by Day Leclaire
She shot him a look of annoyance. “His name is Will … William, as you know full well.”
“And Will-William is dragging you off to his mountain lair to have his wicked way with you? Is that what you were telling Edward?”
“That’s none of your business.” She studiously faced the elevator doors, refusing to so much as glance his way. Not that it helped. The shiny gold doors acted as a mirror, reflecting the determination in his gaze. “And don’t think I didn’t see that look you and Edward exchanged,” she added for good measure.
“It’s my business if I choose to make it my business.” He positioned himself in front of her, blocking the doors. “And what look are you referring to?”
She deliberately kept her attention fixed on the red silk tie knotted at his throat. As usual, it was slightly askew. And as usual, she valiantly resisted the temptation to straighten it. With each passing day, however, the temptation grew strongerOne of these days she’d give in.
If she was lucky, that would also be day three hundred and sixty-five on the job. “You know the look I mean. That significant man-to-man, women-are-such-fools one.”
“Ah … You mean our look of mutual concern.”
Her gaze flashed upward, locking with his. It was a mistake. He could melt ice with those eyes. Her annoyance didn’t stand a chance — it evaporated like mist beneath a hot sun. “My personal life is none of your business,” she managed to say. Finally succeeding in breaking eye contact, she addressed his tie once again. “And it is most certainly none of Edward’s.”
“On the contrary. You elected to share your personal life with Edward, so you have no one to blame but yourself if he offers an opinion.” His long, lean fingers brushed her jaw, making her face him. “And whether you believe it or not, everything about you is my affair.” He made the sweeping statement with such utter sincerity that it left no room for doubt.
Her breathing stopped. “Why would you care if Will … William and I went away for the weekend?” She still choked every time she uttered her fictitious fiance’s name. And Luc — dam him — took due note.
The elevator doors slid open and he stepped aside so they could enter. He keyed the lock for the top floor before responding. “Is he pressuring you?” Luc asked.
She knew exactly what he meant, but she lifted her chin and gave him a bland smile anyway. “Pressuring me? Whatever do you mean?”
He turned on her, disapproval carving his features into a stony mask. “To have sex, as you well know. And don’t bother with that innocent expression and the coy lies. You’re not good at it, Grace.”
She fought to keep a straight face. Little did he know. Over the past year she’d become unbelievably adept at lying. And if her father ever found out, it would break his heart. “I refuse to discuss this matter further,” she announced in no uncertain terms. “I repeat. It’s none of your business.”
He stabbed a button on the elevator and the car jerked to a stop. “Don’t do it, Grade,” he urged in a husky voice. “Don’t go away with him on a whim. You deserve better than that.”
She glared at Luc, sick of her deception, wishing she could be herself instead of guarding every word she uttered. But she couldn’t, and she forced herself to demand, “What could be better than a snow-covered mountain chalet buried deep in a redwood forest?”
His hands snagged the collar of her coat, rubbing the butter-soft wool along the length of her jaw. “For your first time … I think a second-floor suite at the Ritz in Paris overlooking the Place Venddme would suit you best.”
She stared at him in alarm. He’d never made such personal remarks before, never touched her like this or gazed down at her with such a smoldering expression. This sudden change in their relationship unsettled her. “Who said it would be my first time?” she asked weakly, an odd tension gathering in the pit of her stomach.
“I say,” he replied.
She didn’t dare argue the point. Not when he was right. Instead she maintained, “I happen to think snuggling with my fiance in front of a roaring fire with nothing between me and a bearskin rug but a scrap of lace sounds perfect.” She could hear the tension in her voice now, but for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to end this strange and intimate conversation.
His eyes half closed and he bent closer, murmuring, “Making love on top of dead animals doesn’t appeal to me. And with your skin, nothing but silk will do. Something low cut and simple.” He released her collar, the back of his hand stroking a leisurely path across her cheek and jaw. “Better yet, why don’t we try a feather mattress and nothing between us at all. What do you say to that?”
She shivered beneath his touch, horrified by the magnitude of her reaction to him. Where was her control? Where was her detachment? “Luc . . . “ His name escaped on a breathless sigh.
His mouth curved upward. “Is that a yes?”
Her eyes widened in panic and she inhaled sharply, fighting the desire that swept through her veins like wildfire. “No!”
“Just checking,” he said with an easy shrug. “So good old Will-William the accountant from San Jose —”
“San Mateo!”
” — wants sex beside a roaring fire and is offering a chalet, champagne and dead animals to get his way. Is that about it?”
He hadn’t been serious about making love to her, she realized then. He’d merely been teasing again. He didn’t really care — not on a personal basis. The knowledge bit deep. It didn’t matter what he thought of her, she tried to convince herself. It didn’t. It didn’t!
“Maybe,” she said in a hard, tight voice, “that isn’t what he’s offering, but what I’m offering.”
She pulled free and jabbed the button to resume the ride, but not before she saw anger flash across Luc’s face. Good. Let him be on the losing side of a disagreement for once. She faced the elevator doors again, seeing her metallic reflection as he saw it.
She’d kept her hair rinsed to a nondescript shade of brown and still pinned it into a tight knot at the nape of her neck. The tinted glasses she wore had proved most effective, swamping her delicate features, concealing her leaf green eyes and high-boned cheeks. Her experiments with makeup only added insult to injury. The foundation she’d chosen gave her face a pallid, sallow appearance. And completing her disguise were her clothes, the businesslike suits a size too large and ranging in tone from a dirt brown to navy and black.
It was absolutely perfect.
It also made her want to cry.
This past year had given her an acute awareness of how cruel the world could be toward unattractive people. All her father’s little sermons about vanity, about it being a person’s inner beauty that counted most, came home to roost. Never again would she ever judge by appearances alone.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Luc said at last. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s quite all right,” she replied in a stilted voice. And though she’d just vowed to never again judge by appearances, she couldn’t help wishing — wishing with a passion that shocked her — that he could see her as she really was.
The elevator slowed and the doors opened. Blocking her avenue of escape, he said, “But you still shouldn’t sleep with him unless you’re sure. Very sure.”
He stepped off the elevator, leaving her openmouthed and fuming. Before she could dart between the doors, they closed with a snap, forcing her to endure a return trip to the lobby. Just as well, she decided with stoic resolve, since she’d left her umbrella leaning against Edward’s desk.
Five minutes later, she arrived back on the executive floor and hurried to the reception area outside Luc’s office. She disposed of her coat and umbrella in the office closet and sat at her desk. Removing a bright red marker from her drawer, she took even more than her usual delight in crossing one more day off her year-long sentence.
She looked up to see Luc standing at his door, watching.
“You do that every morning,” he observed. “It’s almost as though you were
counting the days until . . . “ He shrugged. “Something.”
She stared at him, stricken. “Nonsense.”
His eyes narrowed. “It’s not nonsense. What are you counting down to?”
“Nothing!” Had she somehow given herself away? She couldn’t have!
“That’s twice today,” he stated ominously.
She swallowed. “Twice?”
“Twice today you’ve lied to me.”
He frowned and she froze. His frowns, rare though they were, worried her. A lot. They invariably preceded an explosion. Only once had that explosion been directed her way, and she’d decided then and there it would be the last time she’d give him cause to exercise that infamous temper of his.
“I don’t like it, Grace,” he said softly, a certain menace marking his voice. “Don’t lie to me again.”
She didn’t dare respond, didn’t daie dwell on what would happen should he discover the deception she and Dom had instigated — especially considering it was aimed directly at Luc. She could only pray he didn’t find ouL Because if he ever did … She shuddered.
So, what had tipped him off about her latest fibs? And why weren’t they working today? She thought she’d gotten rather good at evading the truth, but perhaps months and months of practicing such a bad habit had caused a sort of short circuit and she was all lied out. Or perhaps Luc’s dislike of them had finally rubbed off on her.
Her father would be delighted, were he to know. Grace was horrified.
Luc didn’t wait for an answer, which was a relief since she had none to offer. Instead, he returned to his office and closed the door with gentle emphasis. She stared blindly at her calendar. Four more weeks. That’s all she had to get through. Just four more weeks.
In just under three of those weeks Dom Salvatore would return from his year-long sojourn to Italy and appoint a relative to take over as Luc’s assistant. One quick week of training and Grace would be free to open Baby Dream Toys. Her dearest wish — her mother’s dearest wish — would finally be realized.
She focused on the calendar. She could do it. Just four more weeks of lies and half-truths, disguises and evasions. What could be easier? The problem was, would she still think it worthwhile once she had her shop? She’d worried about this at length. When she’d first agreed to Dom’s plan, she’d wanted her own business so badly that she hadn’t paused to weigh the consequences. She’d had plenty of time since to reconsider her hasty and illplanned decision. And now she wasn’t so sure she’d made the right choice. Using deceit to attain her goal, even when it was a lifelong dream, went against the grain.
She was living a lie. And she’d never been more uncomfortable in her life. Worse, she liked working for Luc. He was a fantastic employer — generous, intelligent, creative. She’d even found their frequent battle of wills challenging. If not for the lies, it would be the perfect job.
A small sound caught her attention, and looking up, Grace noticed a beautiful young woman standing in the doorway of the reception area. She carried a huge diaper bag over one arm; in the other she clutched a baby.
“May I help you?” Grace asked, shoving her glasses higher on her nose.
The young woman shot Grace a suspicious glance, then shook her head. She peered around rather frantically. When her gaze landed on Luc’s door and the plaque that read Luciano Salvatore, she let out an exclamation of relief. Eyeing Grace with a measure of defiance, she sidled toward Luc’s door.
Grace stood. This did not look too encouraging. A young woman, infant in arms, acting as though Luc’s door held the answer to all her prayers … “Excuse me, but do you have an appointment?” she asked, though she could guess the answer to that one. This little entrance had “surprise visit” written all over it. Her hands closed into fists. How would Luc take to his newly discovered papahood? she wondered in despair. She already knew how she felt about it, the sick, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach all too clear an indication.
More to the point … when had her feelings for Luc changed? When had she begun to care?
There was no mistaking the young woman’s resolve. She glanced from Grace to the door as though judging her chances of winning a footrace. As Grace came around the desk, determination glittered in the woman’s huge sloe eyes and she literally threw herself at Luc’s door. Yanking it open, she launched into a spate of very loud Italian and slammed the door in Grace’s face.
Grace’s mouth fell open.
“Miss Barnes!” Luc’s roar rattled the rafters an instant later. “Get in here!”
It took her a split second to gather her wits sufficiently to obey. Then she, too, charged the door and threw it open. Mother and infant had found sanctuary in Luc’s arms, and between sobs the woman poured out what appeared to be a most heartrending story. Luc fired a quick question and the woman stepped back, her Italian loud and furious. Startled from a sound sleep, the baby burst into tears, his wails competing with his mother’s.
“You bellowed?” Grace asked.
He stabbed a finger at her. “Don’t start. Go down the hall and drag my brother Pietro out of his office. I want him in here. Now.”
She turned to leave, only to discover Pietro standing behind her. “What’s all the shouting?” he asked, then took one look at the woman at Luc’s side and cried, “Carina!”
The sudden realization that the child was, in all probability, Pietro’s and not Luc’s, grabbed Grace’s full attention. Fighting to ignore an overwhelming sense of relief, she slipped farther into the room, watching this latest development with intense interest.
Pietro crossed to Carina’s side and started to take her into his arms. Grace could tell the instant he noticed the baby. It took precisely two seconds for the significance to sink in. “What the hell is this?” he shouted.
“What does it look like?” Carina shouted back. “It is a baby.”
The infant in question started crying again. Grace, realizing the door to Luc’s office stood open, turned to close it. A gaggle of secretaries had gathered in a loose semicircle, listening with open mouths. “I’ll get security,” one of them offered, and darted down the hallway before Grace could stop her. With a sigh, she shut the door. One problem at a time.
“Enough!” Luc thundered. “I want quiet and I want it now!” To Grace’s astonishment, all obeyed, even the baby. “Excellent. Now. Do you think we could get to the bottom of this mess?”
“Fine. Your brother, he is a pig!” Carina condemned, then broke into a long litany of passionate Italian.
“English, please,” Luc requested.
“My English, it is not so good.”
“Really?Pietro’s Italian is even worse.” He eyed the baby grimly. “I see you managed to overcome the language barrier despite that small obstacle. I think introductions are in order. Don’t you?”
“Luc,” Pietro spoke up. “This is Carina Donati. Carina, my brother Luciano and his assistant, Miss Barnes.”
“Buon giorno,” Carina acknowledged them with an abrupt nod.
“Carina and I … Well, we met at UC Berkeley,” Pietro confessed. “She’s a foreign-exchange student.”
“Not any more,” she interrupted, hugging the baby to her breast. “Now I am statistic. Unwed mother.”
Pietro turned on her. “And whose fault is that?”
“Yours!” She offered him the baby. “You do not believe you are the papa?”
His hands balled into fists. “I damn well better be!”
“Children . . . “ Luc inserted softly.
Grace crossed the room and held out her arms. “Why don’t I take the baby?” she suggested, hoping to remove the poor infant from the field of battle. To her relief, Carina handed over her bundle without a single protest, and Grace retreated to the far side of the room.
Pietro addressed Carina, speaking at a more moderate level. “I phoned. You wouldn’t answer any of my calls. I came over to the house. They said you’d moved out and hadn’t left a forwarding address. I went everyw
here I could think of to find you. It was like you’d vanished off the face of the earth.”
Carina planted her hands on her curvaceous hips, scorn flashing in her magnificent eyes. “Of course I vanished. You lied to me!”
“I never!”
“What about Giovanna Carducci?”
“You left me because of Giovanna Carducci?” Pathetic tears filled her eyes and she pointed a trembling finger. “See! He admits it.”
“I’m not admitting anything!”
“That’s enough,” Luc interrupted once again. “Let me see if I have this straight. You and Carina met, fell in love, had a falling out over someone named Giovanna Carducci —”
“No!” Pietro denied.
“Sit” Carina insisted.
“And,” Luc seized control of the conversation once more, “unbeknownst to Pietro, Carina conceived . . . “ He gestured toward Grace and the baby.
“Tony,” Carina supplied.
“Tony. Does that about cover it?”
“Si,” Carina agreed. “In a nut case.”
“Nutshell,” Pietro corrected.
She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Whatever it is, I don’t care. The big man, he is right.”
The “big man” sighed. “I hesitate to ask this, Carina, but you now want … what?”
As though on cue, the tears reappeared. Pietro took one look and pulled her into his arms. “Darling, what is it? What’s happened?”
“My mother in Italy, she is very sick,” Carina confessed, her voice breaking. “I must go to her. But I cannot.”
Pietro stared at her in bewilderment. “Why not?”
She pulled free, glaring at him. “Why not? You look at my sweet, little Tony and ask, why not? I come from a very small village. My relatives are old-fashioned. If they ever find out I have a baby with no husband, I would be disowned. So I come up with solution.”
“Which is?” Luc asked.
The tears finally escaped, sliding down her cheeks. With a cry of distress, she snatched Tony from Grace and repeatedly kissed the tuft of black hair peeking out of the blanket. Then Carina thrust the tiny bundle at Pietro. “Tony is also yours,” she said, choking on a sob. “You take care of our baby while I am in Italy. When my mama is better, I will return and be an unwed, deserted mother once more.” Dropping the diaper bag to the ground, she pushed past Grace and fled the room.
