The Man From her Wayward Past

by Susan Stephens

  And ungrateful, Lucia conceded. She tried to call Luke again, to thank him. She wanted to tell him he should take the money out of her wages. But he wasn’t picking up.

  He didn’t take her call until later that day, and she was rather put off her stride to hear Luke’s husky tone backed by a soundtrack of languidly swishing water. Trying to blank the X-rated mental images that evoked, she said hello.

  ‘Hey,’ Luke murmured lazily, ‘this is a nice surprise.’

  That Luke hadn’t declined her call? It certainly was. He sounded unimaginably pleased, as if something big had gone down. But far worse was listening to him groaning with pleasure as he eased his position in the bath.

  ‘My assistant did okay for you?’ he prompted. ‘Do you like the stuff she chose?’

  Another disturbing mental image flashed into her mind. This one involved an extravagantly beautiful PA—something like the Technicolor blonde—discussing her with Luke before rushing off to carry out his mercy mission.

  ‘Mary said it was no trouble to pick out some essentials for you while she was shopping for her grandchildren’s Christmas presents, so I hope she got it right?’

  Lucia’s shoulders slumped. She felt such an idiot. ‘Please tell Mary I’m very grateful. And thank you, Luke. Just don’t do it again.’

  ‘Do what again?’ he murmured, in a voice that spoke of warm soapy water and tropical ambient heat. ‘Buy you gifts?’

  She stroked the shawl. ‘I don’t need handouts.’

  Luke’s laugh was a rumble deep in his chest. ‘I was just being neighbourly, Lucia. I thought you approved of that?’

  There was more swishing water, until all she could see was Luke’s massive body, wet, tanned and gleaming, his hard muscles flexing—along with a whole raft of other X-rated images.

  ‘Just so long as you’re not trying to buy me off.’

  ‘Can I do that with a few rashers of bacon and half a dozen eggs?’

  She smiled as she hugged the phone. ‘You’d be relieved to be rid of me.’

  ‘I certainly would,’ he agreed.

  ‘I have every intention of paying you back.’

  ‘I would expect nothing less,’ he murmured, sighing contentedly. She imagined him sinking lower in the bath as he demanded drowsily, ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Am I keeping you?’

  ‘Yes. What are you doing for the rest of the day?’

  Trying not to think about you buck-naked in a warm, soapy bath. ‘There isn’t much left of today, but I have cleared a bedroom at the guest house, so at some point I’ll be decorating and sorting it out. I don’t have time to chat.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll drop by later to see how you’re getting on.’

  ‘There’s no need,’ she said as her heart rate went off the scale.

  ‘I’ll bring some decent coffee with me.’

  ‘We’ve got good coffee.’

  ‘Excellent. Start grinding. I could murder a cup.’

  ‘Call room service.’

  Luke laughed as he cut the line.

  Thoroughly shaken, she threw herself back against the cold tin wall in an attempt to steady her breathing and consider the facts. If Luke did come round, as he had threatened, Margaret would be pleased. And this was all about work now. Luke never backed off once he’d got the bit between his teeth, and while she didn’t have Luke’s money or influence, her background and training—honed by four demanding brothers—meant she could bring quite a lot to the party too.

  Work with Luke?

  Work she could do. And she couldn’t deny that the prospect of butting heads with him on a regular basis held massive appeal.

  CHAPTER TEN

  There is a lot to be said for home-cooking.

  East, west, home’s best?

  It certainly is. Try looking at what’s been under your nose for years.

  No! Not the moustache-in-need-of-a-wax, stupid! Luke.

  MARGARET had been baking up a storm. There was a nonstop supply of succulent sausage and crispy bacon for all the people who had turned up to work. Luke had announced his intention to fast-track the project, which was great news for everyone—apart from Lucia, who wondered if she was the only one to receive the news with mixed feelings. Luke was experienced in business, while this was her first big project, and Luke wasn’t exactly noted for his tolerance levels. If she didn’t make the grade she’d be out on her ear.

  There were more important things than her pride, Lucia concluded as she took a spoonful of Margaret’s soup. ‘Your cooking is what St Oswalds has been missing.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ Margaret smiled happily as she turned back to the cooker. ‘If you stopped working at that club—stopped being Anita and started being the girl I used to know—all this would be worthwhile for me. You have given your notice in?’

  ‘Yes, I have,’ Lucia confirmed.

  The two women had become close, and Lucia had never been anything but open with Margaret about the reason for her name-change. All sorts of busybodies frequented the club, and though Lucia had never made a magazine spread in her life, and doubted anyone knew her face, the name Acosta might have raised suspicions, since the family had spent many of their summers in the area.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re going to be working with Luke.’

  Lucia’s chin shot up. There was a distinct difference between working for and working with. She knew Luke would think so.

  ‘I don’t understand business, which is how I got myself into this mess in the first place,’ Margaret was busy explaining, ‘so I’d like you to be my caretaker-manager.’

  ‘Manage the Sundowner?’ Lucia exclaimed. ‘Have you spoken to Luke about this?’ She could already hear the thunderclaps approaching.

  Margaret shrugged. ‘I still have some say. You’ll balance Luke out. You both believe in the Sundowner, and while you have the training and flair Luke can handle the financial side of things. In my eyes it’s the perfect partnership. I want you front of house, Lucia.’

  ‘Only until you feel ready to take over,’ Lucia said firmly. ‘Thank you,’ she added quietly. ‘I can’t tell you what it means to have your confidence.’

  ‘If you ask me, Lucia, people should have been placing their confidence in you a long time ago.’

  Lucia laughed. ‘You’ve met my brothers. They don’t think I can tie my own shoelaces yet. But I won’t let you down.’

  ‘I don’t think for one moment you will, and as soon as Luke returns from London I’m going to tell him my decision.’

  ‘Luke’s in London?’ Lucia heard nothing else.

  ‘Some business he needed to look into, I think he said.’ Margaret shook her head. ‘I really don’t know,’ she said vaguely. ‘Why are you looking so worried, Lucia?’

  ‘No reason.’ But Lucia’s mind had started flying in all directions.

  ‘Why don’t you go into town and spoil yourself for a change?’ Margaret was suggesting. ‘Buy yourself a couple of suits in anticipation of the guest house opening?’

  ‘Go into town? Good idea,’ Lucia agreed distractedly, pulling herself round.

  Her life was changing so rapidly it was hard to keep up. But she had to—though she doubted she could relax, as Margaret had suggested, for wondering what Luke was doing in London. Some sixth sense told her that whatever it was it wasn’t good.

  As the tall, imposing individual emerged through the swing doors of the exclusive London hotel pedestrians shied away. Rather than step forward to ask if the man required a cab, the uniformed doorman stepped back.

  Tugging off his heavy jacket, Luke tossed it into the back of the SUV, which he’d parked aggressively in a no-parking zone. Springing into the driver’s seat, he placed a call to Lucia’s brother in Argentina.

  ‘The problem’s sorted,’ he confirmed without expression.

  He had tracked down the man he now knew had attacked Lucia, and had resolved the situation to his personal satisfaction. Cracking his knuckles, he gunned the engine and swung the
vehicle into the slow-moving London traffic. In a few hours’ time he would be back in Cornwall, and Lucia would be none the wiser.

  He reorganised his diary on the way back to Cornwall. He wouldn’t be returning home right away, as originally planned. His business interests were well managed and could survive without him for a few more days. Whether she knew it or not, Lucia needed him—and that took precedence over everything. He was going to stay on at the Grand until the guest house project was up and running and he was sure she was okay. Learning what he had in London had convinced him that what Lucia Acosta needed was a guardian angel.

  Though after today a dark angel might be a more fitting description, Luke concluded as his senses roared at the thought of seeing her again. So he was going to see Lucia again. No big deal.

  Try telling that to his libido.

  After a quick shower at the Grand he checked out the stubble situation. He badly needed to shave, but he was impatient to see Lucia again. He threw on a pair of jeans and while he was buckling the belt he thought about her. He thought about Lucia all the time. So what if she brought mayhem to his life? There was never a dull moment when they were together. And the thought that someone had hurt her …

  Breaking through to Lucia was his next and most important project. She couldn’t shut out what had happened in London for ever. She mustn’t be allowed to. It would damage her.

  Ruffling his hair in a token nod to grooming, he grabbed the phone when it rang and smiled as he checked the number.

  ‘Margaret.’ He strained to hear Lucia’s voice in the background, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying. ‘It’s never too late to eat, Margaret. Thanks for the invitation.’

  The shave could definitely wait.

  She was working her socks off in an attempt to forget Margaret had invited Luke for supper. Luke having mysterious business in London was something she preferred not to think about, so she’d chosen displacement activity instead. Where practical matters were concerned she already knew her strength lay in design and layout, and then in sourcing the right people to do the job, but today it felt as if she had more to prove.

  Today it felt as if she had everything to prove.

  It was the concierge effect chipping away at her self-confidence, Lucia suspected. Just hearing Luke was in London had brought it all back to her. Fortunately fate had played into her hands. While she was rooting around in the attic she’d found a bolt of fabric and a staple gun. A stool was a good place to start—nice and simple. And just think of the money they could save if she could upholster some of the stuff herself instead of sending it out. How hard could it be? Stool. Stuffing. Cut a template for the fabric …

  She found out how hard as Luke pulled into the yard. Her increasingly urgent calls to Margaret had met with zero response as she tried frantically to detach the sleeve of her uniform from the stool. Not that her heart wasn’t playing Jai-alai at the thought of seeing Luke again, but …

  Be careful what you wish for?

  She had wanted to surprise Margaret with her frugal ways, but had not pictured accidentally stapling herself to the stool as a possible outcome. She could just imagine what Luke would say.

  And …

  Oh, good. He was peering through the window.

  He had driven to the guest house the same way he rode a horse—flat out. He couldn’t wait to get back to Cornwall and hold Lucia in his arms to reassure her that anyone who tried to hurt her again would have to get past him first. His pulse had surged when he’d seen her at the window as he drove up. He’d expected she would get up and open the door for him, but instead she was just staring at him. And if he hadn’t known better he would have said that was alarm on her face. Even having raked his hair into some semblance of order, he reasoned he probably did look like a bandit.

  ‘I’m not interrupting anything, am I?’ he demanded, finding her alone in the room.

  Luke looked so gloriously wolfish for a moment she couldn’t speak. She had never seen him looking this pumped off a polo field. ‘Welcome back,’ she said carefully. Remaining seated, she turned at an awkward angle to hide the fact that there was a stool attached to her arm.

  ‘What have you got there?’ Luke said, coming closer to investigate.

  ‘It’s an antique,’ she explained offhandedly, dragging in his warm, spicy scent, laced with a refreshing shot of bracing sea air.

  ‘An antique?’ Luke murmured, his lips pressing down attractively.

  ‘Yes …’ She met his assessing gaze with a challenging look, but she couldn’t read if Luke had learned anything in London from a stare that was brooding and amused. ‘I thought I’d restore the stool,’ she explained, clinging to something safe and mundane.

  ‘Do you mean you’re re-covering it?’ Luke glanced at the remains of the fabric strewn across the floor.

  She was the one who needed recovering, Lucia concluded when Luke shocked her by giving her a hug.

  ‘Good job,’ he said, springing back.

  ‘What did you do that for?’ she gasped.

  ‘No particular reason,’ Luke insisted on his way out of the room.

  She was instantly suspicious. The only time her brothers hugged her was when they were worried about her—if she had fallen off a horse, or something similar. It was their way of showing relief that she was okay, she supposed. So was Luke reassuring her that they could still be friends?

  There was no point wishing for anything more, she told herself firmly as she returned to battle with the staples.

  It was no use. They wouldn’t budge. She would just have to take her uniform off.

  ‘Margaret says the food is …’ Luke’s voice died as she dived behind the door.

  Tired of greying white granny pants, she had treated herself to some new underwear in town—a gaudy display of shocking-pink lace to cheer her up when she was wearing work clothes. ‘You’re not supposed to be here,’ she pointed out, cheeks glowing red when Luke showed no sign of leaving.

  ‘Clearly …’

  She held her breath while Luke and his sexy swagger finally returned to the kitchen.

  ‘What now?’ she exclaimed, feeling horribly caught out when he came back again.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Lucia, I have seen you in a swimming costume before,’ he pointed out impatiently, advancing on her with a pair of pliers.

  Agreed. Luke had seen her half-naked before—when she was about sixteen. And she had been wearing a bikini at the time, which was somehow different. ‘How did you know I was stuck to the stool?’

  ‘Is that a serious question?’

  Having freed the stool, Luke set it aside. ‘Stick to what you do best in future. No one can do everything. Not even you, Lucia. Are there any more little jobs I can do for you before I go?’

  Was that a serious question? ‘You’re going already?’

  ‘To eat,’ Luke’s eyes darkened with amusement. ‘Oh—and, Lucia?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Nice underwear.’

  Oh-kay.

  ‘We shouldn’t keep Margaret waiting,’ he prompted, holding the door.

  ‘I’ll be right there.’

  Just as soon as her heart had steadied.

  She hesitated outside the kitchen door and then grasped the nettle. ‘Beer?’ she said casually, walking in. Luke was already seated at the head of the table, she noticed, bridling.

  ‘Sweetheart, beer is always good.’

  ‘What have I told you?’ she warned him on her way across the kitchen.

  ‘I promise never to call you sweetheart again.’

  She glanced over her shoulder at Luke. His face was straight enough, but his eyes were dancing with laughter. She reached for a glass.

  ‘Can I help you do that?’

  She inhaled sharply to find him at her side. Damn. Luke moved like a soft-pawed predator. ‘I can reach, thank you.’

  ‘I don’t need a glass.’

  ‘Then what do you want?’ she asked breathlessly.

&nbs
p; Luke’s mouth was very close to her ear, and although if anyone could make her lose her fear of men it was probably Luke, no way would she put that theory to the test.

  ‘Maybe I need to practise my bar skills on someone,’ she suggested, pulling away.

  ‘Practise away,’ he said, shooting her one last thoughtful look.

  Still none the wiser as to what Luke had been up to in London, she decided to concentrate on being a consummate professional—something tangible within her reach. Thanks to Margaret’s excellent cooking she served the perfect meal. She served the perfect coffee too, and Luke was pleased.

  ‘If you continue like this you’ll have the place full in no time,’ he told Margaret. ‘That was delicious, thank you. I’ll take a look around now, and check out what’s got to be done about the décor and furnishings—’

  ‘That’s my department,’ Lucia interrupted.

  ‘Says …?’ Luke’s gaze narrowed.

  ‘Says me,’ Margaret confirmed. ‘That’s what Lucia and I have agreed.’

  ‘Oh, have you?’ Luke smiled at Margaret, but reserved another look entirely for Lucia.

  The challenge made her stare him down—or attempt to. Then Luke stood and the sizeable farmhouse kitchen shrank around him. For a moment she wondered if he was going to thump the table and roar that no one decided who did what unless he signed it off.

  ‘Perhaps you two could check out the place together,’ Margaret suggested tactfully as the atmosphere in the kitchen took a dive. ‘I’ve asked Lucia to be my manager,’ she explained, as evenly as if she were pointing out the fact that Lucia’s new bucket and mop set was in a nicer shade of blue. ‘And Lucia has agreed. Isn’t that wonderful, Luke?’

  ‘We’ll discuss this later,’ Luke managed through gritted teeth.

  ‘Would you like to follow me?’ Lucia asked mildly.

  ‘No, I’ll lead the way,’ Luke insisted. ‘Having stayed here for at least ten consecutive years I’m sure I don’t need anyone to lead me round.’

  Message received loud and clear. But she led the way anyway.