by Day Leclaire
“It won’t happen again,” she said stiltedly.
He stepped closer. “What won’t? Your confusing me with Will-William or your rubbing my chest?”
“Neither. I didn’t mean to — to,” she gestured wildly, “you know.”
He smiled. “To what?”
She hated him. She absolutely loathed him for putting her in such an awkward position. ” Touch you, all right? I didn’t mean to touch you. And I’m perfectly well aware that you’re not Will … William.”
A grim smile flickered across his mouth. “You can’t even say his name without stumbling over it, can you? What sort of relationship is that?”
“William. William. William. There. Are you satisfied now?” She took a deep breath, struggling to curb her sudden spurt of anger. It wouldn’t do to lose her temper around Luc. She’d never keep everything under control that way. Lifting her chin as though daring him to say anything further, she asked, “Could we please get back to the issue at hand? Diapers for Toni, remember?”
For a minute she thought he’d argue the point. In the past few months he’d become very concerned about her relationship with the nonexistent William. She could tell, just from his tense, combative stance, that he wanted to push the discussion back onto a personal note. And she’d do just about anything to avoid that.
“It’s been a rather stressful day,” she said. “We’re both worried.”
“And we don’t want to say anything we might regret, is that what you’re suggesting?”
“Yes. That’s what I’m suggesting.”
“In that case —” he reached down and scooped Toni into his arms ” — let’s get the diaper situation taken care of. Follow me.”
He strode from the office and headed for the elevators. After a momentary hesitation, she followed. Within five seconds, he’d collected a swarm of oohing and ahhing secretaries. To Grace’s disgust, they darted around him like bees desperate for pollen. He took it as his due, beaming proudly, as if he and he alone were responsible for Toni’s adorable perfection. The elevator arrived and he excused himself from the chattering horde. Snagging Grace’s elbow, he ushered her into the car and pushed the button for the basement.
“Where are we going?” she asked, her tone sharper than she’d intended. Great. Just great. Give him something more to comment on. Just what she needed.
“We’re going to the mail room,” he answered in a suspiciously bland tone of voice.
“Why are we going to the mail room?”
“Wait and see. But be prepared to be impressed.”
“I can hardly contain myself.”
“Try,” he suggested dryly.
Exiting the elevator, he led the way through the carpeted hallways to the enormous mail room. All work ceased the moment he walked into the place, but Luc didn’t even seem to notice. He crossed to one of the desks and gently placed his precious bundle in the middle of a postage scale.
“Twelve pounds, eleven and one half ounces,” he announced with satisfaction. “Grace, order the diapers.”
“Okay. I admit it,” she said with a sigh. “I’m impressed.”
His expression serious, he leveled an intense, dark gaze at her. “Not yet, you aren’t. But give it time. Because before long I intend to impress the hell out of you.”
She could only stare at him, her breath fast and furious, her eyes huge. “What are you talking about?” she finally managed to ask.
His gaze turned enigmatic. But “Time will tell,” was all he’d say.
With no comeback to offer, she went to the nearest phone and put a call through to Edward. Then they returned upstairs. Within thirty minutes sterilized bottles, formula and disposable diapers filled the reception area. Fifteen minutes after that, Grace settled into Luc’s leather couch with a fresh and sweet-smelling Toni and popped a bottle into the baby’s tiny puckered mouth. Snuggling into the deep, soft cushions, Grace kicked off her shoes and put up her feet.
Luc looked over at her. “Comfortable?” he asked.
“Very.”
“Good. Sit there and relax. I’m going to try and clear up some of this backlog.” He reached for the first file off the stack of work piled on his desk.
“Great idea,” she said sleepily. “You know something?”
He spared her a brief glance. “What?”
“As exhausting as it is playing mommy, I’ve decided that there’s nothing more special in all the world than cradling this little piece of heaven in my arms.” She yawned.
He leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against his blotter, his expression hooded. “I can think of one other thing just as special,” he replied.
“Can you?” She considered.
Maybe being held in a pair of strong, protective arms by the man you loved could match it. But she wasn’t about to admit that to Luc. Even imagining such a thing was dangerous. And yet … Too tired to fight the wayward thought, she allowed her imagination free rein. Beautiful, delicious and utterly impossible images filled her head, and with a tiny, secretive smile, she drifted off to sleep.
“Grace, wake up.”
“Go away,” she protested in a muffled voice.
“Wake up, caramia. It’s time to go home.”
“Home?” That penetrated. With a groan, she sat up, then gasped in horror. “The baby! I fell asleep —”
“Take it easy, sweetheart. Toni’s fine. I slipped her out of your arms the minute you nodded off.”
She sat up, the image of Luc watching her sleep an uncomfortable one. “What time is it?”
“Six.”
“Six! Is Pietro back?”
“No.”
“What about Carina?”
He shook his head. “Afraid not.”
She shoved her hair out of her eyes and twitched her skirt hem down over her knees. Her disguise was rapidly falling apart. If she weren’t careful, all of Dom’s fine plans would soon come undone. Had Luc noticed anything unusual? She searched his face. Responding to her scrutiny, he lifted an eyebrow in question.
“Something must have happened to them,” she said. “It doesn’t take this long to get to and from the airport. They should be back by now.”
“They had a lot to discuss.” He shrugged. “Pietro knows Toni’s safe with us. We’ll hear from them soon.” Right on cue, the phone rang and Luc glanced over his shoulder. “My private line.”
“Thank heavens,” she whispered, knowing that only family used that number.
He crossed to his desk and snatched up the phone. “Pietro? Where the hell are you?” He listened for several minutes, then switched to Italian. Not that it mattered. From the anger in his voice, Grace knew this discussion didn’t bode well for her future. “I want an update tomorrow, you understand?” he finally said. “Or I go to Father with this.” He slammed down the phone.
Night had fallen and only a small desk lamp illuminated the room. Luc thrust his chair away from his desk and stood, crossing to the window behind him. San Francisco lay sprawled below, the city lights glittering through the misty rain.
“Good news?” she joked uneasily.
He wasn’t amused. “Pietro missed Carina at the airport, as I’m sure you’ve surmised.”
“When is he coming for Toni?”
“Not tonight.” He turned to face her, deep shadows cutting across his face and concealing his expression. “And not tomorrow night.”
“What — what does that mean?”
“It means we’re in for a longer haul than I anticipated.” He moved into the light and she caught her breath as she discerned the full extent of his displeasure. “Pietro was calling from a plane phone. He’s followed Carina to Italy.”
From across the room, the baby let out a loud wail. Grace hurried to Toni’s side and picked her up. “You said it, sweet pea,” she muttered, hugging the baby. Uneasily she recalled her promise — to stay until Carina or Pietro returned for Toni. She peeked nervously at Luc. From his cold, calculating look, he hadn’t forgott
en, either.
She closed her eyes and shivered. Oh, Lord. What had she let herself in for?
“Grace. The door. Now.”
“If you’d move out of my light, I’d get it open a lot faster. For such a ritzy apartment complex, they sure don’t light the hallways very well.”
“Grace . . . “ His tone held an implacable warning. “If you don’t hurry up, I’m going to drop the strained spinach and squash surprise all over our feet.”
Grace blew a loose curl of hair out of her eyes and focused on the door to his apartment — and the stubborn lock that kept her on the wrong side of that door. “I told you when we were at the grocery store not to get the strained spinach and squash surprise. Babies this young don’t eat strained spinach and squash surprise. They drink milk, and some eat flaked cereal.”
“I wanted to be prepared, just in case.”
She gave up on trying to work the key while holding a squirming baby. * ‘In case, what? In case Toni gets a sudden craving for big-boy beans and peachy peaches?”
“Dammit, Grace!” Luc peered into the bags. “I think I forgot the peaches.”
“Oh, dear. I’m crushed. And look at Toni. She’s crushed, too.”
“The only one in danger of being crushed is me. You’d better get that door open fast or —” The bottom of one of the bags ripped and jars tumbled to the floor. Luc let fly with a very nasty word.
“Is that any way to speak in front of an innocent baby?” Grace demanded in disgust.
“Yes!” he snarled. “That’s exactly how I speak in front of an innocent baby, when fifty pounds’ worth of baby food jars have just nailed my big toe.”
“I told you —”
“I know. I know. Not to get any baby food. And I told you, I wanted to be prepared. I don’t know how long we’ll have to take care of Toni.”
“She won’t be ready to eat that stuff for months,” Grace snapped. “Are you planning on keeping her hidden away in here for that long? I think the police will have a thing or two to say about that.”
A door across the hall opened. “Mr. Salvatore? What’s going on out there? Who’s using profanity?”
“Mrs. Bumgartle,” Luc said, his smile less captivating than usual. He climbed over the spilled baby food jars. “Did we wake you? I’m so sorry.”
To Grace’s astonishment, Luc’s unfailing charm failed. Utterly. It was, without question, a first. The old woman adjusted her glasses on the tip of her long, narrow nose and scowled. “Is that a baby?”
“Where?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, that? Why, yes. That is a baby, isn’t it?”
Mrs. Bumgartle’s eyes narrowed. “I’m delighted we agree that it’s a baby. The question is, whose baby is it?”
“Whose baby … ?”
“Yes, Mr. Salvatore.” She yanked the belt of her thick woolen robe tight about her ample middle. “Whose baby do you have there?”
“It’s my brother’s baby,” Luc explained. “This is my niece. We’re baby-sitting her for a short time.”
“Just baby-sitting,” Grace confirmed. “That’s all we’re doing.”
Mrs. Bumgartle looked from Luc to Grace, her gaze finally settling with needlepoint sharpness on Luc. “You, Mr. Salvatore, are up to something,” she said in clear, carrying tones. “And I suspect it’s nothing good.” With that she disappeared back into her apartment.
Luc sighed in exasperation. “Great. Just great. Open the door, Grace, and let’s get out of the hallway before we wake up the entire apartment complex.”
“Here.” Passing him the baby, Grace applied herself to the unyielding lock with due diligence. A moment later the door swung inward.
Grace held out her arms for Toni and stepped into Luc’s apartment, fumbling for the light. Luc picked up the numerous bags of groceries and baby paraphernalia, kicked the spilled jars of baby food in the general direction of the entranceway and followed her in. He fought to close the door.
“You’ve left half the jars outside,” she informed him. “Since you’re so certain we don’t need any baby food, they can stay out there until I’m good and ready to go after them.” His jaw inched out and he leaned down until his nose almost touched hers. “You have a problem with that?”
“Not I,” she was quick to assure him. “Mrs. Bumgartle might, however.”
“You leave Mrs. Bumgartle to me,” he said, dropping his armload to the floor of the front hall. “I’ll talk to her.”
A tiny, unladylike snort escaped. “Charm her you mean, like you do every other woman in the world? Or perhaps the operative word is lie.”
Luc merely glanced at her, then dug through their purchases until he uncovered the portable crib. It took him less than a minute to open it and settle Toni inside. He carried the baby into the living room, and there faced Grace. “For your information, Miss Barnes, I never lie.”
“Oh, really? What do you call that story you told the police?”
“A truth-to-be,” came the prompt reply. “Because the truth is we are baby-sitting my niece. And the truth is Pietro and Carina will return for Toni. And the truth is they will soon be married or suffer the consequences.”
“What about our so-called engagement?”
He shook his head. “I think we’ll save that particular truth for a future discussion. I’m not proud of what I did today. But I considered it imperative. I hate lying and I hate liars” He seemed to watch her closely. “Which is why I get along so well with you, Grace.”
A blush lit her face and she prayed he would attribute it to embarrassment rather than sudden, intense guilt. Because if he ever found out about her conspiracy with Dom, Luc would be very angry. It would also change everything between them, and she realized for the first time how much she’d hate that change. “Luc —”
“As far as charming women,” he interrupted ruthlessly, “of course I’m charming to women. I told you. I love women. I adore women. They’re easy to be charming to. What’s wrong with that?”
She took a hasty step back. “Noth-nothing.”
He swallowed the distance between them in one stride. “If,” he continued, his voice dipping low and taking on a raspy edge, “you weren’t so cold and remote, I’d have been more charming to you, too. Only that and one other thing has held me back these past eleven months.”
Grace swallowed nervously. “What’s the one other thing?” she dared to ask.
“Your engagement,” he responded promptly. “And do you know why?”
“No,” she whispered.
He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming gold in the subdued lighting. “Because I don’t poach.” He took another step toward her and smiled, a predatory sort of smile. “Until now.” And then he reached for her.
“No!” Grace shook her head frantically, pushing her hands against his chest. “You’re only saying that to … to . . . “
Luc tilted his head to one side. “To what?”
To drive me crazy.To tempt me beyond endurance. “To.. .to give me a hard time,” she insisted, leaping at the only safe excuse she could think of. ”But it’s not true. Maybe if I were beautiful like your other women —”
He cut through her words without hesitation. “All women are beautiful. Even women who hide behind these.” He slipped off her glasses, dangling them carelessly from one finger.
“I need those!” She made a grab for the glasses, but he tossed them aside with casual disregard. They hit the soft cushions of the couch, bounced once and settled in the middle of the cushions, the lenses winking in the subdued lighting.
“You need them?” he asked and she couldn’t mistake the irony in his voice.
Did he know? Did he suspect the glasses were part of her disguise? She didn’t dare lie. Not when he watched her so closely. Not when she felt so vulnerable, stripped of the defenses she’d worked so long and hard to maintain between them. Instead, she fought his hold. “Luc, stop it!”
He didn’t listen. Nor did he release her. “What I don’t understand
is why.” His fingers slid into her hair, scattering the pins, the heavy curls tumbling free. “Why would a woman as beautiful as you . . . “
“No, don’t!” She tried to step back, but he cupped her shoulders and refused to let go. To her horror, his hands drifted downward, gently tracing the curves hidden by her voluminous blouse and thick woolen skirt, before settling on her hips.
” . . . want to hide her light beneath a bushel?” he finished in satisfaction. “And you have been hiding your light, haven’t you, my sweet? Is that Will-William’s doing, I wonder?”
“Luc, please,” she moaned, struggling to slip free.
He tightened his hold on her hips, yanking her closer. “You, cam mia, are stunning,” he whispered, his mouth a hairbreadth away. “And for just this once, good old Will-William can go to hell.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The Great Lie
Day 337at 23 hours, 29 minutes …
Luc didn’t try to force a kiss on her as Grace half expected.. .half hoped. Instead his fingers combed through her loosened hair and he cupped her head, the rough edges of his thumb stroking a line of fire along her jaw. He bent closer, his rich golden eyes glowing with a fire and passion that trapped her, entangled her in a web of long-suppressed need and desire.
A small, still rational part of her knew she shouldn’t be allowing this to happen. She should be resisting, fighting his touch … his hold … his charm. She was supposed to be an engaged woman, for heaven’s sake. She couldn’t allow Luc to believe she could be so easily seduced by a man other than her fiance.
As though reading her mind, he brushed a swift, gentle kiss across her Ups. “Forget William. This has nothing to do with him. This is between the two of us, something that we’ve both been curious about for a long time.”
She shook her head. “That’s not true,” she instantly denied.
“No?” His expression mocked her. “You’ve never thought about how it would feel to be held in my arms?”
“Never,” she affirmed.
