Lucifer's Lover

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  She shook her head. “You’re wrong. You’re so wrong it’s not even funny.” She stepped close to him and lowered her voice. “A while ago you said I shouldn’t let you into my life. Remember?”

  “Yes,” he growled.

  “It’s too late, Luke. You’re already part of my life. It’s not a matter of choice. You’re there. You’re part of it.”

  He was staring at her and his silence seemed almost stony and rebellious. She didn’t know if he was willingly listening or not. But she pushed on anyway.

  “There’s something between us. I don’t know what it is. I lack the terminology to even begin to describe it. But it’s there. And you know it. Don’t you?”

  She watched his eyes, the expressive eyes and saw a flicker there of something.

  His gaze dropped.

  She knew she was right.

  “So the damage is done, Luke. I’m here. You have to deal with it. With me. Not telling people about yourself is not a way of dealing with it. It’s not a way of avoiding dealing with it, either. It’s just another form of lying and it’s…insulting.”

  “I didn’t lie,” Luke shot back and she could tell she’d touched a chord in him.

  “You lied by omission,” she said flatly.

  “I warned you, didn’t I? What you were getting into. I warned you.”

  “Too late.”

  He crossed his arms, the thick forearms rippling. “And while court is in session, let’s not forget you, either, my little hypocrite. You’ve not been totally forthcoming yourself, have you?”

  The accusation of hypocrisy stung more than she cared to admit. “I’m not hiding the other half of my life from you. The other two-thirds, actually. Just what do you do in New York every weekend, anyway?”

  “Tell me why you want to follow your mother’s footsteps, first.”

  She ignored the gambit. She didn’t want to get sidetracked right now. “Look, I’m not very good with people. I know that. It’s just…something I don’t have a lot of natural talent for—not like you. But I’m a very fast learner. I only have to be shown once and I’ve got it. And I know you’re shutting me out, Luke. First time, I didn’t get it. This time, I did. I don’t know why but I do know that much. And it’s not just the rest of the world, although you do it with them too. It’s me, especially.”

  “Tell me about your mother,” he insisted. “Share and share alike.”

  “I don’t even know you. How on earth can I share something like that with you?”

  “Ditto, Lynds.” His voice was bitter and low.

  She pulled on her coat and gloves with quick, jerky movements. Her heart was pattering unhappily and she felt sad and teary. All the fury had drained. She wasn’t even irritated any more. She was just tired.

  “All I know,” she said, hating the way her voice wobbled, “is that I’m not the one running away all the time.” She reached up to kiss his cheek. “And it was fun, for a while.”

  She didn’t have the courage to look back when she left.

  Chapter Ten

  He wasn’t even sure what drove him there.

  But at seven-thirty that Monday morning he found himself in the familiar corridor, hovering outside Lindsay’s office. He knew she was in. She was always in at this time.

  Now he was actually here, he was back at the other end of the pendulum swing—wishing he was miles away. Anywhere but here.

  So he put his hand on the door handle and pushed the door open and himself through. Quickly. Before he backed out.

  Lindsay looked up from her paperwork and her eyes opened wide. The paper in her hand fluttered to the desk. And he wasn’t certain—he could even have imagined it—but he thought he saw her chest lift in a quick indrawn breath and was it pleasure in her eyes?

  Fool. Get it over with.

  He held out his hand to forestall her—she was always so quick to slide under his defenses and score a preemptive strike.

  “The thing is,” he said, not even trying to organize his thoughts, “They’ve always used my credit card. Pretty much since I got into town. I don’t just help out Habitat for Humanity, Lynds, I’ve been running the show for the last year. Well, the Deerfoot Falls side of it, anyway. I wanted to get that house finished before Christmas, so I organized a full weekend on it. That’s why I went to New York early. To clear the weekend.”

  He took a deep breath.

  “Why?” she asked. “That’s what doesn’t make sense.”

  “It’s homes,” he said simply. “Homes for families.”

  She frowned.

  “I know,” he told her. “You don’t get it. That’s because you’ve got a built-in family. You’ve never been without one.”

  Her eyes widened and her mouth opened a little.

  He could feel the fear gnawing at him already. “I’ve never told anyone this before,” he added.

  “Why not?” It was a softly put question. Was she learning to empathize?

  He shrugged. The flippant answer came easily—much more easily. But he pushed it aside and went for the much more difficult truth. “Afraid, I guess.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  It was a concept he’d never really pulled together even for himself, so he took a moment to reach for the answer. The resistance to speaking it aloud was enormous. “People might get to know me.” He had to take a deep breath to recover.

  “I know a little about that one,” Lindsay told him. She put her pen down and leaned back. “What about New York?”

  He took another breath. “You know, I’m not very good at this. Actually, I suck at it. I haven’t done a lot of talking about myself.”

  “You talk about yourself all the time. I’ve listened.”

  “Not like this.” He could feel his heart slowing down now that the worst of it was done. “So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to leave New York for next time.”

  “There will be a next time?”

  His heart gave a little jump. “There won’t be?” he asked. “I mean…will there be?”

  It seemed like eons passed before her gorgeous lips curved up into a small, sweet smile. “If there’s going to be a next time, I can wait until then to hear about New York.”

  His relief was huge and that told him he’d done the right thing, coming here. Despite the clammy hands and the agonizing it had taken to get himself here.

  He tried a smile himself. And suddenly realized he didn’t know what to say.

  She cleared her throat and burrowed her hand under the pile of paperwork on her desk and emerged with a fistful of paper.

  “Well, as you’re here so early, perhaps you could put the time to good use and finish these contact lists. You’re supposed to be handling this stuff, aren’t you?”

  Back to business. It was another small relief. Had she sensed that and turned the subject deliberately? Such sensitivity was a bit much to expect from Lindsay, but he’d managed to change his spots this morning. Why couldn’t she?

  “That’d be me,” he told her.

  “Then take it and leave me in peace, huh? You know I get in early to avoid interruptions.”

  “Yes, boss.” He took the papers and grimaced. “I’d better stop saying that.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind at all,” Lindsay said airily.

  He grinned. “See you later.”

  He’d almost shut her office door when her voice floated out to him, “There’s a staff meeting at nine thirty—try not to be late this time!”

  Trust Lindsay to get in the last word.

  As he walked back to his office he realized that he was happy. Pure and simple.

  The contentment didn’t go away, either, even though he didn’t see much of Lindsay for the rest of the day. She was her usual ornery self at the staff meeting, which further induced the sense of the familiar and everyday.

  And he would catch himself remembering their one night of love-making, his body tightening up in response. Overlaying it was the kiss he’d taken at the project home and Lindsay�
��s explosive response. He hadn’t suspected she had the capacity for such a passionate reaction but now he knew the potential, he found he was fantasizing about future scenarios.

  Just kissing her again and eliciting the same response was a worthy goal.

  Tuesday morning, after a night of hard work at the house and a sleepless night tossing and turning and noticing how empty the bed was, Luke found himself heading into work earlier than usual and laughed at himself. In the back of his mind he knew he was heading in early to maybe talk to Lindsay again.

  But he never reached her office.

  Two of the directors, Robert from admin and Doug Anderson from the accounting section, were standing in the lobby chatting when he walked in. Robert lifted his hand and Luke drifted over, his antenna up and twitching. Something big was going down. He could just smell it.

  He nodded a greeting as he pulled off his gloves. “You look like you’ve got an announcement to make,” he said to Doug, who was almost vibrating with suppressed excitement.

  Robert grinned. “New York phoned this morning. Doug’s just been appointed the new general manager, by the narrowest margin, apparently.”

  Lindsay. Alarm filtered through him. Did she know yet? The need to rush off and find her was strong but he forced himself to stand still, thrust out his hand and grin.

  “Congratulations,” he told Doug, who beamed and shook his hand heartily. “Who was the other contender who almost got it?” Please say Lindsay, he thought. Something, anything, that would allow her to salvage a little pride out of it.

  “Billy Blazevich, in New York.”

  “He’s already managing a hotel out there, isn’t he?”

  “Yes but they were considering bringing him in,” Robert answered. “Doug convinced them he could handle it.”

  “You obviously worked hard for it, Doug. Congratulations again. And I’ve gotta go—early appointment. Excuse me.” He left, heading straight for the stairs. The lift was too slow this time of morning.

  He was almost running by the time he reached Lindsay’s office and pushed the door open.

  Empty.

  The door bounced and slammed back into his hand and he pushed it aside carelessly.

  “Oh, it’s you, Luke. I thought it was Lindsay making all the racket.”

  Luke spun. It was Timothy, coffee jug in hand.

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s not there?”

  He gave Tim a pained look.

  “I thought she was there,” Tim explained. “She came in this morning, I know that much. The washroom, maybe?”

  “Maybe,” Luke conceded but his heart was telling him different. “Did she get any phone calls this morning?”

  Tim frowned. “I think I heard her phone ring a couple of times. There’s voice mail for you too—a call from head office.”

  Luke nodded absently, already heading down the corridor. “Thanks!” he called over his shoulder, heading for the lift foyer. The washrooms were off the foyer. He walked straight into the ladies’ and looked around. Clean, white, silent.

  He sniffed. Lindsay’s perfume, faintly.

  “Bergamot,” he murmured. Spicy, no frills, no bouquets. Heavenly.

  Where was Lindsay, though?

  * * * * *

  She had no idea where to go.

  She was driving around the streets of Deerfoot, totally at a loss for direction. As long as it was away from the hotel.

  She didn’t want to go home. It wasn’t the right place right now. And after that the list of possible hideouts was very short indeed. Nonexistent, actually.

  At this time of day, her mind was psyched for being in the office. Anywhere else felt wrong. She was totally disoriented.

  She ached, in her chest, in her heart and her head. The ache was building, swelling.

  She had to find somewhere safe to hole up.

  But where?

  Luke tried the project home, her house, the country club, anywhere he’d ever seen Lindsay outside the hotel and that list was horribly short.

  Even her father, once he’d explained the situation, was concerned enough to try to think of a few more places she might be and couldn’t come up with a list any more extensive than Luke’s. What person could grow up in a town and not have dozens of different haunts? Lindsay, it seemed, was unique.

  At lunchtime, discouraged, he headed for his apartment, which was closer than the office. He needed coffee at the very least.

  But his need for caffeine evaporated when he stepped inside.

  Lindsay was sitting on his bed.

  “Sweet heaven,” Luke breathed. “Lynds, I’ve been looking for you everywhere…” He let out a big, gusty sigh. “You know, don’t you?”

  She nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go. I figured this would be the last place anyone would look for me.” She bit her lip and looked away. “Anyone but you.”

  The confession, so reluctantly given, touched him. Warmed him. And he could feel himself shying away from it.

  He pushed a hand through his hair. Don’t do this, man. Don’t push it away.

  “How did you get in?” he asked, seizing the irrelevant thought.

  “I found the spare key you have hidden in the flower bed.”

  “In the garden gnome? How did you know it’s my gnome?”

  “Your uncle. Joe, is that his name?”

  “Well, he’s a great-uncle but sure. Joe.” He was puzzled.

  “You told Timothy about him, how he models garden gnomes with his feet.” She shrugged. “I never did believe the story until I saw the gnome in the garden.”

  “Hell, I told Timothy that…” Months ago.

  She shrugged again. She seemed almost embarrassed. “I listened.”

  And remembered.

  “I found the key under the gnome.”

  He dropped his keys and coat on the chair by the bed and sat next to her. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why? It’s not such a bad gnome, especially when you consider it was made with someone’s feet. Although the nose is…interesting.”

  He picked up her hand. “You know what I mean,” he said.

  She was chewing her lip. No sign of tears but her hand was very cold. “I don’t know what to do,” she said, her voice small. “It’s all inside me—this huge…thing. And it’s hurting. But I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “Most people talk it out.”

  “Who am I supposed to talk to?” she asked dryly. “My father can’t have a real conversation unless he’s facing the lathe and can pretend it’s superficial.” She frowned. “Neither can I.”

  “Neither can I,” Luke added, truthfully. “But you two don’t cover it up with…stories.”

  “And charm.”

  He tried a casual shrug. “You could tell me.”

  She frowned. “I don’t know how.”

  He moved to the head of the bed and arranged the pillows so he was sitting comfortably against the bedhead. Then he tugged at her arm. “Come here,” he said softly.

  She moved slowly but settled against him without protest. He coaxed her head onto his shoulder and wrapped his arms around her for warmth and comfort.

  “Tell me about your mother,” he said softly, kissing the gleaming cap of hair on the top of her head.

  “What about her?” Her voice was a little muffled.

  “You were going to tell me why, remember? Why you’re so hellfire determined to repeat her success.”

  Her silence was full of misery. He could feel it eating into her bones.

  “You must have loved her very much to want to emulate her so closely,” he added, probing carefully.

  “Love?” She lifted her head to look him in the eye. “I hated her!”

  And her chin quivered and finally the tears came. Luke hugged her again, riding out the storm patiently, mentally turning over the puzzle.

  The crying drained her. Lindsay lay against him too limp to move, her mind circling endlessly around the fact of her f
ailure.

  She could feel Luke’s hand on her shoulder, soothing her. How long he had been doing it she didn’t know but she hoped he’d never stop.

  “Okay?” he asked softly.

  “More or less.”

  She knew what was coming next but didn’t know how to stop it. She listened, waiting for it.

  “Why hate her, Lynds? I’ve talked to a few people who knew her, some who even worked with her. They all say she was brilliant at her job.”

  “She was brilliant.”

  “Then…is it because she wasn’t there for you? As a mother?”

  She shook her head. “I never felt abandoned. My father was always there. I could always call Mom on the phone. She’d talk to me when I wanted to talk. She was…there.”

  “So why hate, then?”

  “Because of my sixteenth birthday.”

  “Well, of course. My sister switched on the hate button when she turned sixteen. Perfectly natural.”

  Lindsay felt a very small smile tug at her mouth. She pushed at his shoulder where her hand lay. “Do you want this story or not?” she asked.

  “More than life itself,” he answered and she suddenly wished she could see his face. Was there a glimmer of humor in his eyes? Because she had a feeling there was not, that his answer, although intended to sound flip, was anything but irreverent.

  “My mother was working in New York by the time I hit sixteen,” she began, feeling her way into it. “As a special treat, she flew me to New York for the day and was going to take me out to lunch at the Ritz. But she was working in the morning and had a limousine pick me up from the airport and drive me to her office.”

  It was a huge office. High up on the forty-third floor, a corner suite, filled with carefully selected antiques, glowing carved wood and a reverent hush that to Lindsay, fresh from a small country town and a very naïve sixteen, found completely intimidating.

  She had worn her best for the outing but knew it would be totally inadequate in such surroundings and before she even sighted her mother behind the opulent, extravagant desk, she wanted to leave.

  Catherine Eden was holding court. Half a dozen suits sat in straight back chairs in front of her desk, most of them with notebooks of the traditional or electronic variety on their laps. Most of them wore expressions so grave they were three steps beyond serious.