’t change the fact that your grandfather got away scot-free.”
“Nobody gets away scot-free.” Luc had seen photos of his grandfather, taken late in his life. He’d been an alcohol-ravaged, debt-ridden wreck. His eyes had been pools of…nothing. No humour, no love, no life. “Every action has a consequence. One way or another.” He held the other man’s gaze. “And for the record: I’m sorry that happened to your family. I also understand why you refused compensation. But where you’re concerned—my conscience is clear.”
Byrne’s hands were still balled into fists.
“If writing one lie about me after another changes something for you—go ahead.” Luc’s voice lowered. “But if you continue to go after my family—and you can include the Lampreys and the Crays in that category—I will retaliate.”
The tension in the room was like the clashing of metal.
Luc turned and left the room, almost knocking over the secretary who had rolled her chair dangerously close to the door.
He jabbed at the lift button.
“Savage.”
He turned. Behind him, the doors opened, and he reached back to hold them.
Byrne’s mouth stretched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “She was similarly vocal in her defence of you.”
Luc didn’t let so much as a flicker of what he felt cross his face. “She’s a formidable opponent.”
He stepped into the lift.
“I’ll see you in court.”
“That’s up to you.”
The doors slid closed.
*
The lift doors opened and Lily stepped out into reception. The same receptionist who had witnessed her meeting with Dan St. James a hundred years ago looked up without curiosity.
Amelia, standing in conversation with her assistant, also looked up. “Lily!”
“Hi, Amelia.” Lily glanced down the corridor. The car ride here had seemed interminable. She wanted to—She had to see him. “Is Luc in?” She started towards his office without waiting for a reply.
“No.” Amelia almost ran to intercept her, stumbling when her high heels caught in the thick carpet. “He’s not.”
“Oh.” He wasn’t answering his phone, either. Her heart was racing. She pressed the heel of her hand to her chest. “Is he in a meeting?”
“He’s—” Amelia studied her narrowly. “Why?”
“Because I—” She couldn’t say this to Amelia. After everything she’d put Luc through recently, she owed these words to him alone. “Do you know when he’ll back?”
The other woman suddenly looked profoundly uncomfortable. “No. I don’t.”
Lily focused on her properly. “Why, where is he?”
“He’s gone to the London Celebrity offices.”
For fuck’s sake. “What have they printed about him now?”
Amelia’s lips parted, but nothing came out.
“Amelia?”
“It’s not about Luc. It’s about…your father.”
The receptionist, abandoning any pretence that she wasn’t listening, leaned forward and offered her a print copy of the tabloid, open at the correct page. Lily read the headline.
“It’s—” Amelia began bracingly.
“It’s more tabloid rubbish.” Lily let herself feel the rush of pain; then, deliberately, she closed the paper. “It’s spiteful, it’s biased, and it’s not true.”
Amelia continued to study her with concern, but finally a hint of a smile appeared in her eyes. “Good for you.”
The full meaning behind Amelia’s earlier statement clarified. “What do you mean, he’s gone to the offices?”
“Luc didn’t take that piece of ‘journalism’ quite so philosophically. He’s on the warpath.”
“Well,” Lily said. “Shit.”
“Indeed.”
“And where are…”
“About ten minutes’ walk away.”
On her way past the increasingly large group of staff at the reception desk, Lily tossed the paper in the bin. “By the way—who keeps buying this?”
*
The London Celebrity office building was a lot classier than its product. Sewer journalism obviously brought in the pennies. Lily walked straight past the reception desk towards the lift.
She reached for the button, but the doors opened before she could touch it.
She almost heard an audible click as things slid into their right place.
“I probably ought to be surprised,” Luc said, “but your dramatic instincts always were solid.”
He tucked a hand beneath her arm and steered her firmly away from the lift. “If you’re planning to go up and disembowel Byrne, would you consider letting the legal team handle him instead? It’ll be less messy and I’d rather you weren’t carted off to jail. It’s been bad enough having a couple of boroughs between us.”
Lily checked him out from sleek head to shiny shoes. “I’m here to stop you being arrested for assault. I don’t see any bruises.”
“In the unlikely event that I got into a physical fight with a senior citizen, I would bloody well hope you wouldn’t see any bruises.
I’m not that fucking old.” Luc’s grey eyes had been like ice when the lift doors had opened; now they were warming with the light she loved. “I was on my way to your flat after this.”
A smile began to flutter to life.
In hindsight, he’d been amazingly restrained waiting this long.
“I was on my way to your office.”
She saw Luc’s chest rise in a breath that looked slightly uneven, and she hated that tiny betrayal of apprehension.
“Luc—” God, how did she even begin? What kind of words could just bridge the gap she’d forced?
His gaze suddenly moved to her chest and fixed there, which—okay, didn’t really seem the moment to be focusing on her breasts, but… She suddenly remembered what she was wearing. It was amazing it had slipped her mind even temporarily. It wasn’t exactly a wallflower.
Luc reached out and touched the clover necklace, his palm resting against her heart. He cleared his throat. “For the record, if I’d intended it to be worn, I’d have given it to someone I can’t stand, not the woman I—” Their eyes locked again. If hers were reflecting how she felt, they ought to be steady and clear. “The woman I love.”
Her heart was beating so rapidly and heavily it might have been trying to press into his hand.
Luc gestured with his head. “You realise we’re standing in gutter press HQ right now. If we’re going to give them copy, we don’t necessarily need to bring it directly to them.”
“I don’t care.”
He shook his head, but she put her hand over his and gripped his fingers.
“I really don’t.” She gathered the last vestiges of her courage. “I’m so sorry, Luc. For everything. My head’s been all over the place. Jack’s—Dad’s death just seemed to be the final straw. And I was so angry. I felt like I’d been waiting for him, for—something, my whole life, and suddenly it was just gone. He’s just gone.”
Luc stroked her fingers. “I know.”
“He loved me in the only way he knew how, and it’s—enough.”
“You deserved a hell of a lot more.” He spoke roughly, but his touch was gentle.
“I’ve had a hell of a lot. I still do. I shouldn’t ever lose sight of that.” She hooked her thumb around his. “And I hope I haven’t completely fucked up the best part.”
His hold tightened in a compulsive movement. “I know it’s been difficult to…trust in this. In us. My relationship history leaves a lot to be desired, and probably reinforced any doubts you already had.” Luc stopped, grasped for the right words. “If I say that this is different—that what’s between you and me is different in every way imaginable—it sounds like a line.” He lifted their entwined thumbs, as if they were doing an eccentric version of a pinkie promise. “It’s not. You’ve changed absolutely fucking everything. And I’ll be there for you as long as you’ll let me.”
She was not going to cry again. She was turning into a bloody sieve.
“I know.” Her voice was crackly. With her free hand, she grasped a handful of his shirt to pull herself up. She placed a tiny kiss on his lower lip. “Did a bit of shopping at the pound store, did you?”
He grinned. “Well, I looked, but their selection was a little too tasteful. I finally found a jeweller who agreed to make it on commission, as long as his name is never associated with it.”
“I love you.” It was something she’d said to very few people; she’d never meant it so profoundly. “God, I really love you—”
He swallowed the last words with his mouth, kissing her deeply, dragging her into the sheltering warmth of his body. His tongue thrust against hers, and she wriggled her trapped arms free, wrapping them around his neck.
Again and again, he kissed her, stroking her, nipping at her, loving her.
Right in the midst of tabloid central.
When the need for oxygen became dire, she pulled back, sucking in a deep breath, and stayed on her tiptoes. His tousled hair tickled her skin.
“In case it wasn’t clear,” he said, “I love you like hell.”
She believed that. No doubts. No second thoughts. Complete trust.
It was freeing and hopeful.
And it was more than enough.
Epilogue
Autumn, in the Lake District, in a forest of all places.
Lily rubbed her nose against the curve of Luc’s neck. His hand slid down her back, shaping her hip. His lips nuzzled her ear.
“How’s the birthday been?” he murmured, and she smiled without opening her eyes.
“Contender for best ever. You got it into the top three by two o’clock in the morning. And we didn’t even spill any bath water on the floor. We’ve got skills.”
“And bruised elbows.”
“And my knee is making a weird clicking sound when I walk. Still worth it.”
Luc nudged her head with his until she looked up. He kissed her. “Contender for best ever? Bathtub sex in a tree house hotel in the Lake District. Come on, I climbed a tree for you. Credit where credit’s due.”
“I did go to Disneyland Paris for my seventh. There were fireworks, a cupcake with my name on it, and I got a hug from Goofy. The bar is set pretty high.”
“How about I light a candle, write your name on a Curly Wurly from the minibar, and throw in another couple of orgasms?”
“Might push you over the edge.” She kissed him again, and felt his body shift against her, his arms pulling her even closer.
“One question.”
“The answer is yes. I do think staying in a tree house means you should have worn a loincloth to dinner.”
“Different question.” Luc cupped her face, stroking his thumb over her cheekbone. “You know I love you.”
She didn’t think that would ever not do things to her heart. She raised her fingers to his chin. “I know.”
“You’ll always be my priority. Nothing and no one will ever be more important to me.”
“I know,” she said again, quietly. She touched his mouth. “Back at you.”
“You drive me up the wall, and I can’t remember what life was like before you strode into it, opened your mouth and fucking horrified me, and turned everything upside down.”
“It probably involved more sleep.” She grinned when he closed his teeth lightly on her thumb. “Sorry. Go on. You were generously overlooking my faults—”
“You’re the love of my life.”
She took a quick breath through her mouth.
His wrists locked at the base of her spine and he rocked her, gently, from side to side. “There’s very little I wouldn’t do for you.”
“I’m realising that. You actually booked the tree house.”
“Exactly. We’re talking compromise. Commitment. If we were hanging off the side of a cliff and the rope was only strong enough to hold one of us, I probably wouldn’t let you plummet to your death.”
“Thank you. Crossing abseiling in the Grand Canyon off the list for our next holiday.”
“And even though you’ve crossed over enemy lines and contracted yourself to the Metronome,” he went on, “I will actually sit through at least one performance of an Alexander Bennett play, even though I would usually rank that experience alongside a root canal.”
“He had really warm and cuddly things to say about you as well.”
“But.” Luc looked down at her through the steady stream of rain. Their hair was soaked and her dress was plastered to her breasts—the one part of his very unexpected and poignant gesture that had changed his expression from Martyred to Interested. “The reality of the rain dancing is even worse than it sounded in theory. How many ranks do I drop if I suggest we go inside now? We’re probably a lot less likely to drown thirty feet above the ground.”
Lily smoothed her hair out of her eyes and pushed her face back in his neck. “Soon.”
“Hell,” he said, and rested his cheek against her head.
“This is so nice,” she mumbled. “There’s something about the air in the Lake District.
Goes to my head.”
“The champagne might also have something to do with it.”
“There are benefits to being between shows.” She tucked her chilled fingers inside his collar. “And you haven’t made a single work-related phone call yet.”
“Arguing with Amelia and wrangling contract negotiations for hours, or bathtub sex with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Tough decision.”
“I give it one more day. And you can lay it on as thick as you like. We’re still not going inside.”
They stayed in each other’s arms while the rain dwindled to a light drizzle and the cloudy sky turned dark. The lamps in the tree house above cast a warm glow that touched them with light.
“I miss him,” she said softly, and the cradle of his arms tightened.
“I know you do.”
“I got a birthday present from him.”
He pulled back to look at her. “What?”
“He arranged it as a surprise. I got the official confirmation from his solicitor today.” She straightened. “Luc. I can feel you bracing yourself.”
“A surprise arranged through Jack’s lawyer? I assume it’s at least legal, then.”
“Oh, it’s legal.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why do I suddenly have the Jaws theme music in my head?”
“As of five o’clock this evening, Hudson Warner’s shares in the Queen Anne have been transferred to my name. When you turn your phone on, I expect you’ll have several calls.”
“Excuse me?”
“Jack offered to buy him out the day we went to Kirkby. Right after we left. He told Hud that I needed a stake in the family business.”
“Your father said that? Last December?” Luc’s expression was unreadable.
She tugged on one of his shirt buttons. “Yes.”
“Wise man, Jack Lamprey.”
“Yes, he was.”
Suddenly, he grinned. “No more calls, meetings, dinners or helpful little suggestions from Warner? I thought this was supposed to be your birthday.”
She looped her arm back around his neck. “I wouldn’t get too excited until you see my list of suggestions for the next shareholder meeting.”
“Your list?”
“I jotted some things down while you were in the shower.”
