Lucifer's Lover
Date: 2005-12-31 08:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romance; Contemporary; Erotica; Erotic Romance; Fiction
Description: Can you love the one you hate? Lindsay is determined to outshine her mother's illustrious career. As head of marketing for the exclusive Freeman Hotel, in the rarefied mountains of northern Washington, Lindsay grapples with her rival, the charming newcomer, Lucifer Furey Pierse. No one knows much about Luke except he could turn murder into a comedy routine, that he likes classy women and is oddly drawn to the prickly, definitely not-interested Lindsay. It starts with a bet that goes horribly wrong. If Lyndsay wins, then Luke leaves town—forever. If Luke wins, he gets a date with Lyndsay. But w

Lucifer’s Lover

by

Tracy Cooper-Posey

Lindsay is determined to outshine her mother's illustrious career. As head of marketing for the exclusive Freeman Hotel, in the rarefied mountains of northern Washington, Lindsay grapples with her rival—the charming newcomer, Lucifer Furey Pierse.

No one knows much about Luke except that he could turn murder into a comedy routine, that he likes classy women and is oddly drawn to the prickly, definitely not-interested Lindsay.

It starts with a bet that goes horribly wrong.  If Lyndsay wins, then Luke leaves town—forever.  If Luke wins, he gets a date with Lyndsay.  But when Luke wins and Lindsay is forced to pay the price, she learns more about Lucifer than she thought existed, and the date kick-starts a bitter-sweet journey as they learn why they are the people they have become.   Life hands them an unexpected twist they must deal with...one that tests both of them to limits.

Other books by Tracy Cooper-Posey

Eyes of a Stranger

Chronicles of the Lost Years

Case of the Reluctant Agent

Dare to Return

Diana by the Moon

Forbidden

Red Leopard

Solstice Surrender

Heart of Vengeance

Dangerous Beauty

Silent Knight

Black Heart

Thief in the Night

Masquerade’s Mate

Cameo Role

Ningaloo Nights

Betting With Lucifer

Dead Double

Dead Again

Blue Knight

Blood Knot

Fatal Wild Child

Bannockburn Binding

The Royal Talisman

Writing as Teal Ceagh

Beth’s Acceptance

Mia’s Return

Sera’s Gift

Eva’s Last Dance

Carson’s Night

Kiss Across Time

Beauty’s Beasts

Destiny’s Trinity

Kiss Across Swords

Writing as Anastasia Black

Forbidden

Dangerous Beauty

See http://TracyCooperPosey.com for details on each title.

Lucifer’s Lover

by

Tracy Cooper-Posey

A Stories Rule Publication

STORIES RULE PUBLICATIONS

A sole proprietorship owned and operated
by Tracy Cooper-Posey

This is an original publication of Tracy Cooper-Posey

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

Copyright © 2012 by Tracy Cooper-Posey

Text design by Tracy Cooper-Posey

Cover design by Dar Albert

Wicked Smart Designs
http://wickedsmartdesigns.com

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

SECOND EDITION: January 2012

ISBN 978-0-9879068-7-8

Cooper-Posey, Tracy

Lucifer’s Lover /Tracy Cooper-Posey—2nd Ed.

Romance—Fiction

Home Is Where The Heart Is

Lucifer’s Lover took a long time to grow up and find a home—much like the character Luke in the book...as you’re about to discover for yourself.

With the exception of three of my titles, I have always published electronically.  Lucifer’s Lover was one of my earlier releases, in 2005, with a company that published both electronically and in hardcover, an odd combination.  But it does mean I can truthfully say I’ve been published in hardcover—a rare resume entry for popular fiction authors.  The publisher, however, wasn’t a romance specialty publisher, and the electronic rights were subsidiary for them.  I wasn’t happy with my sales despite my best marketing efforts, and we mutually decided to withdraw the book from sale.

I heard rumours that Ellora’s Cave were going to start up a new non-erotic brand and eventually, Cerridwen Press came into being.  As I was already heavily publishing with them on the erotic romance side, under my name and the Teal Ceagh pen name, it seemed natural to start re-releasing my non-erotic titles, too.  Ellora’s Cave objected to the name, Lucifer’s Lover, because it was too close to several of their erotic romance titles already in print, so Lucifer’s Lover was retitled Betting With Lucifer and published in December, 2009.

Unfortunately, sales still didn’t soar, even though I garnered glowing reviews all over the place once again.

After a couple of years languishing in ebook only, the title was pulled and rights returned to me.

My quest to find a final, permanent home for Lucifer’s Lover ended with J.A. Konrath and the evolution of indie publishing, and here you, the reader, and I, the author, meet, with no middleman —no publisher between us.  Cool, huh?

This ends up being where Lucifer’s Lover will take up residence for the rest of its natural life:  My special Author’s Edition.

Covers Can Make You Crazy

Book covers are an interesting part of the publishing business, especially for authors. Readers love them. They sell books by helping the reader pick it up and look through it. One of the most interesting covers out I remember was Laurell K. Hamilton book, with the torso wrapped in a leather corset. That’s all you see, but it’s so highly suggestive of the contents that it makes you want to read the book just on the cover alone.

So it would be fair to say that covers can be important, right?

It might surprise you to know that with traditional publishers, authors have no say in their covers. Good, bad, or downright awful, the author must simply clamp her jaw together. If she’s smart, she’ll smile widely and exclaim, “How lovely!”

Sometimes you just can’t manage that, though. One of the most famous really bad covers in recent history is the one with the heroine with three arms — Christina Dodd’s book, Castles in the Air. Christina didn’t stay silent about that one.  She turned what has to be a true cover disaster into a marketing bonanza.  I’d love to know how many copies of that book she sold based on the cover alone.  The book has been re-released now, under a new name...and a different cover.

All About Romance reviews covers, too, and have a Worse Cover award every year. Scrolling through these is like watching an accident happen. You can’t look away despite your horror and despair.

Contractually, authors have no input into their covers. All decisions are left with the marketing department in consultation with the editor. You do get to fill in a cover questionnaire, and depending on how thorough the questionnaire is, how detailed you make your answers, and if the art department reads it, you stand a good chance of the cover coming out looking like it has something to do with the story inside.

I’m exaggerating a bit to make my point. Although it sounds like an odd process, the building of covers for novels works very well most of the time. Marketing departments do actually know what they’re doing.

Sometimes an author can very tactfully point out a mistake, after the cover is done (”he’s supposed to have blond hair, not black”.) This happened with one of my covers; The Case of the Reluctant Agent. If the reader had read the first book of the pair, Chronicles of the Lost Years, the cover on Case of the Reluctant Agent gave away whodunit. That’s not something you want in a mystery, so I did try politely to point this out. The marketing department told me that they had decided to leave the cover as is. So Agent went out into the world with its secret revealed on the cover, and I held my breath and hoped that readers wouldn’t notice. So far I haven’t had any grumpy fan mail about it.

However, occasionally, if they have a very good relationship with their editor and the publisher in general, an author can have more than minimal approval of the cover. The cover for the original edition of Lucifer’s Lover came about this way.

My son needed to design a commercial graphic for a graphic arts course he was completing, and he offered to design a cover for me, for Lucifer’s Lover, which had just been sold to Archebooks. I gave him the synopsis, he asked me a few questions about what I had envisioned for a cover, and went away. The cover he came up with was simple, delightful and perfect for the book. It said it all, and I was over the moon about it. I was so thrilled, in fact, that I sent a copy to my editor, and very politely asked what they thought about it.

They thought it was fabulous, too, and it was shipped off to the art department, pronto. Then came the bad news; the image my son had used had limited copyright, and couldn’t be used for commercial purposes. But the art department liked the cover so much, that they built a similar cover, using commercial images.

For this second edition, I turned to Dar Albert, who does all my independently published book covers.  I’ve raved about Dar and her god-like abilities to read my mind elsewhere (in The Royal Talisman, for instance), so I will simply say I handed over the information about Lucifer’s Lover this time, knowing I would get a stunning cover.  I also handed over my son’s 100%-awarded art school cover, too.  The results of any input I give Dar are always interesting.  You’re holding those results in your hand(s).

(An original version of this essay first appeared on Stories Rule in June 2, 2007.  This version has been updated and extended.)

To Terry:

After all, you got 100% for the cover.

Acknowledgements

Dar, always.  You know why.

Chapter One

Lindsay knew she was the only marketing manager in history who fought off nausea every time she called a department meeting to order. She wasn’t naturally people-oriented the way her staff was, so leading a room full of extroverts kept her adrenaline pumping like Old Faithful.

And then there was Luke Pierse, on top of that.

She always came out of these meetings with spaghetti knees and an antacid habit that made Woody Allen look cool and collected.

As she tried to settle into this month’s meeting, she told herself the worst was over. She was here, the meeting was rolling. Just tough it out for a little longer, then she could flee back to her office and wish for the millionth time she had not been so genetically cursed when it came to dealing with people, or that she had spent at least some time during her school years learning how to get along with others, instead of burying her nose in textbooks.

She surreptitiously wiped her hand on her skirt to dry the moist palm. Tim, her assistant, held out a clean handkerchief to her, underneath the tabletop so no one else could see it.

She took it and squeezed his wrist as a silent thank you. His gaze flickered in her direction, before returning to the other end of the table, where one of the salespeople was giving his report. Tim had gone through school with her, had been her next door neighbor since preschool and was still a steadfast, understanding friend. He knew how these events made her guts roil and her brow sweat. He also understood that the rest of the world was never to know the truth.

The salesman sat down. Her turn. Everyone was looking at her.

Her heart thudding, she tucked Tim’s handkerchief back into his waiting hand and put her palms flat on the folder in front of her. She straightened her spine, to look as in-control as possible.

“It was a bad month,” she told them, keeping her voice low so it wouldn’t tremble. “You’re all aware of this and you’ve all just heard each others’ summaries about the troubles we’re having.”

Everyone nodded slightly. Agreeing. Except for Luke Pierse. He sat at the far corner of the long table, leaning well back. He was watching her, the black eyes almost drilling through her.

As always, she wondered if he could see past her bluff and knew of the wholesale sickness that wrenched at her. Of course, he would feel no such qualms about leading these people. He never felt qualms about anything. Or did he?

She just didn’t know Pierse well enough, despite the fact that he’d been working for her for two years.

She pulled her gaze to the middle of the table, avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes. “Worse, this month is the third consecutive month our figures have been down,” she added.

“Figures are down everywhere, boss.” Luke’s tone was reasonable and his expression unreadable.

For an endless moment, Lindsay stared at him, wondering how she was supposed to answer that.

The problem with Luke was that he wasn’t good looking enough, she decided. The dark, dark hair that wasn’t quite a perfect pitch-black, for instance. It was a deep shade of brown, which cast subtle highlights in sunlight and contrasted with the thick dark mass beneath to create an interesting affect.

The face wasn’t precisely perfect. His jaw was solid instead of refined and there was a dimple on the chin that wasn’t quite symmetrical. And too, there was a barely visible scar—a tiny one—on the corner of his jaw, that always made her wonder how he’d got it.

His teeth were wonderfully white—she knew that from watching him throw his head back and laugh. Usually at her expense. But the teeth weren’t totally straight. No braces had ever smoothed them out to bland perfection. His hands were large and useful, the wrists strong with muscle but the fingers were unexpectedly long, like a sensitive artist’s hands.

And the eyes… She’d learned his black eyes gave away nothing. They danced all too often with amusement, humor, or mischief but rarely anything else. Except that on the odd occasion when she’d come upon him quietly, she had caught an expression that was almost contemplative and far away. On those few times she had assumed he’d been thinking about his beloved New York.

All in all, the little imperfections gave him an intangible sense of character. It hinted of a past. And that was just the problem. If he had been model-perfect, if he had the immaculate grooming and plastic perfection of the oily, endlessly charming salesman, she might have been able to dismiss his presence from her mind and from her office.

He was a brilliant marketing man, though.

And now he was challenging her again. As usual, Lindsay couldn’t think of a response that would put him back in his place, or ruffle his composure even just a little bit.

She glanced away from Luke, letting her gaze fall to the manila folder beneath her palms that held the summary of monthly figures. That gave her the answer she needed.

She looked Luke in the eye. “Figures are down everywhere,” she agreed and paused minutely. “Including yours.”

She reached quickly for the folder that Tim was patiently holding, trying to stall the response she knew Luke would shoot back. But it wasn’t quite fast enough for her to miss seeing Luke’s jaw begin to descend, the eyes to widen.

She lifted the bright red folder so everyone could see it. “Now, Vince Gormley has agreed that figures have been lousy for a while because of the unseasonable weather but we’re coming up on Christmas and the snow has come in just fine. Recalcitrant weather won’t do as an excuse anymore.”

Alexander, the third best salesman in the marketing team, shook his head. “It’s not just the weather. Ever since the Sherbourne Hotel added that convention center, they’ve been killing us.”

“They’ve been marketing pretty heavily,” Timothy added. “They’re all over the internet.”

Lindsay shook her head. “That’s no excuse. Competition is the name of the game. That’s why we have jobs in the first place. That’s why marketing was invented.”

“I heard Edison invented it to keep himself occupied on long journeys.” It was Luke’s voice. Of course it would be Luke, she thought grimly.

There were grins and muffled laughs around the table but they quickly died. Luke looked in Lindsay’s direction and shrugged. “Well, who’d want to do it anywhere else except on a slow boat to China?”

She ignored him because she couldn’t think of a decent answer. Even if she’d had ten minutes to find one, she wouldn’t. Luke had rattled her. Again. Mentally, she sighed. How did he leave her speechless so damn easily? What was it about him that aggravated her, every time he opened his mouth?

Lindsay chose not to respond. Instead, she pushed the red file out into the middle of the table. “I heard on the grapevine the other day that the Washington State Medical Association is shopping around for a new AGM location. They love holding the AGM here in Deerfoot Falls but they’re unhappy with the Sherbourne Hotel. They feel it’s too commercial.”

She watched the realization move around the table like a wave of warm air.

“We could steal one of Sherbourne’s richest accounts from them,” Alexander murmured, with an eager expression.

“Yes, we could,” Lindsay agreed, lifting her voice a little over the murmurs and comments around the table. “We’re supposed to bring in business for the hotel but we seem to have lost sight of that basic fact. This should serve as an overdue reminder.”

“Who gets to go after the account?” Luke asked loudly.

Silence greeted him as they all looked at each other, their expressions suddenly guarded. Even with her stunted abilities to analyze people, Lindsay knew the desire to win the account for themselves had suddenly bloomed in every salesman’s heart around the table.

“Are you suggesting you should get the account?” Lindsay asked Luke, choosing her words so there was not even an accidental implication that she was offering it to him.

“I bring in more business than anyone here,” Luke countered.

“Almost everyone.”

“Everyone, including you. Timothy ran figures for me, spread over the last six months. I’ve brought in two thousand dollars more than you.”

“Two thousand is chicken feed,” Lindsay protested.

“It’s still two thousand more than you bought in,” Luke said flatly.

Impossible. Lindsay sat silently, trying to counter this unprecedented change. Luke was doing better than her? That wasn’t part of the plan. No one could do better than her. How had she allowed this to happen?

“Face it, Lindsay,” Luke said quietly. “I’m the best salesman you’ve got. I should get the chance to land the account.”

It was almost impossible to tear her gaze away from his black eyes. They were challenging. Intimidating, if she was being completely honest.

“I’m the manager of the department,” Lindsay countered, knowing it was a pathetic response. She wanted this account for herself, now. She needed to shore up her record. Giving the account to Luke was a certain way to lose even more ground. The manager of the hotel, Vince Gormley, already thought Luke walked on water. What would he think if Luke pulled in the state’s Medical Association and the lucrative five year contract they were dangling?

“What about both of you, then?” Tim said. It was the first time he had spoken all meeting and she knew he was jumping in because he’d seen she couldn’t find a response. No one in the room had noticed her struggle except Tim.

“Both of us?” Luke shrugged, like the idea didn’t bother him in the slightest. “Why not?”

“Not in a million years!” Lindsay shot back.

Luke studied her and for a brief moment it felt eerily like they were the only two in the room. Lindsay’s heart boomed with a sickly mix of adrenaline and, yes, fear too. What was he thinking when he looked at her that way? Did he do it just to confound her? Maybe he did. It worked so well, after all.

She clenched her hand to hide the trembling in it, still unable to look away from his black gaze.

“What’s wrong, boss? Can’t you stand the competition?” His voice was low, almost like he was speaking only to her.

“I didn’t mean as a competition…” Timothy began.

“Yeah, a competition!” Alexander crowed. “All right.” He rubbed his hands together.

“No. No contest!” Lindsay had to lift her voice.

“It’s just a friendly competition,” someone called.

“I’ve seen these ‘friendly’ competitions before,” Lindsay said. “People get obsessed by them. Next thing you know, the staff of the entire hotel will be taking side bets.”

“I can arrange that,” Alexander volunteered.

“I said no.” It was already getting out of hand. She needed to stop this right now.

“What if the stakes were high enough?” Luke asked with an innocent expression Lindsay knew with complete certainty was a facade. Luke had bypassed innocence when he moved from childhood to devil in one giant leap. Lucifer Furey Pierse. Even the name suited him.

A tiny touch of fear fluttered through her. She just didn’t know him well enough. That was the problem. She couldn’t anticipate what he might be planning. “No.” She shook her head. “I don’t care what the stakes are. I’m not doing it.”

“What do you most want in the world?” Luke asked.

Lindsay saw the yawning trap beneath his words. “I’m not even going to begin to talk about it,” she told him. It was an old sales ploy. If she did start in on specifics, he’d deal with every objection she raised, every roadblock. And just like that, she’d be locked into this stupid competition, the same way Luke managed to ensnarl her into so many things.

“You can have anything you want,” Luke said. His tone was flat, lacking any sort of enticement or coaxing.

The total sincerity in his tone and expression made her jaw drop before she could snap it closed again. “Anything?” she repeated, amazed.

“Anything.”

Timothy gave a wheezy laugh, like it had been pulled out of him reluctantly. “You can’t do it,” he told Luke. “No one is going to be able to make her the hotel manager before her birthday unless Gormley spontaneously falls down dead.”

Lindsay caught her breath and glared at Tim, hurt clamping her heart. Tim, of all people, should know better than to speak about her ambitions aloud like that. How could he?

Tim glanced at her, then his gaze snapped back to her face. His eyes widened as he realized what he had said and he looked away, at the conference table, to the ceiling, back to the folders in front of him, anywhere but at her.

“Spontaneous mortality?” Luke said. He swiveled around in his chair, sitting up, as if he was getting down to business. “I’ve got an uncle, Uncle Ben, who used to drink a bottle of Bourbon a day. He swore he had the power to give people thrombosis. Usually while they were eating chicken at one of the best restaurants in town—“

“And he claimed this before or after the daily bottle?” Alex asked.

“Before. After the bottle he would confide that his gift, his power, had been given to him by a passing gypsy when he born, in exchange for the caul that was over his face. Personally I don’t believe it, because his second wife—my aunt Rose—used to show me the caul. His mother kept it in a dill pickle jar on the mantle shelf and would pray to it every night.”

A wave of giggles went around the room but Lindsay didn’t feel at all amused. Luke’s stories about his extended and eccentric family were already the stuff of legend. He always produced them at the most auspicious moment… or the worst moment, depending on one’s perspective. “And the point of this badly composed story?” she asked calmly.

“Story? It’s all true, every word of it.” He managed to look offended, with a wide-eyed innocent expression that absolutely no one took for real.

“And you’re offering to let your uncle loose on Gormley?”

“That would be difficult as Uncle Bill is dead.”

“I thought he was called Ben?” Alexander asked.

“Lemme guess, he died of cirrhosis of the liver,” Timothy said.

“Thrombosis,” Luke corrected gravely. He glanced at Lindsay. “But I don’t have to worry about supplying what you want.” His voice once again that low, melodious tone that seemed to speak to her alone. “You won’t win,” he said. “You can’t.”

She had been listening to the muted velvet of his voice, so the bald, confrontational statement shocked her and took her breath.

“She won’t play, anyway,” Timothy said with the flat certainty that came from having known Lindsay for twenty years.

Lindsay blinked away a fresh spurt of astonishment. Was she really that predictable? She found herself studying Luke again. He was watching her with calm assurance, completely untouched by any concern that he wouldn’t win the bet if she picked up the challenge. Did he think he knew her that well, too?

“I’ll play,” she said and was rewarded by the momentary shift in Luke’s expression. She had managed to surprise him, although he was covering it with experienced ease. But the satisfaction she derived from throwing Luke off balance for even a fractional moment was a richly rewarding feeling. It was a feeling she wouldn’t mind repeating. Recklessly, she reached for something, anything, that would shock him again. “When I win,” she told the entire room, “Luke leaves town. Forever. He goes back to his blessed New York and stays there.” She watched Luke, waiting for the surprise to spear him again.

“Done,” Luke said flatly, instantly. No surprise.

Lindsay blinked away her own unease. The threat of being run out of town hadn’t even made him pause. Was he so sure of his abilities? Then she remembered that Luke was the department’s best salesperson, outselling even herself. And she had agreed to try to beat him.

Damn, what had she done?

Thoroughly ruffled, Lindsay began packing up her papers and pens. “Thanks, everyone. That’s it for this month. Everyone knows what I want to see—more business.”

They all stood, gathering up their papers.

“Doesn’t anyone want to know what I want out of the bet?” Luke asked in a voice loud enough to bring the room to a standstill.

“Well, yeah. Shoot,” Timothy offered.

“No, wait, let me guess,” Alexander interrupted. He rubbed his temples like a mind-reader and grinned. “Fifty-two return tickets to New York, one for every weekend.”

There was a burst of laughter around the room, for everyone knew of Luke’s passion for the far-off city and his habit of slipping aboard the Friday night flight. He would arrive back in Deerfoot Falls on Monday morning with bloodshot eyes and a two-day growth, full of energy and enthusiasm.

When Luke didn’t instantly confirm Alex’s guess, the laughter died away. Luke continued to gaze at Lindsay. His black eyes were boring into her. Holding her attention.

“So, is it the plane tickets?” Timothy asked.

“No.” His gaze wouldn’t let her go. “It’s a date with Lindsay.”

“What? No!” Lindsay dropped her files back onto the table. A date? With him? The very idea was unthinkable.

“You agreed to the bet!” Alexander protested.

Lindsay barely heard Alexander’s words, for Luke was pinning her down with his gaze, drawing her attention. “Are you afraid you’ll lose?” he asked. He spoke in a voice pitched just loud enough so that only she could hear it. Despite the outbreak of excited talk and comment, she heard him perfectly.

“I won’t lose,” she assured him.

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

She was forced to agree. She had nothing to lose. But despite the assurance, she was deeply disturbed as she slipped out of the big meeting room and headed for her office and the little pink bottle at the bottom of her drawer.

The only really cheering aspect of the bet was the idea of watching Lucifer Furey Pierse climb aboard his last plane out of here.

* * * * *

Luke lengthened his stride and closed the gap between Lindsay and him just as she reached her office doorway.

“Lindsay, wait up,” he called as he got closer.

For a second or two he thought she was going to ignore him. She seemed to hesitate in her doorway, hovering while she made up her mind whether she was going to pretend she hadn’t heard him or not. Then she slowly turned to face him.

“Let me guess. You’ve forgotten one last humiliation and just couldn’t wait to heap it on me?” she asked.

Luke grinned. When he let down his guard it always surprised him—pleasantly so—when Lindsay came out shooting.

“Seems you missed a prime opportunity to heap humiliation on me,” he told her.

One dark blonde brow lifted smoothly. “How careless of me. I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what I missed, either.”

“Ordinarily, no, but—”

“You want something in exchange.”

Despite the delicate ash blonde looks and the fragile crystal green eyes, Lindsay had strength. Or perhaps it was because of the appearance of fragility that she had learnt such effective defenses. He suspected she would rather eat razor blades than trade on her looks but the chances of him ever finding out were close to zero and getting closer every day he stayed in Deerfoot Falls.

Before the black cloud could descend, he straightened and shoved a hand in his pocket, making it look casual and helping him shrug off the mood before it took hold.

She watched him now, her impatience already starting to build.

“It’s not exactly something I want,” he began.

Her brow rose again.

“Okay, so I want something,” he agreed.

“It’ll cost you.”

“Beyond the prime chance to humiliate me?”

She shifted the folders in her arm with an impatient movement. “It never seems to occur to you, Pierse, that the entire world is not focused upon you. People do have other priorities beyond scheming to bring you down a peg or two—no matter how much you deserve it.”

“Okay, okay.” He held out his hand, flat, the palm down. Peace. “I just wanted to know where you heard that the medical association was looking for a better offer.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Curiosity.”

She studied him, her eyes stripping him down to the rotten core. “I have a hard time believing you, Pierse,” she said at last.

Yeah, she had seen through him, all right. He tried to deflect the conversation before he saw condemnation or worse in her eyes. “Does it really matter why I want to know?”

“Tell me why and I’ll tell you where I heard about it. Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“That’s as good as it gets, Pierse. Come on, why do you want to know badly enough to risk humiliation?”

He sighed. “I…just…I…” He found his hand was pushing through his hair and brought it back to his side. “I didn’t hear about it. I want to plug up the hole in my information sources.”

Her eyes narrowed again. “That’s not it at all,” she said, slowly.

“Hang on—” he protested, a tiny germ of fear prickling through him.

“Oh, I believe you didn’t hear about it. I just don’t believe you’re worried about the hole in your sources. It’s not that at all. You’re just burned up because I picked up a prime lead and you didn’t.”

Luke shoved his hands into his pockets in reaction to the fear gripping tighter. “Is that what you think?”

“I know, Pierse. I know. It just kills you that I might be better than you. That’s the sole reason you picked up this stupid bet. It’s not like you love your job—you’re never here long enough to show enthusiasm, let alone ambition.”

“My figures are better than anyone here—”

“Yes, including mine.” She shifted the files again. “Let me just take a guess over that one. You didn’t collect Alexander’s turnover, did you?”

She had him there. “No,” he admitted.

“Just mine. And yours.” She spread her hand. “Pride. Pure and simple. That huge ego of yours can’t stand the idea that I’ve pulled off a coup and you didn’t even hear a whisper of a lead.”

“Boy, when you collect, you collect in spades, don’t you?” Luke shook his head. “Done humiliating me, Lindsay?”

For a very short moment, he saw genuine surprise in her eyes. It startled him. Was she surprised at him, or herself? Then the surprise was gone.

“Yes,” she said breezily. She slipped into her office and shut the door.

Luke rested his palm against the solid wood. “So you’re not going to tell me where you heard about the medical association?”

Very faintly, he heard “No!” float through the door, punctuated by the sound of a desk drawer rattling open. She was already back at work.

“You make lousy bargains, boss!”

There was no answer. After a moment, Luke pushed himself off the door frame and headed for his office, wishing he’d never opened his mouth.

When was he going to learn to leave well enough alone? Well, there was still the outcome of the bet. Now that might produce different results, results where Lindsay couldn’t pull rank, where she was away from her desk and her precious career and once—he’d settle for even just once—something other than disinterest or disgust or fury would be in her eyes.

He mentally shrugged. Who was he fooling? Lindsay Eden was never going to be any different than she was now. Especially with him.

And all the way back to his office he puzzled over the question that had plagued him for months.

Why did he want it to be different?

Chapter Two

Lindsay heard the tap on her office door and Luke’s muffled “’Night, boss,” exactly thirty seconds past five. The same time as last night and every night since Luke had begun working here.

Tonight it completely blew her concentration. She threw the pen down.

Damn. A date, for heaven’s sake! Of all the things he might have laid on the line—vacations, time off, cash bonuses, a promotion, title—he’d held out for a date.

A date! The word left a sour taste in her mouth.

With brisk determination, she began tidying her files again, trying to realign her focus and bring it back to the work at hand. She had been spending more time than she could afford this afternoon wondering what on earth had motivated Luke to settle for a date. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that his sole motive was to humiliate her.

First, winning the bet—if he won the bet and that wasn’t a sure thing at all—if he won the bet, Lindsay would die of mortification and he knew it. Having to humiliate herself even further by going through the motions of a date with Luke would just be rubbing salt in the wound.

She looked down at the paperwork she was supposed to be completing and grimaced. There was no way she was going to be able to finish it tonight. She might as well quit now, than waste the rest of the evening trying to get it done.

The worst of it was, this stuff didn’t come naturally to her. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to dash it off if she wasn’t mentally wide awake.

She gathered up the files, shoved them in her briefcase and snapped it shut. Maybe she could go home and work there. Perhaps a shower, dinner and talk with her father would put her in a more appropriate mood for work.

At the very least, at home she would not be on tenterhooks, waiting for Luke to interrupt her whenever he chose to. She might be able to put the horrid afternoon out of her mind. Just being able to forget about the bet would help.

She locked the office door and went to find Timothy. He almost looked startled when he saw the briefcase in her hand but his unflappable expression returned instantly.

“You have an appointment?”

“Did you make me any you haven’t told me about?”

“No.”

“Then no.”

“You’re going home?”

“Yes Timothy, I’m going home.”

He smiled. “Luke got under your skin, didn’t he?”

Lindsay tried very hard to hide her surprise. “The only way Luke Pierse is ever going to get under my skin is if he turns into a tick. In which case, I’ll burn his tail off for him.”

Timothy’s smile widened. “You’d enjoy it too, I bet.”

“Speaking of bets…” Alexander stepped into the office, carrying a little notebook and pencil.

“No, we are not speaking of bets. Now, or for the next week,” Lindsay said firmly, feeling her anger stir yet again.

Alexander hesitated, his dark face drooping almost comically.

“I mean it,” Lindsay insisted. “I’m not turning the winning of a lucrative account into some kind of nine-day wonder.”

“You don’t call combining Lindsay Eden and dates a nine-day wonder?” Timothy asked.

She swiveled to look at him, feeling a touch of surprise. “Since when did you sell out on me, Tim?”

“When was the last time you had a date?” he shot back.

“I’ve had plenty of dates!”

“When was the last one?” he pressed.

“I don’t keep statistics.” She could feel her indignation growing. Why was Timothy doing this? “Except, maybe, the size and capacity of my assistant’s brain.”

“I can tell you to the day when your last date was.”

“I also keep odds on how long my assistant is going to keep his job.” She clenched her teeth before hotter words tumbled out.

“Ten months and three days,” Tim supplied.

“Wow!” Alexander breathed, his notebook lowering.

“You can go home now,” she snapped at him.

“Right,” he agreed, hurrying out.

“I should can your butt,” she told Timothy.

“You won’t fire me.” He was serene.

“Give me one good reason.”

“Because you like having someone around who tells you the truth. Warts and all.”

That damped her anger. Instantly. Because it was true. She took a few breaths, letting the anger dissipate. “And you’re the only truth-teller around who has an invisible asbestos suit. I’m sorry.”

“Agh!” He waved his hand, his awkwardness with sentiment making his face flush. “I grew the suit after twenty years of living next door to you.”

“Thanks,” she said, simply.

He shrugged. “But I meant what I said. A date might do you good.”

“With Luke Pierse? You know he does nothing but make me spit with anger.”

“Exactly.”

She shook her head. She didn’t get it. “Well…”

“Go home,” he told her.

“’Night.”

She made her way to the elevator and the last vestiges of anger stirred back into instant, blazing life, for Luke was standing there with the general manager, Vince Gormley. Worse, their head were together. As she approached, they both started laughing, throwing their heads back.

Good ol’ boys.

Lindsay gritted her teeth. Even though she reported directly to Vince, she knew she had never really been fully accepted by him and largely it was because of her lack of this intangible ability to mix and mingle. Luke had it in buckets, damn his eyes. He and Vince got along like father and son and every time Lindsay saw them together her stomach would clench.

She pushed away the tendrils of alarm creeping through her. Just because she wasn’t into backslapping and golf, it didn’t mean she would lose her job. She was one of the best promotions managers the hotel had ever had. Almost as good as her mother had been.

Almost.

It was the “almost” that made her heart sink when she saw Luke and Vince together. In the back of her mind, never quite articulated even in her thoughts, was the knowledge that her mother would have been in there mixing it, slapping her thigh right along with them, fully accepted as one of the boys.

Lindsay marched up to the elevator control panel and prodded the button with energy. Luke continued to talk and Vince to listen with rapt attention, a smile lingering, his eyes twinkling with merriment.

“The judges declared that the packaging had to be green and the meat to be fresh. Frozen wouldn’t do. Well, Aunt Mary had won the scavenger hunt for the last twenty-five years and wasn’t about to go down for an upstart who had been in the neighborhood for only twelve years. Her pride was on the line.”

Another one of Luke’s mad relative tales, Lindsay realized. None of them were true, of course. They were too ridiculous to be true.

“So what did she do?” Vince asked.

“Okay. The supermarket was closed and she knew there wasn’t any meat packaged in green to be had anyway. What company is going to package meat with a green label? It’s too bizarre, makes the meat look rotten before its time. So she sat down, had a long, hard think about it.”

“And?” Vince asked, echoing Lindsay’s thoughts.

“So she stripped naked, tore holes in the bottom of a green garbage bag and wore it like a dress. Walked right on up to the judges. ‘Meat on the hoof’, she called herself and declared they couldn’t get fresher if they went to the abattoirs.”

“No!” Vince began to laugh, a helpless chuckle that swiftly grew to a loud bellow.

“Did she win?” Lindsay asked, lifting her voice above the laughter.

At that moment, the elevator arrived, announcing itself with a loud chime. And at the same moment, Vince got control of himself and stopped laughing.

Luke turned his head to look at her, as total silence fell. His dark eyes narrowed a little. The effect was too eerily like she had interrupted him and her question was unwelcome.

The elevator doors slid open behind her.

Damn, she thought. She’d got sucked up into his tales yet again. “Never mind,” she muttered and scurried into the elevator.

Vince stuck out his hand toward Luke. “Anyway, Luke, have a good evening. I’ll see you on Thursday, okay? Ten o’clock, remember!”

Lindsay hit the lobby button with a vicious jab, hoping the doors would slide shut before Luke could disentangle himself from Vince’s farewell. Miraculously the doors began to slide shut. At the last minute, Luke’s shirt-sleeved arm chopped down between the closing doors and they bounced harmlessly back again.

He stepped into the lift and shot a glance at Lindsay.

His shirt sleeves were still carelessly rolled up almost to his elbows, showing off tanned forearms and strong wrists.

His clothes were never quite right, she realized. Oh, he wore the latest suits and the trendiest ties and shirts but it was the way he wore them. Nearly always the tie was loosened and the collar button undone. Often, he pushed the jacket sleeves up, or he would strip off the jacket and roll his shirt sleeves up, like now. And he would lounge against the edge of people’s desks, his hands in his pockets. It was as if he was donning the high-powered account executive’s uniform but refusing to take it seriously.

She sighed. Well, she only had to put up with his presence for ten more floors. It wouldn’t kill her.

But her heart was racing along unhappily. She remained silent, hoping Luke would take the hint.

“She won,” he said quietly.

“Who?”

“My aunt. She won.”

“How nice for her.”

Eight…seven…come on, Lindsay mentally encouraged the creeping light.

“This bet is bothering you, isn’t it?”

“The bet?” she inquired airily. “Not at all.”

Five…four…

“That’s why you’re going home early. You’re worried you might lose, after all.”

Worried? She spun to face him. “You’d be the last person I’d tell if I were worried!”

His hand hit the panel of lights, slamming down over the emergency stop button.

“That’s exactly what the bet is about,” he said, his voice flat, forceful.

She looked at the panel with the bright red LED display flashing its alarm. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “You can’t just halt an elevator like that. They’ll penalize you, or charge you or something. I don’t know what the penalty is for unlawfully halting an elevator but if it’s anything like stopping a train—”

“Just shut up for one minute, will you?” he said quickly, as she paused for breath.

She shut up. It was something in his eyes, rather than his words, that made her fall silent. His eyes in the dimly lit elevator car were almost obsidian black and the thick, deeply dark brown weight of his hair fell over his forehead, shadowing the eyes even more. There was something in his face… She groped to define the subtle expression and could feel a growing frustration. Other people would be able to name it instantly, would understand that strange light straight away.

“You have no idea why I bet what I did and it’s chewing you up,” he said, his voice very quiet.

“Aren’t you at all worried that you might lose?” she asked. “That you might have to leave Deerfoot Falls?”

He smiled a little. “I’ve been kicked out of bigger and better places than this one. And you’re changing subjects on me. Not this time, Lindsay.” He stepped closer to her and suddenly the sides of the car seemed to close in around her. Too small. Much too small a space to house her and Luke at the same time.

She almost gasped.

“Have you ever wondered what it might be like to kiss me?” he asked softly.

She stared at him, flummoxed. Had she really heard him say what she thought he’d just said?

“I-I… What?” She blinked at him. Out of left field. Out of a blue sky. “What on Earth…?”

He smiled and it seemed to her that the smile was bitter. “I guess I have my answer,” he said, reaching for the small button that would restart the elevator’s descent.

Lindsay kept very still as the elevator started up and slid down to the lobby level. She kept her eyes on the display, afraid to look around.

Her heart was racing as if she’d run a mad hundred yard sprint and her mind was churning with bewilderment. What was going on? She didn’t understand it at all. It was as if that one glimpse into Luke’s eyes and the small, singular note of bitterness had opened up a whole new facet to Luke and she wasn’t sure she wanted it opened.

The doors slid open, revealing the pink-marbled, gold-and-crystal-enhanced lobby and a swell of pride lifted her heart a little. The Derwent was a classy hotel, no doubt of it. Small enough to be intimate, large enough to be sophisticated.

She was about to step out when Luke’s arm came across the opening, jamming the doors back with the flat of his palm and blocking her way. He looked at her, lowering his chin a little to do so.

“You know, when I first arrived here, I was a little bit intimidated, a little in awe of your unrelenting dedication to your career. I’ve never met anyone quite like you before. But after a couple of weeks, I began to wonder when you were going to stop for breath. I started watching for it. I figured sooner or later you’d have to come up for air. But you didn’t.”

Lindsay bit her lip. “You don’t understand—”

“No, I don’t. I don’t even admire it any more, Lindsay. After six months of waiting for you to fall off the pedestal, I started getting really uneasy. Now, when it comes right down to it, mostly what I feel when I watch you doing your thing is…” He paused and she saw him draw breath. “I pity you.” His voice was very low.

He let the doors go and stepped out.

Lindsay stepped out behind him and watched him walk across the rugs and marble to the bank of glass doors leading onto Queen Street, sliding into his jacket as he went.

She didn’t know whether she should be angry or upset. Neither seemed to fit with the churning inside her. Luke’s words had been mild but his attitude, the quiet depth of feeling behind the simple words had stirred up a huge, hard ball of reaction that she had no idea how to start dissolving.

He patently disapproved of her, that much was clear.

Well, she didn’t like him much, either.

So why did his disapproval strike so deeply, then?

* * * * *

When Lindsay got home, the house was dark and still. She threaded her way through the familiar rooms to the kitchen and turned on the light, then stood with her head down, listening.

Yes, there was the muffled shriek of the electric sander.

Her father was down in the basement, building another bed, chair, table or some such piece of furniture.

Lindsay grabbed a tub of yogurt from the refrigerator, a teaspoon from the dish drainer next to the sink and headed for the basement.

Both rows of neon tubes were lit, flooding the basement with merciless white light. Working on the center bench, her father was bent over an odd-shaped piece of wood, eyeing the edge of it.

Lindsay stepped through the piles of soft wood shavings and sawdust to his side and kissed his bald spot. She leaned back against the bench and opened the yogurt and ate hungrily.

Edward Eden smiled at her, a quick glance, before returning his attention back to the wood in his hands.

“Warped?” she asked.

He pursed his lips and wiggled one hand with the fingers spread, expressing his dilemma.

She eyed the wood. “It looks fine to me.”

It took him a minute to answer. “So says the girl who can’t write straight unless she has lines drawn for her.”

Lindsay smiled. “Neither can you,” she pointed out.

“Which is why the universe invented straight rules.” He reached for the metal rule hanging from a tack on the leg of the bench. He measured carefully. “You’re home early,” he observed, without sparing his attention from the edge of the wood.

“Mmm,” Lindsay agreed noncommittally. “Do you want help with something?”

He did glance at her, then. But he returned to his work. “You might sand the curves on those pieces on the back bench. The sander can’t reach the inner curves.”

“Okay.” She put her yogurt container aside and picked up a piece of sandpaper and the first of the pieces on the bench. She recognized the shape. “You’re doing another rocking horse?”

“I thought it was time. Most of the people we work for these days seem to have small children.”

“I like the rocking horse,” she said.

She had seen at least a dozen of the colorful wooden horses built in this basement over the years. Her father, ever since she could remember, built furniture to help furnish the homes that the Habitat for Humanity group built or refurbished for needy people.

Often, she helped. The process of building furniture was soothing and restoring and she could easily disengage from the world here in this well-maintained basement, listening to her father’s quiet instructions.

She began sanding down the tight curves around the horse’s mane and tail.

“What troubles you, little one?” her father asked after a few minutes’ silence.

For the next few hours, Lindsay gradually told her father the story of her day. She’d often done this—come to say hello and lingered to work and offload her problems. They emerged bit by bit. Offhand comments, followed by long silences, then her father would ask another simple question that would prompt her to speak of another facet of whatever problem she was dealing with.

It was ironic that among the lumber, paint and nails, in a room reeking with chemicals and glues and while they had their backs to each other, each of them absorbed in the task at hand, both of them could talk of what was in their hearts.

Put them in a comfortable room, facing each other and they were almost totally unable to communicate. Lindsay was aware of this oddity they shared but had learned to work with it.

Around midnight, her father straightened and stretched, his hands on the back of his hips. Lindsay paused, becoming aware of the lateness of the hour. It occurred to her that neither of them had spoken for quite some time.

He glanced at her, his eyes shadowed by the fierce jut of his shaggy eyebrows. “This president you want to woo.”

“The president of the medical association?”

He nodded.

Woo. Well, yes, that was what she needed to do if she was going to snatch this account out from under Luke’s nose.

“You might join the country club.”

“He’s a member?”

“He likes to ski, I believe.”

Skiing. Her heart sank. “I don’t know anything about skiing.”

Her father shrugged. “How badly do you want the account?”

Well, there was always that.

“This Luke,” Edward added. “He is a bad man?”

“Bad? I don’t know. I don’t respect him.”

Edward picked up the broom and began sweeping curls of wood shavings toward the center of the room. “But you don’t like that he doesn’t respect you.”

Lindsay picked up the brush and pan and began shoveling up sawdust and dumping it in the big garbage can in the corner. It took her a moment to answer.

“I don’t like his disapproval,” she admitted. “I don’t know why.”

“You value his good opinion, is all. Which doesn’t match with not respecting him.”

She nodded. Her father’s logic was irrefutable. He had been an astronomer and physicist before his retirement and his mind was still sharp. She always thought hard before dismissing anything he said that didn’t fit well with her. More often than she liked, he was right.

“Then perhaps it’s because I don’t trust him.”

“He would let you down? He would not help you if you needed it and he had promised?”

Lindsay shook her head. She didn’t know from direct experience but she knew anyway that Luke would not break his word once it was given. Call it gut instinct. She had never heard anyone at the office say he had let them down, either. Certainly, she had never heard a client or potential client claim he had failed to meet his promises to them.

“It’s not trust, then,” he concluded.

They cleaned up the basement in silence.

As Edward reached to turn off the lights, he glanced at her. “It seems to me you just don’t know him well enough.”

“Perhaps.”

“Your mother would always say, ‘Know your enemy.’ Usually when she was taking an associate out for dinner.”

“I work with him eight hours a day, every weekday. That should be enough to know someone.”

Edward shrugged but she saw his doubt. He switched off the lights and they climbed the stairs in the dim light spilling from the kitchen.

Know your enemy.

Her mother would by now have known everything about Luke Pierse right down to his shoe size and what side of the bed he preferred. She was slipping.

Lindsay glanced at the calendar hanging on the fridge as she passed it. October. Three months to go until her birthday and she hadn’t made general manager yet. She grimaced. Pulling in this medical association account might be just what she needed to push her into the GM position.

She had to make it by January. She had to. Or her mother would be proved right.

But first she had to beat Lucifer Furey Pierse to do it.

Chapter Three

She was freezing her butt off.

Lindsay stamped her feet, the heavy snow boots dumping the layer of snow that had accumulated on the toes. She jumped up and down, her hands under her arms. It was a vain attempt to gain a little warmth.

It seemed like she was the only one who was feeling the cold. There were a few people sitting on the brushed-off benches and tables scattered across the deck but everyone else seemed to be heading out onto the ski slopes, their skis and poles over their shoulders. Or else they were competently pushing themselves around the snow, gearing up for the down slope. Everyone seemed to be having a perfectly wonderful time doing it, too.

Lindsay was standing on the observation deck attached to the café and cable car terminal at the top of the private ski runs for the Gardner Country Club. She was waiting for Dr. Martin Arquette, president of the state medical association, who was here for recreation and to scout out locations and facilities for the national symposium the association would be hosting, as well as their annual general meeting.

Her father’s tip had panned out. Arquette was a member of the exclusive country club and after three days of haggling and bribes and a hefty membership fee, so was Lindsay.

By keeping her ears open, she had learned that Arquette would be on the slopes today and she had made her way up here as soon as the cable car had opened, to wait for Arquette to turn up.

She wasn’t sure how she was going to work the rest of it. Somehow she would have to introduce herself and she was fairly sure that everything else would fall into place after that. She hoped.

But meanwhile, she was freezing her butt off. And the sun kept dazzling her and making her eyes water.

She kept overhearing people talking about what a knockout day it was. How beautiful the snow looked. How fresh and clean and majestic the mountains were.

All Lindsay knew was that her snow suit, which was guaranteed for temperatures down to thirty below, was anything but warm and her ears were aching with the cold. And she wished she’d had the foresight to bring sunglasses.

Another load of skiers were stepping off the cable car. Lindsay scanned them hopefully. She had several photographs and pictures of Arquette and knew what he looked like. She picked out the taller men and studied them.

The tallest one among them was dressed in black, with no hat but mirrored sunglasses that Lindsay envied. Thick, very dark brown hair.

Oh no, please not…

She stepped a little closer to the protrusion in the chalet wall made by the chimney stack. Perhaps he wouldn’t see her.

No such luck.

Luke’s head moved around as he scanned the deck and the disguising sunglasses fixed on her. One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile and she saw him nod.

He came over.

“Thought I’d find you here. How long have you been hovering around the cable car, waiting for Arquette to show up?”

“None of your business,” Lindsay shot back. “What are you doing here?”

“Same business as yours, Lynds. Although I think I found an easier way than you. You look very cold, there.”

“I’m freezing!” Lindsay said, throwing away her pride so she could wrap her arms around her middle.

“Well, it’s twenty below,” he pointed out. “I can warm you up, if you want.”

“Oh, please. Do you know how old that line is?”

He held up both his gloved hands. “I swear, I can get you warm without laying a single finger on you.”

“Thanks but I’ll pass for now.” She shivered and hugged herself again.

“Why didn’t you just ring Arquette up and ask for an appointment? Why all the subterfuge?”

Lindsay stared at him, lost for words. Damn, why hadn’t she? “Too obvious,” she said, at last. “Is that what you did—phone Arquette?”

“No.” He grinned, his white teeth flashing. “Too obvious. Although I didn’t spend a fortune on club membership just to trick him into believing I love skiing as much as he does, either.”

Lindsay clenched her jaw, annoyed that he had seen through her plan so easily.

His smile broadened. “Is that the sound of anger I hear?”

“Where are your skis?” she demanded, trying to change the subject.

“Don’t change the subject,” Luke shot back.

A broad, short man walked over to the railing of the deck and leaned out, the pompom on his bright red cap bobbing comically. Lindsay gasped as she recognized him.

“What is this, hell week?” she muttered.

Luke swiveled to see what she was looking at.

“No, don’t,” she whispered furiously.

“What? The guy in the red hat?” Luke looked back at her. “He seems harmless.”

“That’s Otto Berenger,” Lindsay explained. “Not only do I have to put up with you but I get him for my sins too.”

“I’m thrilled for you. You are going to explain this, aren’t you?”

Otto Berenger turned, surveying the panorama and Lindsay stepped behind Luke a little. Luke stepped further away, revealing her again.

“Nu-huh. Not ’til you satisfy my curiosity. C’mon, Lindsay. Give.”

Lindsay opened her mouth to explain, then realized what sort of details she would have to give him and closed it again. “Never mind,” she said.

He looked at her again through those blind, baffling sunglasses. “’Kay,” he said simply. He sat on the table closest to them, his long legs stretched out over the attached bench and folded his arms.

She knew the reprieve was only temporary and cast about for a way to distract him a little. “Why are you still hanging around, anyway?” she asked him. “Weren’t you going somewhere?”

“I’m waiting for Arquette. Same as you.”

“Who says—” She stopped and shrugged. Why else would she be here? There was no point in denying it.

She glanced over at Otto Berenger again and cast her mind back to the last time she had seen him, two years ago. She could feel her cheeks burning with just the memory of it.

“You’re dying to tell me about it,” Luke said.

She shook her head. “Never.”

“You’re busting a gut to tell someone and I’m right here. You’re just about burning up on the spot. Look, you’ve melted all the snow around your feet.”

Lindsay had actually started to drop her chin to look down at her feet before she realized Luke was teasing. She lifted her chin and stared at him with what she hoped was a steely, don’t-mess-with-me stare but he was already laughing silently. At her defiant look, his laughter doubled and his whole body began to shake.

Lindsay looked away but her glance fell instead on the hated Otto. “Damn but I’d like to skewer that man…” she muttered and spun away.

Which brought her back to face Luke again.

He had himself back under control again. He dropped his chin and looked at her over the top of the sunglasses. The dark eyes impaled her. “Tell me,” he coaxed. “You know I won’t tell anyone else.”

“No, I don’t know that.”

“I give you my word. Is that enough?”

“Why should I tell you? You’ll just use it to harass me for the next however-long-you’re-in-town.”

“When you offer so many other juicy tidbits I can use? You underestimate your basic ammunition rating, Lynds.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Lindsay?”

“Lynds. Makes me sound like a ten year old.”

“Compared to me, you are,” Luke said and his voice was flat, sincere.

“The worldly, wise and weary wanderer?” She shook her head.

“One that has learned how to keep his mouth shut when he needs to. So tell me about Otto. Just looking at the guy is cranking you up.”

She shook her head again.

“Lindsay.”

There was something in his voice that made her look at him.

He hooked a finger over the frame of his glasses and slid them off. “Did you know that the longest I ever slept in the same bed as a kid was about five months? Hell, most of the beds I slept in were sofas. I got to see and hear a lot of family gossip sleeping in all those parlors. And every new parlor I moved onto, I got the third degree. They all wanted to know about each other’s lives. Some family…” He rolled his eyes. “I learned real early into the game that the only way to guarantee the next sofa was to keep my mouth shut while I was using the current one. They didn’t mind hearing all about cousin Ernie but they squealed like pigs if word got around about them.”

“And the moral of the tale is you know how to keep your mouth shut.” She said it dryly.

“No, the moral of the tale is, I know how to keep my mouth shut no matter how badly I’m busting to tell someone about it. No matter how juicy it is. Believe me, I know how to keep my mouth shut if I need to.”

Despite the improbability of a childhood spent on the move like that, Lindsay felt a degree of reassurance. She sighed. “If I ever hear another word from you about this…”

“Not another word. Promise.”

She pulled at one of her aching, frozen ears awkwardly. “Otto over there is a gynecologist and a couple of years ago I was his patient.”

“Well, so far, nothing terribly exciting.”

“Except the guy is a chauvinist with absolutely no empathy for his patients at all!” she declared.

“The plot thickens.” Despite his jovial tone, his eyes were serious, his expression one of deep interest.

She could feel her cheek burning deeply. “I…ah…had an examination.”

Luke’s brow lifted a little.

“A pap smear…” She could feel her toes trying to curl up in embarrassment already. Could she actually speak the rest of it out loud? Thank goodness Luke’s expression didn’t show even a hint of amusement.

“I’m acquainted with the process,” Luke said gravely. “Not on a personal level, of course.”

Lindsay nodded, too awkward even to smile.

“Well, he’s arrogant…has absolutely no idea what it’s like to lie in surgical stirrups and…open yourself up to probing hands and…instruments.” She took a breath.

Luke tipped his head to one side, his eyes narrowing. “What happened?”

She pushed it out all in one breath, “Well, he walked in, didn’t even say hello, just whipped a speculum out of the sterilizing liquid it was lying in and just…pushed it in.”

“The liquid hurt you?” Luke asked.

“The speculum was cold, dammit! It felt like he’d been keeping it in the deep freeze for a month.” She took another deep, calming breath and looked at her toes.

“And that’s why you’re sending visual daggers in his direction?”

Lindsay couldn’t swear to it but it sounded suspiciously like Luke was manfully holding back laughter. She didn’t dare look.

“I’m sending him visual daggers because he sued me,” she told him.

“Sued you? Damn, I wish I hadn’t promised not to discuss this. It’s too good. Why on earth would a gynecologist want to sue you? You’re the…um…injured party.”

“Something happened to his eye,” Lindsay muttered.

“What? Lynds, you’re going to have to stop mumbling.”

“I said, something happened to his eye.”

“What happened?”

She forced herself to look him in the face. “Well, the speculum was cold, like I said. And it was a shock. I’m sure you could understand how shocking it might be.”

“Absolutely.”

“So when it touched me…well, it was just instinctive.”

She saw Luke’s jaw ripple, as if he was clenching it. Against laughter? “You didn’t…?” he began, then pursed his lips.

She grimaced and nodded. “Yes. I hit him.”

He looked away, then and rubbed his mouth furiously, the corners of his lips puckered suspiciously.

Lindsay sighed. “It’s okay. You can laugh,” she told him.

He shook his head, looking back at her. “No, it’s okay.” But his lips were twitching. “Did you settle out of court?”

“I think his lawyer managed to convince him how petty the whole thing was. Especially when I filed a countersuit for assault.”

He really did laugh then—throwing his head back for a great shout that had everyone turning to look.

“Shhh!” she demanded.

He shook his head but his laughter softened. He took a deep breath, recovering, while she stared out at the untouched snow on the west side of the chalet. She could see Otto’s red cap in the corner of her eye, which didn’t help her composure at all. He was still standing at the railing, oblivious to the fact that they were discussing him. Did he even know it was the woman he had been at legal loggerheads with only two years ago?

“Still want to skewer him, Lindsay?”

She looked back. “No.”

“Honestly?”

She smiled a little. “No.”

“’Cos it seems to me that a cold shock in return for a cold shock is fair and fitting.”

“What do you mean?”

Luke reached out and turned her by the shoulders so that she was facing the big double doors that led into the café. His hand came up by her shoulder, pointing to the roof.

The snow had come in just perfectly this season. There had been a week of steady, soft falls, then the temperature had dropped and two to three feet of cold white crisp blanket lay over everything. The chalet roof was built in the Alpine style—sharply pitched to shed snow. But the shingles covering it were older and curling at the corners, enough to hold the snow in place…only the weight of the thick layer was pulling it down the roof.

At the very edge of the eaves over the door was an overhang of snow—it bulged and drooped over the edge of the roof, a three-foot-thick, white mass that looked like it was ready to fall at any moment.

“Just a nudge will do,” Luke whispered, right next to her ear.

She jumped a little. Temptation gripped her and the tension made her heart sing. Did she dare?

“How?” she asked, absolutely sure that Luke had already thought it through and knew exactly how to pull it off.

He pointed to a set of skis and poles that had been laid to rest against the wall nearby them. “Borrow those for a moment. You know how people heft them as they walk—and how they lift them up to change shoulders?”

She nodded. She knew exactly what he meant. She’d been watching people do it all morning as they got off the cable car.

“I’ll have to get him to the door and keep him there for a second.”

“Leave that to me,” Luke told her.

Excitement gripped her. She had never done anything like this in her life. And the thought of Otto getting his just desserts was such a sweet temptation…

“Okay,” she agreed, a little breathlessly. “When? Now?”

“Sure.” Luke stood up. “The other cable car is arriving. Good timing.”

“You sound like you’ve done this sort of thing before.”

He grinned and his eyes danced with merriment. “You could say that,” he agreed. He leaned close to her and in a secretive tone whispered, “I bet you’re nice and warm now.”

Lindsay felt her jaw drop a little and her mouth open. And involuntarily, she felt herself smile. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I am.”

He held up his hands. “No hands. Not even a finger.” He winked, then dropped the obscuring sunglasses back into place and ambled over toward Otto.

Lindsay wasn’t sure what he intended to do, nor did she know exactly what he wanted her to do, either, beyond knocking down the snow at the appropriate moment. Did he just assume she would figure it out for herself?

She grabbed the skis and poles leaning against the siding and hoisted them up onto her shoulder the way she’d seen other people doing it. They were surprisingly light but their length and the four separate pieces made them awkward to handle—especially as the skis themselves were slippery, glossy fiberglass. No wonder people swapped them from shoulder to shoulder all the time and took advantage of every stationary moment to rest them on the ground.

Three or four paces from their intended target, Luke lifted his hand. “Otto,” he said and the rotund man turned toward him. Luke reached his side and began a conversation.

Briefly, Lindsay envied him his ability to talk to anyone and everyone. Her mother had been like that.

But the impending action pushed the thought away, for Luke was luring Otto from his post by the railing, a jovial arm on his shoulder. They were heading for the chalet.

Lindsay measured the distance between them and the chalet and compared her own distance. Then, with her heart leaping about in her chest and excitement pushing at her and making her skittish and panicky, she walked as calmly as she could toward the café doors.

Eight feet…seven…six…

She took a wobbling breath and hoisted the skis up, just as she had seen others doing it.

The skis and the points of the poles punctured the underside of the overhanging wave of snow and as Lindsay felt the bite of resistance, she put her weight into it, dragging the tips through the length of the overhang, effectively slicing it off at the edge of the eaves. At the same time, she tried to make it look like she’d been caught by surprise and had been thrown off balance by the snagged ends of the skis.

The weight of snow dropped down with a heavy, muffled impact…right on the top of Otto’s red cap.

Lindsay gave a cry of surprise and dismay, as she watched a gratifying amount of snow disappear down the neck of his coat.

Otto gave a shriek of shock, exactly like someone who had been doused with an unexpected icy bucket of water. The breathless sound was music to Lindsay’s ears.

He stood in the center of the snow mound that had built around his feet, gasping. Luke stood a couple of feet away, looking thoroughly surprised.

Lindsay put down the skis and poles and spread her hands. “I’m so dreadfully sorry. I have no idea how that happened…”

Otto wasn’t listening to her. His eyes opened wide and he pulled off his gloves with jerky speed and started struggling with the zipper of his coat. He pulled his hat off his head and dumped it on top of his gloves on the decking. The coat followed.

Beneath, Otto wore a pair of overall snow pants, the type that had wide elastic over both shoulders, holding the pants up, yet the pants themselves, although ending high above the waist, were loose and gaping.

Otto pulled the elastic off his shoulders and began groping inside the back of his pants, his face a tight mask of disgust and dismay. He pulled out a handful of fast melting snow, dumped it and went exploring again.

Lindsay licked her lips. The results of her scam were more effective than she had hoped for. Otto was oblivious to her presence, or her babbled explanations. Luke stood aside and Lindsay notice him rub at his lips again. Hiding more laughter?

They were all the focus of a loose group of interested bystanders, who were watching Otto’s strip show with barely concealed amusement.

It wasn’t quite enough. Lindsay wanted him to know without doubt who it was who had done this to him.

She stooped a little, as if she was peering at his down-turned face. “Why…it’s Doctor Berenger, isn’t it? Otto Berenger?”

That got his attention. His head snapped up and he frowned at her. “Do I know you?”

“Why yes, although you’ve probably forgotten. Lindsay Eden. You attended me once. Fancy running into you here.”

She saw his memory stir and supply the rest of the details.

“You,” he said flatly. He withdrew another handful of snow and shook off his hand. He was visibly shivering now. “Well, it would be you.”

Lindsay spread her hands innocently. “What can I say?”

Another tall man stepped to Otto’s side.

“What on earth is going on, Otto?” he asked.

Lindsay caught her teeth together before her jaw sagged too far. It was Arquette!

Oh, Lordy!

“Oh, there you are, Martin. This…woman just managed to dump a ton of bloody snow on top of me.” Otto snapped the bands of his snow pants back over his shoulder and glared at Lindsay. “And as coincidence would have it, we know each other.”

Arquette turned to her.

“It was an accident!” Lindsay protested.

Luke stepped up. “She’s right, Martin. I saw it all. The skis she was carrying caught the bottom of the overhang. Otto just happened to be in the way.”

Lindsay could feel her eyes opening wide, as she rapidly reassembled facts. Luke already knew Martin Arquette!

A sick wave of dread spread through her. No, he would not have tricked her like that, surely? But she could see no trick. It didn’t make sense. Something didn’t add up.

It was the unknown factor that made her deeply uneasy.

Arquette was picking up Otto’s gloves and hat while the little man struggled back into his coat. People were moving around them, walking into the café with curious side glances.

“Thanks for waiting, by the way.” Arquette was talking to Otto…and Luke! “I must have a word to the president about the cable car attendant. I know they have safety rules to follow but he was just a bit zealous, I’ll admit.”

“Not a problem at all,” Luke said, with a dismissive wave.

“Still, it’s a bit awkward having my two guests wandering around at the top of the mountain unescorted.”

Luke indicated Lindsay. “I ran into an associate, as it happened. I should introduce you, shouldn’t I? Lindsay, this is Martin Arquette, club member and in real life the current president of the state medical association. Martin, this is Lindsay Eden and as it happens, my boss.”

Lindsay shook Arquette’s hand, her own hand, her whole body, feeling numb. Somehow, Luke had turned this around on her. Why? What was the payoff? Her mind wouldn’t work well enough to figure it out.

Luke rested his hand on Otto’s shoulder. Did she imagine it or had his smile grown a little bit broader? “And the victim of your clumsiness, here, is Otto Berenger, a guest of the club just like me. Actually it was Otto who arranged this whole skiing trip for us. He’s a specialist in Seattle.” His smile became incandescent. “Otto is taking over the presidency of the medical association in a couple of weeks’ time.”

All the spit in her mouth had dried up. She wasn’t sure but she thought she might throw up with only a little more encouragement.

She managed to mumble a few inane social niceties and all the time she was aware of Otto’s glare and Luke’s victorious grin.

She’d lost the bet. She’d been outflanked by a master strategist and her own stupidity.

Now she must suffer through a date with the victor. If he took her out to dinner, she knew she would be dining on ashes…and crow.

Chapter Four

Lindsay would have paid anything for a reason that would get her out of going into the office the next day but she knew no one was going to give her the excuse she needed to duck it.

Might as well get it over with.

She walked in with her chin high and wearing a pair of mirrored sunglasses she had bought that morning, borrowing deliberately from Luke’s arsenal of effects.

Everyone, including Timothy, was busy at their desks, heads down. The studiously busy people, the averted heads, made her spirits sink.

They already knew, then.

She stopped off at Timothy’s desk. “Where’s Luke?”

He jerked his thumb toward the ceiling. Gormley’s office.

Lindsay looked at her watch. “Nine twenty-three. Remind me to congratulate him, Timothy. It only took him twenty-three minutes to grease his way to the top with his news.”

Timothy winced. “Sorry, Lynds.”

“Lindsay,” she snapped.

“Right.”

“I assume he’s given everyone the four color details, then?”

“Well, sort of. He was kinda in a hurry.” Timothy frowned. “Actually, he was really vague about it, now I think about it.”

Maybe he had kept his word, after all. She felt the tension in her gut ease a little, enough for her to draw breath. She could look people in the face if they didn’t know the full extent of her humiliating loss.

“When Luke bothers to grace us with his presence, tell him I want to see him.”

“Okay, boss.”

Lindsay gritted her teeth. Only Luke had once dared to call her “boss.” Now they were all doing it.

On her desk was the morning’s mail, neatly arranged in logical piles. This morning, even more than many other mornings, her heart was not in it.

She sat down and stared out the picture window, instead. She studied the mountains and the snow and another knockout day.

* * * * *

Luke made his way back to Timothy’s desk.

Timothy saw him coming and pointed. “She’s in. She wants to see you.”

There was something in Tim’s face. “Bad?”

“She’s been in there forty minutes. She hasn’t made a single phone call yet.”

“That’s bad?”

Tim nodded. “It’s the worst it could be.”

“Angry?”

“You beat her at the game she considers her own. You figure it out.”

Luke nodded. “Well, thanks. Guess I’d better get it over with.”

He really was bracing himself, he realized. He walked down the corridor to Lindsay’s office, wondering how he was going to justify himself. ‘You’re so beautiful, I’d do anything for a date with you,’ would be more likely to earn him a slap across the face than a flattered smile.

He tapped on the door and pushed it open.

Lindsay was standing at the picture window, quite patently doing nothing but stare out at the spectacular scenery and the busy town below. She didn’t even turn to look at him.

“Hi,” he offered.

“Good morning.”

He winced. No, not a good mood at all. He stepped in and shut the door. “You wanted to see me?”

She turned then and Luke felt his heart give a little jump. There was no anger there. The crystal green eyes were surrounded by flesh that seemed almost bruised.

She’s tired. And…defeated.

And hard on the heels of that realization came the confirmation, You’re the one who defeated her, you jerk.

Well it had seemed like such a superb opportunity at the time.

“You know why I wanted to see you,” she said shortly and there was no tiredness in her voice at all.

“You want to know why I…” He paused delicately.

“Why you cheated.”

“I didn’t cheat, Lynds.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Sorry. I didn’t cheat. I didn’t lie. You did it all yourself.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” she asked dryly.

“I didn’t know I was supposed to be making you feel better,” he replied.

“I want to know why you tricked me like that.”

“I didn’t trick you.”

Her glance was withering.

“I didn’t. Look, the information was all there for anyone to find out. It wasn’t a state secret. I phoned the medical association and had a pleasant fifteen minute chat with a lady in the communications department. She told me Otto was to be the next president. Then I called Otto, introduced myself and told him why I was calling. You could have done the same, Lindsay. It’s called basic research. It’s called getting to know your client.”

She bit her lip and turned back to the window.

“For what it’s worth, I really was trying to help you get even with the guy,” he offered.

“Sure. It just coincidentally guaranteed I’d be totally persona non grata with either of them, leaving the field open to you. I assume you landed the account?”

“Signed on the dotted line last night.” At eleven p.m. after a brandy-soaked meal that had cost him a fortune but there was no need to tell her that.

“Lindsay, look at me for a moment,” he said, willing her to turn.

She turned and leaned against the frame of the window, her arms crossed. The defensive shield was up.

He spread his hands, trying to show his sincerity. “I could have explained I was there with Otto and Arquette. I could have told you that Arquette was coming up in the next cable car and we were just waiting for him. I could have told you Otto was the next president. I didn’t. I wanted to win the bet.”

She was just staring at him, the bruised eyes hurt. Quickly, before his self-esteem hit the basement, he added, “The end justified the means.”

“Win at all costs? I don’t believe you. Your ambition and dedication to your job has always been completely nonexistent.”

“No, Lynds, it’s not the winning that counts. Not for me. That’s your obsession. For me, it was what I was going to win that justified it. But you wouldn’t understand that. You’re too busy winning to ever look up and consider what it is you’re trying to win.”

The hurt look deepened but her mouth thinned with anger and he mentally kicked himself. It hadn’t been his intention to turn this into one of their shooting matches.

“I think you’d better go,” she said quietly, her voice even.

“Just one question?”

After a pause, she nodded.

“You spent a lot of money and time trying to win this bet. What was driving you? I bet there wasn’t a single moment where you fantasized about me getting on a plane and flying out of your life.”

Her eyes opened a little wider. Surprise. He was right then.

“Yes, you spent the entire time just thinking about how good it would feel to win, to beat me.”

“Damn right,” she retorted and he was astonished to hear a husky quality to her voice. Was she holding back tears or something? It made his next question come out more gently than it might have.

“Do you genuinely enjoy your life, Lynds? I mean, really enjoy it? Is this career path you’ve laid down for yourself really what you want? Is it truly what gets you out of bed in the morning?”

She spun back to the window. Her back was very straight and the squared shoulders told Luke that if she wasn’t actually crying, she was very close to it.

“You don’t understand,” she said, softly.

“No, I don’t,” he agreed. “But I listen well.” His heart was racing. Was he finally going to break open the tough shell a little?

She remained silent for a long while and he let the silence grow. Lindsay couldn’t stand silences. She’d be compelled to fill it.

“I have to do this,” she said at last.

“Have to? Nobody has to do anything in this universe except die and pay taxes.”

It was the wrong answer, wrong response. He knew it as soon as the words came out of his mouth but he had been surprised into it by her answer. He saw her back straighten even more and she turned to face him, her green eyes snapping.

“Is that right?” she said. She walked over to her desk and pulled out a heavy cream-colored card from a pile of papers and spun it across the desk toward him. “Well, I have been told I have to go to this little affair. I don’t want to but I have to. You won your date with me. This is it. You can be my escort and share the…pleasure.”

Luke picked up the card, flipped it open and scanned it. The company’s management Christmas party. Top echelon management only and the best clients of the company. Nothing was spared impressing the clients. The event was always a glittering PR exercise dressed up as a social evening.

“I can see why they want you to go,” he said. “It’s a prime opportunity.”

“Well, now you can go too. I’ll pick you up at seven.” She turned back to the window. “Don’t be late.”

He put the card back on the table. “Whatever you say, boss.”

He had his hand on the door handle when she spoke again.

“I’m curious…”

“What?”

She turned her shoulder enough to glance at him. “If you had wanted a date with me so badly, why didn’t you just ask for one?”

“Would you have said yes?”

Her glance dropped to the floor.

“I rest my case,” he told her and left.

* * * * *

The closer the day came, the more she didn’t want to go to the Christmas party. Even Gormley’s insistence that she be there was not enough to compel her into going.

What was driving her was the utter certainty that her mother would have gone all out for this affair. She would have waded into the “prime networking opportunity” with a cry of joy and poured on charm and grace that would have stunned everyone there.

So Lindsay gritted her teeth and made preparations, grimly pleased that at the same time she was fulfilling this obligation she would also be getting rid of another one—her date with Luke.

* * * * *

Luke lived in an anonymous row of apartments, pleasant and neat. Lindsay hadn’t really thought about what his home might look like but when she saw it, it struck her as appropriate. Only the most temporary sort of accommodation would do for him. She was pretty sure he had an apartment in Manhattan and suspected the apartment would look as transient as this short-term place.

Luke was waiting out the front of the apartment building and jumped into the passenger seat of her black Land Cruiser as she pulled up. “Nice,” he remarked, looking around the interior.

“It works well in snow.” She pulled out onto the road and settled down for the fifteen minute drive into the downtown area where the hotel was located. Snow was falling again and the temperature had lifted a little. The night was still, cool and muffled. There was very little traffic on the streets.

“Well, what I can see so far looks great,” Luke said.

Puzzled, she glanced at him and realized he had swiveled in his seat to study her.

“You mean me?”

“Of course, you. I can’t see much under that thick coat of yours but the hair and the makeup look wonderful.”

She touched the carefully arranged pile of curls on her head self-consciously, swallowing hard. Suddenly her heart was beating in her throat.

“You say thank you,” Luke added.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a compliment, Lynds. You’re supposed to say thank you. Didn’t your mother ever teach you that? Guys compliment, girls say ‘thank you’. Blushing is optional.”

“My mother died when I was sixteen.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. You didn’t even know her.”

“No but I’m sorry you missed out on having a mother around right when you needed it.”

She realized she was clenching the steering wheel in a death grip and forced herself to loosen her hold. “Thank you for the compliment,” she told him stiffly.

He didn’t reply and she concentrated on driving the already treacherous streets. It was only when she was glancing to the right to check for oncoming traffic that she realized he was still staring at her.

“What?” she demanded.

“You’re gorgeous. Did you know that?”

Suddenly her heart was back in her throat again. “Luke, you don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

“All the usual date stuff. Compliments. Charm. You won your date with me and I’m living up to my side of the bargain but there’s no need to pretend this is anything other than what it is. I’m not here voluntarily.”

“I know.”

“Flattery just gets my back up.”

“No, it doesn’t. You like it.”

“It makes my skin crawl.”

“No, it makes you wonder what I want.”

“Yes.”

“Afraid I might try to kiss you?”

“No!” But her heart leapt anyway. That leap of expectation annoyed her. She was too intelligent to be swayed by such banter.

“No?” he responded. She could hear laughter in his voice. “Does that mean I can kiss you without fear, or that I’m not permitted?”

“No. Neither. I mean, both. I mean…don’t do it.”

She heard his almost soundless laugh. “It’s so ridiculously easy to get you rattled,” he said. “And you’re a manager of a people-oriented department. You’re a walking contradiction.”

“You, on the other hand, are completely predictable.”

“Ouch.”

The silence grew again and Lindsay was uncomfortably certain that he was still watching her. Her already shredded nerves couldn’t stand it.

“Why ‘Lucifer’?” she asked finally.

“Why not?”

“Named for the devil? Most people find that an unholy name. An unpleasant one.”

“That’s the whole point. Well, that’s the point my father was trying to make anyway. I was a curse on his life. Unlooked for, unwanted. As unwelcome as the Grim Reaper himself.”

“Your father named you Lucifer?” Lindsay frowned. “That’s…atrocious.”

“Most people who know me well tell me it’s fitting. I drive people to hell, after all.”

“No, don’t joke about it. Why did he call you Lucifer?”

There was a long silence and Lindsay spared a second to look at him. He was frowning, looking down at his gloved hands in his laps. They were curled into loose fists.

“Why?” she repeated.

“My mother wanted to call me Luke. She was tied up in hospital with complications, so my father, in a lucid, sober moment, filed the registration. He called me Luke, all right.” The bitterness in his voice was deep and painful to listen to. “My mother understood. Completely. They were divorced within a year.”

Lindsay stared through the windscreen, appalled. “I don’t know what to say,” she said at last. “I’m sure there’s something perfect one is supposed to say in response but I don’t know what it is. I don’t know what to say that would help ease the sting of it.”

There was another soundless, loaded pause. “You just did. What you said was perfect,” he answered softly. “Thank you.”

For the first time ever, Lindsay was able to believe him unconditionally.

He moved in his seat and rubbed at his hair. “Agh…it was all such a long time ago, anyway,” he declared. “Now I live up to the name, so what the hell, huh?”

He had deliberately broken the mood. Lindsay didn’t know why but she understood that with astonishing clarity. It was another first. The first time she had ever been able to read a person’s actions in that way. The novelty of it riveted her thoughts.

The rest of the drive downtown was almost completely silent. Lindsay pulled in under the hotel portico and let the valet take the car and park it.

Luke held out his arm and Lindsay mentally sighed and tucked her hand under it. If he insisted on maintaining the charade for the night, she was obliged to follow suit.

Upstairs in the Helena Suite, most of the management staff had already arrived, as far as she could tell. And quite a few of the special guests too. There were a couple of waiters collecting coats and one came over to take theirs.

Lindsay found herself suddenly reluctant to remove her coat. If simply her hair and makeup had been cause for comment, what would Luke say when he saw her dress?

But there was no way to avoid it. Reluctantly, she removed her coat, scarf and gloves and handed them to the waiter and tried to give him a gracious smile. Remember Mom, she told herself.

She went to turn to face Luke, bracing herself.

“No! Don’t turn yet,” Luke said, right by her shoulder.

She froze. “Why? What’s wrong. Is there a stain?”

“No, I just want to take it in by degrees. A little at a time. The back view is worth a few moments.”

Lindsay kept still as commanded, while her whole body began to vibrate with a singing tension. “Luke…”

“Okay. I can stand the rest now. I think.”

She turned, swallowing dryly. Luke was wearing a very modern dress suit, the jacket one of the longer, fashionable ones that hinted of days gone by. And he was staring at her, the black eyes absorbing every inch of her.

“Please…” she whispered, trying to articulate how truly uncomfortable his scrutiny made her feel.

“You’re stunning,” he said, simply.

The electric blue silky dress was stitched with hundreds of stones and sequins that swirled and swept the length of the dress in waves and ended in a hint of a train that brushed the ground behind her. The tiny straps over her shoulder supported a plunging neckline and the waist and hips of the dress hugged her figure.

She had seen dresses like this on countless Academy and Emmy award shows and had deliberately gone shopping for something just as glamorous…as distracting…as those she had seen on TV. By Luke’s expression she judged she had achieved the results she’d been aiming for but it didn’t make her feel any more secure. For while she had been preparing to dazzle everyone the way her mother would have, she had forgotten that it would draw attention to her and that she would have to deal with that attention.

Luke lifted his hands in a small, helpless gesture. “I’m speechless.”

“That makes a nice change. Shall we just get on with this? I’m already a nervous wreck.”

“About what? You’ve already made a good impression.”

“This is a working affair, remember? We’re here to dazzle the clients and keep them happy for another year. God forbid we lose any more major accounts.”

“Right. Business. You’ll have to keep whispering that in my ear every five minutes, Lynds. Every time I look at you, thoughts of business evaporate.”

“Don’t,” she snapped.

“Sorry. Forgot again. See?” He grinned and picked up her hand. His hand was warm, big and comforting, which surprised her.

He tugged her toward the biggest concentration of people. They stood drinking champagne and chatting, oblivious to their approach and Lindsay could feel her heart thudding heavily and a high singing in her mind. She opened her mouth to get more air in her lungs.

Luke was pulling her closer.

They were starting to look at her now. Appreciative glances. Expectant ones.

Luke was talking to one of them, shaking hands. His other hand let hers go. Adrift, she looked at the man in front of her. He had said something to her but she didn’t hear it. The singing was in her ears and the pounding of her heart was thudding at the back of her brain. She could feel herself gasping.

The man was looking at her, puzzled. Staring at her expectantly. She was supposed to speak now. She understood that but it was too much. She couldn’t do it. Despite three days of talking herself into it, she couldn’t do it.

She turned and fled.

Chapter Five

When he couldn’t find her in all the logical and obvious places, Luke slowed down and put himself in Lindsay’s shoes. Where would she have headed?

Her office, of course. Her home away from home.

He made his way to the top floor, glad to put the noise behind him for a little while and slipped into the marketing department.

It was dark and still in there and for a moment he wondered if he had guessed right. He pushed open the door to her office, his heart sinking when he saw there were no lights on.

She was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, perched like an awkward schoolgirl, with her knees together and her feet splayed anyhow. She was sitting upright, her hands braced on either side of her and her head bowed. The golden curls glowed on the top of her head.

Panic attack. She looked like she was ready to bolt at the smallest disturbance.

“You just don’t get the same quality in crowds these days, do you?” he said softly so she wouldn’t startle. “All that staring and pawing. They’re much more civilized in New York, of course.”

It was a full moon. The ghostly light was filtering through the tinted window, catching every movement of the stones and sequins on her dress. He saw her take a deep, wobbly breath.

“I can’t do it,” she said and despite the grown-up gown she sounded just like the schoolgirl he had first thought of.

He settled himself next to her on the coffee table and made his body relax into a nonthreatening posture. “How long have you had agoraphobia?” he asked.

“I don’t.”

“That was a pretty convincing performance you gave out there.”

She stiffened. Luke reached for her hand and grasped it in both his and willed her to relax. It didn’t surprise him to find her hand was trembling.

“You make me sound like I’m clinically…disturbed or something. That’s not it at all.”

He stayed silent.

“It’s my mother,” Lindsay added very quietly.

“I know she was very successful in the hospitality industry.” He tried to remember what else he had learned. Very little, surprisingly. But the little he had heard had been tinged with awe. Catherine Eden had been a legendary figure, even before she died.

“I’m surprised you don’t know all about her,” Lindsay told him. “You seem to be so good at soaking up gossip. Did you know she worked at this hotel?”

He hid his surprise. For some reason he couldn’t quite fathom, the fact seemed to be terribly significant to Lindsay. It was as if she had revealed a deep secret. “No, I didn’t know.”

“She was so good at this stuff—at mixing and mingling and charming birds out of the tree to eat from her hand.” Lindsay sighed. “I’m not good at it at all. Actually, I suck at it.”

“It comes easier for some people but nobody is a complete natural at it, Lynds. You just have to practice more. Although I have to wonder how you’ve managed to come so far so fast if you genuinely are such a terrible schmoozer. You’re in marketing—it comes with the territory.”

“I…just got by, somehow. Mostly, I tried to make up for it with other skills.”

He nodded a little in the dark. Yes, he’d seen the force of will and determination she applied to everything else she did. Was that what drove her? A simple feeling of inadequacy? He knew it went deeper though—there were more secrets beneath this one. They enticed him to delve deeper but he resisted the impulse. He was content, tonight, with the little she had given him. It was an Olympic victory, really. This was the first time she had ever volunteered so much as a glimpse inside.

“You have to go out there again. You know that, don’t you?” he told her.

“I know.” Again, the small sigh. “I’ll be okay. I just had to…get my breath.”

He patted her hand. Despite her words, her trembling had not subsided. If anything it was worse. Transmitted through her hand, he could feel her whole body was shaking.

“Look at it this way,” he said. “What’s the worst thing that could happen to you out there?”

“I could embarrass you,” she said instantly.

“Never,” he shot back. “I do that to myself well enough. I don’t need help.”

“No, really,” she insisted. “I’m…a social klutz.”

Well, that’s the understatement of the year, Luke thought wryly.

He had been warned, when he’d taken the job, that Lindsay Eden was not exactly a people person. They’d been right on that score, although he suspected her lack of people skills had kept people at such an arm’s length they’d never thought to ask themselves why she was so bad at dealing with her fellow man.

He strove for a casual note. “So you make the odd faux pas. It’s not the end of the world, is it?”

“It could be.” She pulled her hand from his and covered her face, turning away. “What if you had to…apologize for me?”

It was said quietly and with deep dread in her voice. Luke knew the last thing he could afford to do was trivialize it.

He kept his voice as even and sincere as he could. “If you do make a klutz of yourself out there, I sincerely doubt anyone will notice. You’re rather dazzling, you know. People will forgive beautiful people for a lot of mistakes.”

“But you will see them. You’ll be embarrassed.”

“I doubt it. I’ve got armorhide protection. Your skin tends to grow a little thicker each time yet another relative tells you they don’t want you anymore and it’s time to move on.” He gave her hand a little shake for emphasis. “A couple of social screw-ups by you won’t even scratch the surface.”

She turned to look at him then and even in the poor light of the moon he could see the puzzled look on her face and a hint of empathy and warmth. It was the same look that had burrowed into his guts in the car, when he had unintentionally told her the real story of his name.

He used the same defense now and deflected the mood. He swiveled to face her more. “Listen…you go out there and make as much of an idiot of yourself as you want. I promise I won’t feel even the slightest need to apologize for you. And I won’t be embarrassed.”

Her chest lifted. A deep breath. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well…don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I hear you.”

He stood and tugged on her hand. “C’mon. Up you get.”

She rose reluctantly. She was still trembling violently.

“You’ll be fine,” he assured her.

“I don’t believe you.” It was a whisper.

He lifted her chin. In the ghostly moonlight her eyes were eerie pools of shimmering light. The temptation was there. Kiss her. It was a shouted impulse but he clamped down on his mind and his body, subduing it. It would be far too easy to kiss her right now. She was too vulnerable, too open. And he knew he’d feel like a complete heel afterward if he did.

But man, oh man, was it hard to battle the temptation!

Finally, before he did something idiotic, he stepped back from her took her hand and led her out of the office, heading for the elevators.

And she was worried about embarrassing him?

Lindsay still felt like she had two giant pins stuck through her middle, so tied up in knots was she but there was a vast reassurance in having her hand in Luke’s. He didn’t let go even in the elevator when other hotel guests stepped in to go to the lobby and frankly stared at them in their formal clothes.

In fact, if her senses hadn’t been racked up to their most sensitive and her nerves prickly and at full alert, she may have missed the tiny movement he made toward her in reaction. But that small movement flooded her with reassurance. She didn’t have to do this alone.

They walked back into the function room and she felt his hand on the small of her back—a light touch—and she realized that her steps were faltering. She picked up her speed, heading for the thick group of people congregating on the dance floor on the other side of the tables. It was as if no time had passed since she had left.

But she felt much better now.

Sort of.

Fear was still clamping her stomach but at least this time her heart had subsided enough that she could actually hear what people were saying.

Vince Gormley saw them and lifted his hand to catch their attention. He excused himself from the small group he was with and moved in their direction. He nodded as he reached them and looked at Lindsay.

“Are you all right? I saw you rush off.”

Luke’s hand was on her back, warm and firm. “Actually, that was my fault,” he said. He touched his temple. “Migraine. Lindsay did a dash of mercy for some Tylenol. Sorry.”

Gormley looked relieved. “Oh, well, that’s good. I mean, it’s not, of course but I’m glad it’s not anything worse. Migraine, huh? You’re pushing yourself too hard, Pierse. I heard about your big coup, by the way.”

“Thanks. Although I couldn’t have done it without Lindsay.” She felt his hand give her a tiny nudge and she smiled mechanically as Vince glanced at her.

“Really?” he said. “You two appear to be building a bit of a team here. That’s good. That’s very good. It all helps the hotel, of course.”

“Of course,” she echoed.

If Vince had heard about Luke’s landing of the medical association account from someone else, then what had Luke been doing up in Vince’s office the morning after her disaster?

“Anyway,” Vince said, lifting his glass of champagne. “Don’t forget to mingle, you two.”

“Of course,” Luke assured him. “It’s the only reason for being here.”

Her heart gave a little leap. Mingle. Yuck.

But Luke’s hand was pushing her forward. He grabbed two glasses of wine from a waiter who appeared magically in front of them and handed one to her.

“Let’s go,” he murmured and led her further into the middle of the room.

She was deeply uneasy now. Most people were already talking in intimate little groups, their heads together. And even if Luke found someone just standing there looking lost, what was he going to do? Just walk up and introduce himself? Her heart fluttered at the thought of doing that herself.

But instead he aimed for a small group of guests standing together. There were no hotel staff with them. She watched him carefully. He was looking straight at them and inevitably one of them saw his approach. As soon as they saw him, he smiled warmly and moved to stand with them.

He drew her along, pushed by his hand on her back. His right hand he stuck out, grasping the offered hand of the man whose glance he had caught.

“Hi. Luke Pierse. I’m with the hotel.”

It was that easy. Suddenly the others were all echoing their own names and affiliations. A hand was offered to her and she shook it. “Lindsay Eden, Director of Marketing.”

“Really?” Myopic blue eyes behind thick lenses stared at her. “I’m in marketing, myself. Small electronics firm—try to compete with the Valley in California. You should know something about big city competition. How do you compete, way up here in the mountains?”

The sudden interest, the intense stare and on-point questions threw her. She swallowed, feeling the edges of panic returning.

“Lindsay has turned our remoteness into a marketing bonanza,” she heard Luke say. “For a hotel, location can be everything. Right, Lindsay?”

His hand slid across the back of her hip, warm and reassuring. Without thinking about it, she found herself moving back a few inches until she bumped up against Luke, her shoulders and buttocks firmly against him. It was like a wall of warmth and reassurance behind her and she was gratified when his hand slid around her waist to lie over her hip, in an intimate, possessive gesture.

“We’ve got bloody great big mountains all around us and snow that never fails. And sun that rarely quits. No city can offer that,” she answered the man in front of her.

He blinked at her forcefulness, then smiled. “Well, yes. Put that way…”

“It’s just a matter of figuring out what you offer that the competition can’t. Marketing isn’t rocket science, after all.”

Another man in the group—she hadn’t caught his name—laughed a little. “Know a bit about rocket science do you?” he asked.

“I should,” Lindsay said. “My father is a rocket scientist.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

Luke laughed. “The worst of it is, she means every word too.”

“Really?” asked the myopic man. “Your father works for NASA?”

“He worked for anyone who could afford him—including NASA,” Lindsay admitted. “Astronomical physicists are pretty thin on the ground, so he moved around a lot, trying to help out everyone.”

Again there was the stunned little silence and then something unexpected happened. A chuckle passed amongst them.

“And did you get your father’s genes?” she was asked. “Are you a professor of quantum physics in real life?”

Again, Luke answered for her. “Radcliffe. She graduated summa cum laude, in mathematics and physics and has a masters in mathematics.”

She looked up at him, utterly astonished.

“That’s right, isn’t it?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she said and the word came out a little breathlessly. How did Luke know that, though?

“What on earth are you doing running the marketing department of a little hotel like this?” Blue Eyes asked her.

Before she could answer, the other smart alec snorted. “Remind me not to tell any blonde jokes while you’re around.”

Irritation bit into her. “Oh, don’t restrain yourself on my behalf. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on all that mental stimulation.”

She felt Luke pat her hip. A warning. Heedlessly, she finished. “Haven’t you heard? Most blonde jokes are one liners so men can remember them.”

Again there was a little stunned silence and she knew she’d done it again.

“Smile,” Luke breathed in her ear.

She plastered a brilliant smile on her face, while her heart skittered along unhappily and she held her breath, waiting for the fallout.

But somehow, the smile converted them. There was a nervous twitter and clearing of throats and a general easing of tension. Blue eyes laughed out loud. “Serves me right for judging by appearances, and such a lovely appearance it is, Miss Eden. One day, we must talk more about marketing. I suspect you could teach me a great deal.” And he nodded. It was an acknowledgment.

Lindsay nodded back and pretended to sip her champagne but she wasn’t really drinking it, for she was heady enough.

She didn’t need Luke’s warm “Well done,” murmured in her ear to know she had made it. This time.

* * * * *

She was still trembling when she got behind the wheel of the car to drive home but it was a heady mix of elation and relief, not the undiluted fear she had been feeling before. She tried to push the key home twice and failed.

Luke’s hand rested on hers a moment. “I’ll drive,” he said. “You relax and recover.”

No one had ever driven her car before except her but she silently climbed out and moved around to the passenger side, handing Luke the keys as they passed in front of the hood.

The drive to Luke’s place was silent and in the silence and the warmth from the car’s heater, she felt her body relax, her mind quiet and her nerves go off-line. By the time he halted the car in front of his apartment block, she was actually sleepy, tiredness gnawing at her.

“It’s nice,” she said, as he turned the engine off.

“What is?”

“You know how to be silent. And when. I didn’t realize that until tonight. You always seemed to be running off at the mouth whenever I saw you before.”

“Thanks. I think.” He handed her the keys. “It’s nerves,” he added.

“What is?”

“When I run off at the mouth.”

“You? Nervous?”

He shrugged. “As unlikely as it sounds.” He went to get out and paused, his hand on the door handle. “Is it true, about your father?”

“You mean the rocket scientist bit?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“It’s true. He’s retired now. He makes furniture for charities.”

“That’s quite a change.”

“According to my father, building and creating things is more profound than physics, which merely describes the things he builds. I believe him. He gets very involved with his projects.”

He opened the door and Lindsay shivered at the cold rush of air. She opened her own door and went around to the driver’s side. Luke was already a few paces away, preparing to leave.

“Well…” he said. “It’s been an interesting date.”

“I’m glad you got your money’s worth.”

He put his hands in his coat pocket. “I don’t think I’m the only one who did that,” he said, his breath fogging the air.

True.

The impulse struck her suddenly, without warning. She crossed the crisp snow to stand in front of him and reached up to grasp his lapels. She felt him pull his hands out of his pockets and thought for a moment he was going to push her away but he laid them on top of hers. His eyes were completely black in the light.

She tugged a little, trying to pull herself up and him down.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said.

“I know.”

“It wasn’t a real date. Not in the proper sense. I tricked you into it. You know that.”

“I know.” She pulled a little harder.

“Just so we’re perfectly clear on this. This isn’t part of the fake date thing, is it? Or is it some sort of thank you?”

“No.”

“It’s just that I wouldn’t want to take it the wrong way. That could lead to all sorts of ugly complications—”

“Luke, you’re running off at the mouth again.”

“God, yes,” he said, his voice low.

She pulled again and this time he let her. She kissed him, exploring his taste, the shape of his mouth, the novelty of the kiss. Then, from an unknown quarter, an intense, heavy, sweet wave of pleasure spilled through her and all the intellectual curiosity about the kiss washed away beneath it. She was drawn into it, coherent thought scattered to the four winds.

She lost sense of time. When the kiss ended, it was very much like she was reviving from a drug-induced haze. Her lips were swollen and her whole body throbbed with unfulfilled tension. Luke’s arms were around her, holding her up, lifting her to his lips.

She held her breath for a second, then pushed it out with a heavy sigh.

“What happened?” she asked.

“You kissed me.”

“Is that what it was?”

“I think so.”

She licked her swollen lips, tasting his lingering flavor just a little. Sense was beginning to return. “I have to go.”

He nodded. His hands cupped her face and his fingers smoothed their way down her cheek, caressing it. His eyes were very dark. Unrevealing.

“We’ll freeze,” she said.

“I’m not cold.”

Neither am I, she thought.

She stepped back. His hands reluctantly dropped from her face.

“’Night.”

“Yes.”

She climbed back into the car and tried to fit the key back into the slot and failed again. Her hands felt big, clumsy and heavy. She concentrated and slid the key in and started the car.

Luke was still standing there and watched her leave.

Now what? she wondered, exploring her lips with her fingertips as she drove.

The kiss changed everything.

But she had fulfilled her obligation and now there was no unfinished business between them.

Except for that kiss.

And just like at the Christmas party, she had no idea what to do next.

Chapter Six

Christmas shopping was a simple affair for Lindsay. She only had her father to shop for and she had decided what to get him weeks before. During her lunch hour she walked down to the hardware store and paid the final deposit on the bench router her father had been yearning after for months.

Just anticipating his surprise and delight brought a smile to her lips. And today she was enjoying the crisply cold, perfectly sunny day. She was beginning to appreciate “knockout” days now—and her sunglasses took the edge off the dazzling light.

She walked back to the hotel, kicking through the snow as she went. As she stepped under the portico and stamped the snow off her boots, a taxi delivered its passenger, a disheveled, unshaved man in a black coat with no luggage. He adjusted his sunglasses as she watched and her breath caught.

Luke.

Back from this weekend’s New York trip and only half a day late for work.

He was peering inside at the lobby through the banks of glass doors, as if he was scouting out the land. Was he trying to avoid her?

She pursed her lips, feeling an annoying mix of both irritation and delight. The irritation had been building steadily since their pseudo-date. The next day after the Christmas party, they had come face to face with each other in the corridor outside her office.

It was as if she was looking at a stranger. She couldn’t believe that this man who plagued her days in the office was the man she had kissed last night. Simply looking at him made her blood begin to boil on most occasions. Now, with the memory of that kiss lodged in the forefront of her brain, in bright neon lights, all she could feel was an acute discomfort and a longing to be far, far away from here.

What had she been thinking, last night? What on earth had possessed her to kiss him?

Looking at him now, she couldn’t even begin to reconstruct the reasoning she had used to justify such an insane course of action.

She cleared her throat.

Luke seemed just as awkward.

“You’re late,” she snapped when he stayed silent.

“Gimme a break, boss. I was out working all last night.”

She felt her face flush deeply red and hot. Was the kiss work as well?

“You have a production meeting with your medicos at ten. Don’t be late for them. I won’t have you jeopardizing all that hard work.”

She didn’t wait for his answer but stepped past him and headed for her office. She slipped inside and shut the door gratefully, wondering yet again how on earth she had even considered kissing him, let alone enjoying it the way she had.

What did Luke think of that kiss?

The next two days were unsettling repeats of the first, making Lindsay wonder what was going on. Was she going mad? Her intention to get Luke to one side and speak frankly with him grew firmer.

But trying to achieve that intention was another matter entirely. Luke was like a shadow—easy to see but impossible to grasp. Every time she thought she’d found a moment to speak to him, he seemed to melt away.

By the time she’d thought to phone him at home and corner him that way, the weekend had arrived and he was gone—the five thirty-five flight out of Deerfoot Falls, heading for New York.

Well, now he was back.

Lindsay hurried across to the front of the hotel doors where he was standing and grasped his elbow.

“Could we have a talk?” she asked. “Thank you. This way.” She tugged him toward the doors, intending to draw him into the lobby and find a quiet corner somewhere to sit him down and ask a few choice questions.

“Lindsay! Look, this isn’t a great time—”

“It never is with you, apparently. Now is as good as it’s going to get.”

He let himself be led. That was a small victory. At least he wasn’t digging in his heels and protesting loudly. But for right now, she didn’t really care.

“You’re late,” she pointed out. “By, oh, five hours. Planning on making them up?”

“Of course I will,” he said tiredly. “Listen, Lynds, I’ve had a really crappy weekend and—”

“And your Monday is not about to improve,” she said, sweetly.

The monstrous great fireplace in the lobby was alight and crackling with good cheer and one of the couches drawn up to it was empty. She led him over to it and pointed to the corner.

“Sit.”

He sat and scrubbed at his prickly chin and rubbed at his eyes. He really did look terrible, she realized.

“I’m confused,” Lindsay told him. “I thought you might be able to explain things for me. For instance, the night of the party…”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” He pulled at his shirt collar and tie and rubbed his temple. “Is that pine they’re burning in the fireplace?”

“I’ve no idea. Why?”

He took a deep breath. “I can’t stand the smell of burning pinewood.”

“How can you even tell the difference?” She grimaced. He was distracting her. Luke was the master of distraction. She kept forgetting that. “About the party. Did I miss something that night? Did you give out any press releases I missed? You’ve been trying to avoid me since then and I’d just like to know why.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“You’re lying, Pierse.”

He pulled at his tie again and closed his eyes. “It’s pine,” he muttered.

Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead as she watched. She stared, as it finally sunk in that he wasn’t trying to distract her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Goddam Christmas time,” he muttered and pushed himself up from the sofa with one arm and staggered toward the doors.

He leaned against the cold tiling of one of the portico support pillars and drew in big, cold, fresh lungfuls of air, untainted by the cloying, sickly smell of pinewood. Gradually, he felt his blood pressure recede and his heart return to a steadier beat.

“Luke?”

She’d followed him out here. He felt her hand on his arm, hesitant.

“I’m okay,” he told her. “Fresh air, that’s all.”

“I’m worried,” she said softly.

He couldn’t fail to miss the genuine concern in her voice, or her face when he spared a glance at her.

“I said I’m fine!” he repeated and was surprised at the tinge of anger in his voice. But, stars above!—he’d just said he was okay.

He watched her step back and shrink into herself and mentally sighed. Jerk. Idiot. Fool. He held out his hand, trying to appease her. “Really. Don’t fuss.”

“I’m the last woman on earth to fuss over anyone,” she shot back. “Especially you, Pierse.”

“Good.”

“Well, back to normal then, huh?” She crossed her arms, looking at him with the diamond sharp green eyes that haunted his dreams.

“For heaven’s sake, Lynds.” He said it tiredly. The idea of going back to the old way of shooting from the hip whenever they saw each other had suddenly lost all its charm and excitement.

“Well, what then?” she demanded.

He rubbed at his neck. The last of the dizziness was fading now. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

She stood silently for a minute, the eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Dinner, then,” she declared.

“Dinner?”

“Food. Wine. Conversation. Above all, we talk. I think that sounds something like middle ground, don’t you?”

“It sounds like another date.”

“As you appear to be allergic to them, I’d hardly force-feed a date on you. It’s just dinner.” She paused, weighing something up. “If you must know, it’s another working occasion. I want to scout out this new restaurant that everyone’s talking about, the one up on the top of Valleyview Road. They’re stealing some of our business.”

“Heaven help them,” Luke muttered. He considered the proposition. “A working dinner?”

“Absolutely.” Her expression was very sincere.

“I could help out, I guess.”

“I would appreciate it.”

He nodded. “Okay. Fine. Shall I pick you up?”

“Hell, no. We’re leaving from the office, straight after work. Tonight.”

“You mean, after you finish work. What time do you finish, anyway?”

“Oh, six-thirty, seven. Make it seven.”

“I’ve got things to do after work. I’ll come back to the office at seven.”

“Fine.” She looked at her watch and frowned. “I have an appointment. I’ll see you back at the office, Pierse.” She turned on her heel and paused to drop the next comment over her shoulder. “Get rid of the stubble before you return to your desk too.”

He shook his head in disbelief, watching her walk back to the lobby doors, the trim hips swinging under the elegant overcoat. What had just happened? He wasn’t entirely sure but he had the uneasy feeling he’d just been blindsided and got around.

It was a unique and novel experience.

He didn’t know if he liked it but if anyone was going to manipulate him, he preferred it be someone as sharp and clever as Lindsay.

He straightened up, smiling, and went in search of a razor blade he could borrow.

Tonight was beginning to look promising. Of course it was just business, he reminded himself, but still…

* * * * *

Luke arrived promptly at seven. Lindsay was already wearing her overcoat and was on the phone when he tapped on the door and leaned inside.

“It’s seven, boss.”

She waved at him, all the while still talking.

He stepped back out and leaned against the wall, allowing himself to feel a little of the tiredness that had been nagging him all day.

His weekend sprints back to Manhattan were starting to feel more like a marathon than the mental and physical escapes from Deerfoot Falls they had once been. Besides, New York was starting to feel like a strange city and that was…distressing.

It didn’t help that the news that greeted him each time he went back had been getting steadily grimmer and sadder over the last few months.

Lindsay stepped out of her office and shut the door, tucking an evening purse under her arm. “Ready?”

“Sure.”

In the lift, she delved into the pocket of her overcoat and withdrew a pair of glittering earrings, which she clipped to her ears.

“What are they for?”

“Dinner,” she said, with a surprised expression.

“I thought this was strictly business?”

“We’re scouting out the opposition, Pierse. You expect me to roll up in a business suit with a notebook in my hand?”

“So this is a…disguise, so to speak?”

“Yes, you could call it a disguise.”

“Isn’t that just a little bit subtle for you, Lynds?”

She lifted a smooth arched brow. “Why?”

“I didn’t think you were capable of deception.”

She smiled. “I’ve been watching you, remember? I’m a very fast learner.”

Out in the lobby, she checked her watch. “We’ll take your car. I left mine at home today.”

“’Kay, boss,” he murmured and led her to the underground car park where he usually left his car for the weekend.

The trip to the restaurant was quiet. Lindsay seemed content to let the silence stretch, which was unusual. He wondered what was on her mind.

“It’s busy for a Monday,” he observed as he pulled up in the car park.

It was a mild understatement. The car park was very nearly full and he had to circle a couple of times before they spotted an empty bay. Light poured out of the huge picture windows that spread across the north side of the building. Inside they could see lots of people sitting and eating.

“The bistro off the lobby at the hotel was virtually empty,” Lindsay murmured.

Inside, she gave their names and produced a booking number, which was carefully verified before they were led to their table.

It was a lovely atmosphere. Big potted palms and fichus added an air of summer and tropics and the buzz of conversation gave the big room a cheerful sound. A long bar at the far end of the room had a large number of people sitting and standing, drinking and chatting animatedly.

“I like it,” Luke declared. In an odd way, it reminded him of some of his favorite restaurants and eateries in Manhattan. Perhaps it was the small tables and busy waiters and the even busier bar at the opposite end.

The hostess dimpled at his compliment. “Thank you,” she told him, with a lovely smile. “We try to please.” She put the menus on the table and stepped back. “Can I take your coats?”

Luke shed his and handed it over, while Lindsay unbuttoned hers more slowly. She took the coat off and he felt his jaw descending at lightning speed.

She was dressed in a satiny blue something that had less material in it than the cloth covering their table. It was strapless and worse, there was a split in the top of it, that arrowed down between her breasts, giving him a glimpse of cleavage. It clung. All over. But the hem stopped short a good many inches above her knees. Dark stockings, sheer…god, why hadn’t he noticed her legs before? They were stunning, endless…and he hadn’t even noticed the stilettos until this moment.

He folded into his chair, feeling winded. He wasn’t sure what was the most distracting about her—those long, long, gorgeous legs, or the line of her dress. How in hell was she keeping it up?

He swallowed and watched as she seated herself, the legs swinging under her chair with a dancer’s grace.

“Let me guess…disguise, again?” he said and was appalled to realize his voice was emerging strained and a little hoarse.

“Of course,” she said breezily, picking up the menu.

Luke followed her example and picked up his menu and stared at it but the words didn’t make any sense. He could have been reading Greek for all the good it was doing him.

There was a stray golden curl just brushing the line of her shoulder, sitting where the collarbone lifted the skin a little. That shallow depression there, where it brushed the skin as she moved. His fingers itched to push aside the curl and explore the skin for himself. Perhaps taste it…

He realized where his thoughts were going and swore at himself.

“Pierse, fancy running into you here.”

Luke tore his gaze from Lindsay’s shoulder and looked up. Vince Gormley stood at their table.

Luke stood up, carefully, letting his jacket swing closed over the almost painful swell of excitement he was showing. Right at that moment, Vince’s appearance was the most unwelcome event in a long line of events this day that had been less than thrilling.

“Vince. Hi. Are you scouting too?”

“Actually, no. I’m here as a guest. It’s quite a place, isn’t it?”

“There’s a thing or two here we could learn and use at the hotel.”

Vince looked pleased. “You know, that was exactly what I was thinking. Pierse, you’re a real gem.” He slapped Luke’s arm and Luke pasted on a smile.

Vince glanced at Lindsay, who was sitting with a polite smile on her face, sipping her water. He nodded, then turned back to Luke. Suddenly, he whipped his head back to look at Lindsay and Luke was richly rewarded as he watched Vince’s jaw descend and the look of total consternation cloud his features.

“Lindsay! Good god…I mean…how delightful!” Vince held his hand out to her.

Luke watched with delight as Lindsay uncurled her long legs, stood and grasped Vince’s hand. “Evening, Vince.” She gave a slow smile that revealed perfect, even teeth.

He continued to pump her hand, staring at her and Lindsay let him, her smile never faltering. Finally, he remembered what he was doing and withdrew his hand.

He rubbed at his neck and turned back to Luke. “As you’re both here, I can take advantage of this opportunity. I’ll be back in a minute—don’t go away.”

Vince scurried off to his own table and Luke sank back into his chair with a deep sigh. “That was priceless,” he declared. “Lindsay, darlin’, you’re a gem.”

“Thank you,” she said serenely and went back to reading her menu.

They didn’t have to wait long. Vince hurried back, hooked a chair from a nearby table and settled himself at the side of their table. The wine waiter appeared next to him, carrying an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne in it.

“I was going to tell you tomorrow but as you’re both here, this is the perfect time,” Vince told them as the waiter peeled away the foil. “Luke, I’ve been talking to various board members for the last couple of days, telling them about your spectacular success with the medical association.”

“Well, it wasn’t just me—” Luke began, uneasiness stirring in him.

“Now, no false modesty,” Vince told him. “I’ve had some interesting chats with people here and there. You’re relatively new in town and probably don’t realize just how many people I’m on a first name basis with here. Comes from growing up in the community, doesn’t it, Lindsay?”

“Yes,” she agreed flatly and Luke realized that her serene expression had fled. The green eyes were glittering with intensity and her concentration was fully on Vince. She was leaning forward a little and Luke’s gaze slid to the top of the little dress before he swallowed and dragged his focus back to Vince.

Vince arranged three champagne flutes on the table as the waiter popped the cork and poured the foaming liquid with experienced ease.

“I had a chat with Otto Berenger this morning and that pretty much clinched the deal for you,” Vince continued. He pushed two of the glasses toward them and picked up the third himself. “It’s been okayed and all that’s left is the paperwork. Congratulations, Luke, you’re now the hotel’s new public relations director.”

“Public relations?” Lindsay put her glass down. “But the marketing department…”

Vince patted her hand. “That’s the beauty of it. All the right people noticed at the Christmas party how well you two work together. You complement each other. Now, everyone knows that if you’ve got a weakness at all, Lindsay, it’s working with people. You’re brilliant at conceiving ideas and putting them into effect and keeping them running. Luke here, well, he’s good at the people stuff. So he can focus on the PR side of things and you can carry on doing what you do so well.” He tapped her glass. “Drink up!”

She took a swallow but Luke could see the liquid nearly made her gag, although she swallowed it anyway. His own gut was curling with tension that he didn’t quite understand.

Vince turned to him. “You’re not going to say no, are you? Not after I’ve had this very expensive bottle opened and everything?”

He glanced at Lindsay. Normally, she was incapable of hiding anything. Every emotion showed up on her face, as easily read as newspaper. But now it was a mask.

Luke held out his hand. “Of course I’m delighted to accept,” he told Vince, lying with utter conviction.

Chapter Seven

Lindsay waited until Vince had gone. “Tell him you’ve changed your mind,” she told Luke.

Luke put his glass of champagne back on the table with a little thump. “What? Why should I do that?”

She clenched her fists around the napkin on her lap, twisting it into a thick rope. “You know why. You cheated. You’ve got this promotion through trickery.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re climbing on my shoulders to get it and you know it.”

“I know no such thing.”

“Now you’re stooping to lying?”

“No!” He looked genuinely affronted and she relented a little.

“You told me you tricked me. You admitted it out loud.”

“I did not.”

“On the night of the Christmas party, when I tried to kiss you. Remember? You said then that you’d tricked me into it.”

“Are you really going to use that night as ammunition, Lynds?” he asked. “I’m disappointed.”

Frustration made her slap her hand on the table. “But you said it!” she insisted.

“I said a lot of things that night.”

She sat back, trying to unravel the strange note in his voice. “Was all of it lies, then?” she asked.

His gaze dropped to the table. “No. Not all of it.”

“Just some of it.” She couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her voice and Luke’s head lifted in reaction.

“Grow up, Lindsay. It’s not a perfect world out there.”

“Except for your beloved New York, of course,” she shot back. “Why don’t you go back there, Lucifer? That black hole and you deserve each other.” She got to her feet and grabbed her bag.

Luke’s hand snatched at her wrist, anchoring her to the spot. “Don’t leave.”

“Let go of me,” she demanded.

“Please, Lindsay. Just sit down. Talk to me.” He looked up at her. “Please.”

“There isn’t anything else to talk about,” she told him. “You’ve just said it all very nicely.” She didn’t bother to hide her bitterness. She lifted her caged wrist. “Are you going to let go, or do I call for the maitre’d?”

“Will you for one minute just be reasonable?” he asked. “If we’re going to be working together as equals, we need—”

Fury woke in her and emerged in full flame. She yanked her wrist out of his hand with strength she didn’t know she possessed. “You and I will never work together, Pierse. This job is mine. All of it. PR and marketing. That’s the only way it can be. That’s the only way I will allow it to be, do you understand? It’s not going to count if it happens any other way.”

She realized she had said too much when puzzlement grew on his face.

“What?” he asked.

“Never mind.” She brushed past the waiter who was just arriving at their table to take their order and hurried to the lobby to find the hostess, get her coat, and get the hell out of there.

Her heart was tripping along hurriedly and unhappily. There was a huge thick mass in the middle of her chest. She didn’t know if it was unexpressed anger, or tears, or just pure fear.

Luke couldn’t take that job. It would be the end of everything if he did.

She had shrugged into her coat and was heading out the door when she felt the hand on her arm, pulling her back.

“I’ll drive you,” Luke told her.

“No.”

“You’re going to stand out there in the cold and try to hail a passing taxi? It’s at least twenty below out there and no taxi is going to come by way out here unless you phone them.”

It was undefeatable logic. “All right,” she said dully.

He pushed her forward again, toward his car and settled her into the passenger seat. The car was still slightly warm from their trip out to the restaurant. They hadn’t been in the restaurant for very long at all.

He sat behind the wheel, started the engine and looked at her. “Where am I taking you?”

She gave him the address and a few critical directions and then turned and stared out the window. She didn’t think she could talk to him right now.

He didn’t seem any more inclined to break the silence and the longer it stretched, the more the tension in her stomach twisted tighter and tighter. She couldn’t see a way out of this if she couldn’t convince Luke to turn the promotion down and right now that seemed extremely unlikely. For a man with less ambition than the janitor, Luke was hanging on to this promotion with all the doggedness of a Saint Bernard. It made no sense.

“Why?” she finally asked.

“Why what?”

“Why is this promotion so near and dear to you? You’ve never shown the slightest interest in the corporate ladder before.”

It was a long moment before he answered. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“As you’ve already admitted you’re a liar,” she added.

He didn’t answer but she sensed her words had registered, anyway.

He pulled the car up at the house and switched off the engine.

“I’ll be fine from here,” she told him.

“Indulge my New York paranoia,” he said, getting out. He followed her down the path to the private entrance to her side of the house and stood by while she unlocked the door. She switched on the light to her sitting room and swung the door wide so he could see the room was empty and innocent.

He stepped back and pushed his hands into his pockets. “Is there any way to talk this out, Lindsay?”

“According to you, no.”

“An overwhelming force meets an immovable object.” He shook his head almost sadly.

“It might help if you could tell me this reason of yours I wouldn’t believe.”

He considered for a moment. “Do you want to tell me yours?” he asked.

Alarm prodded her. “No.”

“Then, no, I don’t think I can either.”

Frustration touched her. “You’re so stubborn!”

“Ditto, Lynds.” But he didn’t sound stubborn. He sounded…tired. Sad, even.

“You’re going away, aren’t you?” she asked quietly.

“No.”

“I don’t mean from Deerfoot Falls.”

“Then yes, I think I am. I think…you want it that way. I think I do.”

She couldn’t speak. Desperate sadness touched her. She wanted to reach out, hold him back but knew she had nothing to hold him back with.

He cupped her cheek with his warm, big hand, the way he had at the end of their date. She knew it was his way of saying farewell. She kept motionless her breath caught and quiet.

His hand grew still against her cheek.

“Ah, hell…” he growled, his voice low and stepped close to her. Before she guessed what he intended, his lips came down on hers and the sweet-sour rush of pleasure was coursing through her, stealing her breath, stealing her senses. She was vaguely aware of being borne backward and the door closing behind them but she was too busy delighting in his taste, his hands on her body, discarding her coat, sliding into her hair and holding her head while his lips plundered and explored. He trailed his lips down her throat and brushed her hair out of the way before tasting her skin at the base of her throat. The sensation was delightful and she heard him groan with his own delight.

It brought her back to her senses enough to try to push him away. “Luke, no.”

He straightened. “What is it?”

“Yes, what is this?” she said. “What part does this fall into?” Tears pricked at her eyes and she blinked them away furiously, determined not to turn that particularly feminine tool upon him. “Does this fall into the part that is truth, Luke? Or the part that was all lies?”

He sighed and picked up her hand. Gently he spread her fingers and kissed the palm. “This is truth,” he said, resting her fingertips against his lips. He dropped his coat from his shoulders and pushed aside his jacket and slid her hand against his chest. She could feel his heart thundering against her hand. “This is truth,” he said quietly.

Her tears did fall, then. “Thank God,” she whispered.

He brushed them away with his thumb. “Perhaps you should send me away, anyway, Lindsay. I’ll turn your life upside down if you don’t.”

“I’ll risk it,” she told him.

“I’m already doing it. You just had a small sample of coming attractions, tonight.”

She shook her head. “I don’t believe you,” she told him. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him toward her. “You’re not going to start running off at the mouth again, are you, Pierse?”

“I might.” He kissed the corner of her mouth.

She slid her hand around the back of his head, her fingers burrowing through the thick, luxuriant mass of his hair, the ends tickling the sides of her fingers. She gently guided his lips to her throat, closing her eyes as they again found the sensitive spot they had zeroed in on before. “I’ll just have to keep your mouth too busy for talking,” she declared, her voice husky in reaction to what his hands and mouth were doing.

He didn’t answer. His hand was on her thigh, sliding up her flank, smoothing its way over her hip. At her waist, it paused for a minute before slipping higher, contouring itself around her breast. She couldn’t help but arch back, opening herself to him and she heard him groan. His lips seared an imprint on her breast, just above the top of her dress, his hair brushing her skin, sending sparks of excitement flitting through her. She realized he was holding her up and she was bent over his arm, ripe for plundering.

His groan seemed to touch off a wall of heat that rushed through her, consuming her senses. She felt the tips of his fingers at her dress and realized they were trembling against her flesh.

She knew what he intended and found herself arching harder, welcoming it. “Yes,” she whispered.

It was all the encouragement he needed. His hand bunched and the dress was ripped from her body, revealing her stocking tops, suspenders and that was all. Luke became very still. “Dear god…” His voice was a mockery of itself, hoarse, breathless.

His hands were at her back, behind her legs, lifting her.

“Where?” And the urgency in his voice brooked no argument.

She pointed toward the bedroom and he shouldered the door aside and laid her on the bed. He straddled her hips with his knees and shrugged his jacket off. In the light spilling through from the sitting room, his eyes were glittering darkly. His hands fitted around her waist, his strong thumbs almost touching each other. They smoothed their way over her stomach and she quivered in response. His hands slid higher and rounded themselves over her breasts, tugging and caressing the nipples. Deep, frenetic excitement caught at her, traveled her body, invaded and drugged her mind. Her hips lifted in response and she heard Luke gasp.

“This was no disguise,” he said roughly.

“No.” She could barely whisper it.

“No more disguises,” he declared, his voice rough.

His mouth, hot and moist, caught at her nipple and her response faded from her mind under the onslaught of hot, delicious pleasure. She felt his thigh pressing between her legs and opened them invitingly, moving restlessly against the weight of him. She pulled at his shirt, reached for his belt, wordlessly stripping him of encumbrances.

Then his flesh was against hers and his hand, big and strong, was cupping her hip. She could feel him, hot and hard, against her and suddenly she couldn’t wait, could not stand the emptiness.

She pulled him to her. He paused at the very brink, quivering, denying her, as he covered his heated flesh in a protective sheath, then drew her to him, his eyes burning into her soul

“Look at me,” he demanded.

She looked up at him, at the dark eyes above her. She was caught up in his mesmerizing gaze. He held her focus as he slid into her and the sensation was so perfect, so fulfilling, that she tensed in reaction, clenching around him, a tight bow of pleasure.

Then his mouth was at her breast and he was moving, slow thrusts that caressed every sensitive inch of her. There was no mercy in his assault on her senses. She was an entity of spiraling delight and she was encouraged by Luke’s growl of pleasure and his quickening movements.

The climax was mutual, locking them together for endless moments, as their bodies and minds hung suspended at the peak.

After, they lay entwined side by side, still joined, satiated and drunk with the after effects.

Luke kissed her temple. “Why can’t it happen like this?”

She shook her head a little, puzzled.

“At the restaurant. You said it’s not going to count if it happens any other way. What’s not going to count? Why isn’t this way just fine? It’s fine by me.”

“This way, you mean?” she asked, moving her hips a little.

He smiled, a slow, lazy grin that warmed her and made her toes curl in anticipation. “Well, this way is really fine. And there’s every other way too. Infinite variety.” He picked up her hand and smoothed the fingers out, then kissed the palm slowly, his tongue tickling the skin. “Lots of ways,” he murmured, “and I’ll enjoy all of them with you.”

She could feel her body already stirring again and moved against him. He caught his breath, his eyes narrowing. “I assume that means yes,” he said, lifting himself up over her once again.

“Yes,” she said with delight.

Later, while he propped his head up on one hand, he lazily drew patterns on her body with his fingers, making her quiescent nerves twitch with lingering sensitivity. Lindsay was in a dreamy state of euphoria, her mind still hazed from lovemaking. Luke’s hand was enough to keep her in a state of longing.

Then his hand became still. “You distracted me,” he said, trying to sound irritated.

“I can do it again, if you want.”

“Not right now. I want to live until morning.” He caressed her cheek. “Not that the distraction was less than adequate, of course.”

“Thank you. I took a course.”

He blinked. “A joke. Was that a joke I just heard?”

“I believe so. Not that I’m any judge when there’s a master craftsman in the room.”

He shook his head. “Followed by a compliment. I should distract you more often, Lynds.” He frowned. “You did it again. What was I saying?”

“You were commenting on the adequacy of my distraction. More than, I believe you said.”

“No, I mean what was I saying before the distraction itself?”

She turned her head a little, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t remember.”

He was silent for a long moment. She felt his hand under her chin, turning her face back to look at him. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

“I can’t help not remembering.”

His eyes had taken on the dark, glittering intensity she remembered from before they had made love the first time. He shook his head a little. “You remember, Lynds. You just don’t want to discuss it. So tell me why can’t I take the directorship? Tell me how it will screw up your life if I do and maybe we can work it out.”

“We can’t.”

“Tell me,” he coaxed. “You know I’m a good listener at the very least.”

It was so tempting to tell him. The need to explain herself, so that someone would understand all that she had achieved and everything she was working toward, was almost overwhelming.

But it was the small, nagging doubt that Luke wouldn’t understand that stopped her. She couldn’t risk being belittled, or worse, seeing condescension in his eyes.

“Tell me,” he murmured and kissed her forehead. “I won’t laugh. I won’t tell anyone else.”

She closed her eyes. It was easier that way. “I have to make general manager of the hotel by my birthday.”

“Have to?” There was no incredulity there. Just simple interest.

“Yes. And it doesn’t count if they take PR away from me and give it to you. It’s all laid out, you see. Director of marketing—including PR—then general manager by twenty-eight, head of the PR department at head office in New York by thirty-two, vice president by thirty-seven, CEO by forty-three.” She’d had the stats memorized years ago and rattled them off with very little thought.

Luke was silent and she opened her eyes a little, alarmed at the silence. His eyes were narrowed.

“That’s…a pretty well defined career path, Lynds. What do you get if you pull it off? A lifetime supply of terry-towel bathrobes?”

She looked away. He wasn’t going to understand at all.

“No, Lynds, don’t turn away,” he said gently. “I’m trying, really but you’re going to have to explain it a little more.”

She couldn’t look back.

“Okay. So, what do you get if you don’t pull it off? What makes this so critical for you?” he asked and his hand smoothed its way down her arm and tucked itself under her hip in a way that eased her and gave her courage enough to answer.

“If I don’t pull it off, I won’t have done what my mother did.”

She heard a sound that was half sigh and half a verbalized “Ahh” spoken softly, as if he was speaking to himself. She turned her head quickly to check. He was staring off into middle distance, a small crease between his brows. Then he refocused on her.

“That’s what your mother did. You said she worked at the hotel. You didn’t say she had the same job as you but… All those positions and ages…they’re your mother’s resume.”

Now that it was out, spoken aloud, Lindsay felt a touch of unease. Embarrassment, almost. But it was leavened by a fear that he would ask the next obvious question, why? And she wasn’t ready to tell him that yet.

So she remained silent, neither confirming nor denying his summation.

But Luke just grinned and turned her over onto her side to face him. “If that’s the problem, then it’s no problem at all.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You want to follow your mother’s footsteps. That means getting the same promotions she did at the same age she did, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“And the next one is General Manager before twenty-eight, right?”

“Yes.”

He shrugged. “So, no problem. You make general manager and you’re still on track.”

“But I won’t have the job my mother did if you take over PR.”

“It doesn’t matter. You got the job your mother had. You were promoted to marketing director and it did include PR. Look, your mother didn’t work with the people you work with, right? She possibly didn’t have the same office, the town wasn’t the same, the hotel probably wasn’t as big as it is now.”

“No, they added the whole west wing and the grand ballroom after she moved to New York.”

“Well, then. You’re not trying to recreate her career, just follow her career track. So far, you’re on target. What happens in between is irrelevant. Yes?”

“I don’t know…” It just didn’t feel quite right, even though she couldn’t dispute Luke’s logic at all. But this wasn’t an issue designed for cold reason and her mind was already trying to cope with so many unexpected events she could barely think straight anyway.

A big yawn pulled through her, making her stretch mightily. Luke frowned and reached for his watch. “Hell.” He slipped it on and sat up.

“Where are you going?”

“Home,” he said. “As much as I don’t want to.”

“Then stay,” she said simply. “Please.”

His smile was another slow appreciative one that warmed her soul. “I’d love to.”

“Good.” She picked up his hand and tugged. “Come back to bed. Come and get warm.”

He removed his watch. “It’s a good thing I don’t snore.”

“That’s all right. I do.”

He glanced at her sharply and she stared steadily back. He shook his head and put his watch down. “Another zinger.”

Lindsay turned off the sitting room lights and they settled back into bed.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice murmuring by her ear.

“You’re welcome. I’ll forego the room tax this time too.”

“I meant, for telling me about your mother. You have a hard time sharing things. I just want you to know I know that.”

With his arm comfortably draped over her waist and his long form curled around hers, she murmured into the dark, “You didn’t ask why.”

After a moment his voice rumbled against her, “I’ve already had my share of miracles tonight. I didn’t want to push it.”

She wasn’t sure where it came from but the thought aired itself without heed. “You deserve more than you think you do, Pierse.” She frowned, realizing she had spoken a profound truth.

His answer was a kiss to the back of her shoulder and that was all.

A bit later, he exclaimed aloud, “Damn! Your father. I forgot! What’s he going to say if you suddenly produce a strange man at the breakfast table?”

Apart from being startled just as she was going to sleep, Lindsay’s tired mind was free associating wildly. She began to giggle, her body shaking silently.

“What? Lynds, are you laughing at me?”

“No…well, sort of.” She smothered another run of giggles.

“Well, it’s a genuine concern. Most fathers are protective toward their daughters and yours is this genius rocket scientist…supposedly a conservative…”

“Square and geeky, you mean.”

“I didn’t say that but, well, you see what I mean, then. What’s he going to say?”

She took a deep breath, trying to let the laughter go. She patted his forearm where it lay beneath her neck. “You haven’t met my father, yet.”

Chapter Eight

“Dad, this is Lucifer Furey Pierse. Luke, this is my father, Edward Eden.”

Luke stuck out his hand, while he looked over Lindsay’s father curiously. The older Eden was short. Shorter even than Lindsay. He had soft silver curls fringing a balding head and wire-rimmed glasses. But that was the only resemblance to a gentle scientist or even a mad professor that Luke could see.

Edward Eden was well-dressed. No odd socks, no ink stains on the pocket of his shirt, none of the usual clichés. His eyes, identical to Lindsay’s except they were blue, snapped with passion, interest, vitality.

He looked Luke up and down with equal interest. “Lucifer, hmm? My daughter’s tastes in men haven’t changed, I see.” He looked at Lindsay where she stood at the kitchen sink, filling the coffee jug. “Or is it all on the outside?”

“I’m still figuring that one out, Dad,” she responded, with a smile at Luke.

He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or feel insulted. “I’m not the first one to join you at the breakfast table, then.”

The sharp blue eyes speared him. “Oh, you’re definitely a first,” Edward said.

“You’re taking this rather calmly, then.” Luke mentally kicked himself, wondering what on earth he was so defensive about. It wasn’t like Eden was ordering him from the house, never to darken the doorstep again.

Edward smiled. “I’ve never assumed my daughter to be an imbecile. Have you?”

“Not quite but I am learning how much I’ve underestimated her.”

Edward smiled in agreement. “Then, if Lindsay is an intelligent, sane woman, why should I question her decisions?”

“Because she took me to bed.” It was out before he could censor it. Well, I’m screwed now. He mentally sighed.

Edward laughed and waved toward the table. “Sit, sit. You must be hungry—all that height on you and a busy night too.” He pushed the local paper in front of Luke as he sat down, a little dazed. “You read. Lindsay and I have been doing this for years and a third person will just mess us up. How do you like your eggs?”

“Over hard,” Luke said and waited for the usual grimace.

“Cooked and not before,” Edward said to Lindsay, who nodded and cracked an egg into the skillet on the stove.

The pair of them went to work.

Luke had only read the headlines before his attention was caught watching the two of them moving about the warm, comfortable kitchen. There was no radio blaring. No television babbling in the corner on some bland morning show. They didn’t talk much but just looking at them told him they were good friends and very used to each other. They moved with practiced rhythm, preparing toast, eggs, hash browns, orange juice and coffee that smelt heavenly and made his mouth water before it had even finished brewing.

Very quickly, a loaded plate was placed in front of him and Lindsay and her father settled down at the table. Luke realized there was a fourth place set beside him, with an empty glass next to it.

He saw that Edward was watching him.

“My wife,” he said quietly.

“In memory?”

“More or less.” Edward passed the milk to Luke without being asked. “Even when she was alive she was away a lot—she spent many years working in New York and commuting home on the weekends. We got into the practice of laying her place just in case she was home in time.” He shrugged. “We still do it. Silly, no?”

“No, not silly at all,” Luke said truthfully.

They ate in almost perfect silence but the silence was warm, companionable. There was no strain in the atmosphere. No tension. No unresolved fights or hurt feelings lingered here.

The meal was okay, the coffee better and even though the orange juice was canned, it was still the best damn breakfast he’d ever had.

He was sitting back, drinking his third cup of coffee and watching Lindsay’s back as she washed dishes, appreciating the view and recalling how they’d woken up. At the edges of his concentration he was aware of Edward drying and stacking dishes and clearing the table.

Then it struck him like a blow from a sledgehammer, Despite the absence of the mother figure, this was a family.

And he liked them.

* * * * *

Straight after breakfast, Luke pleaded personal business. He thanked Edward for the breakfast and Lindsay walked him to the door, where he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and was gone.

The kitchen seemed much emptier when she went back.

Edward was staring out the window at the white indistinct humps that were his garden in summer.

She linked her arm in his and they stood in silence for a minute.

“I think he did not want to arrive at work with his supervisor,” Edward said after a while.

“I’m not his supervisor anymore.”

“No? Oh, well.”

Again, the comfortable silence.

“He is like your mother in many ways.”

Lindsay felt her eyes open a little. “Yes, you’re right,” she said. The same fast energy, easy charm…all the things that she lacked, truth be told. All the skills that she worked so hard to compensate for.

You two work well together, Vince had said.

Well, they’d be working together now.

Uneasiness touched her. She still wasn’t sure Luke’s reasoning was valid. It didn’t feel right to her. Her mother certainly never shared her job with someone else.

“What would Mom have done if she’d been told to share her authority, Dad?”

“Got herself promoted as soon as possible.”

She smiled. It was the typical Catherine-ish reaction—damn their eyes and full speed ahead. “And in the meantime?”

His answer this time took a bit longer. “She did have to work with someone she didn’t like, once. He was an idiot, according to her and you know how badly she tolerated stupidity. Agh! She would get so angry, at home, telling me. But at work, she was perfect.”

“Perfect?”

He nodded. “She worked twice as hard to be twice as good. No mistakes. No slip-ups. No loss of concentration. Perfect. She would say ‘Success is the best revenge’.” He chuckled. “And she got her revenge.”

Lindsay turned the idea over in her mind. Perfect. It was a scary ideal. But then she thought about her ambitions and how close she was to losing it all.

She could do perfect.

* * * * *

She got to her desk later than usual but still early by normal office hours.

Luke wasn’t in, of course.

Timothy handed her the mail silently, his gaze wide-eyed and innocent. It took Lindsay a few minutes to interpret that stare.

Timothy knew. Somehow, word had got around that she and Luke had…were…what?

Lovers?

It was an uncomfortable description.

Well, as long as Timothy was playing dumb, that was fine by her.

She went back to her office and barely paused when she passed the closed door to Luke’s office. She had to resist leaving her own office door open. She nearly always closed it. An open door policy had never been her style.

Annoyed, she forced herself to settle down and tackle the morning mail. As she had to force herself to it nearly every morning it wasn’t an unfamiliar struggle but it was harder won than normal. Her concentration had completely gone and her mind was skittering everywhere.

She realized she was tense and getting more strung-out by the minute. Then she figured out why. She was waiting for the door to open. For Luke to step in.

There was a tap on the door and it opened. Luke stepped in and Lindsay jumped as her bucket of pencils seemed to leap off the desk and clatter all over the floor.

“Damn!” Her nerves were out of control. She scurried around to pick up the pencils and the tin bucket she kept them in.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Luke said, picking up a handful himself. He shoved them into the bucket anyhow—points up and down—and for a miniscule moment Lindsay could feel irritation flaring in her.

She put the bucket on the desk and deliberately ignored the almost overwhelming need to restore the upside-down pencils to their correct orientation.

That’s Luke. And that’s me, she thought. It doesn’t bother him in the slightest…it probably hasn’t even occurred to him. Me, I’m twitching to fix it.

And fast on the heels of the odd observation was another thought, Wow! I actually figured it out for myself!

Luke didn’t sit on the corner of her desk as he usually did. He crossed his arms, standing in the middle of the room.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard it yet. I thought I’d better warn you.”

“Warn me?” Alarm touched her. “Why?” Her father. Something had happened—

“It’s Gormley.”

“Gormley?” For a moment, she had to think who Gormley was. Work. It was work related.

The moment of disorientation shook her. In less than twenty-four hours her priorities had been completely reversed. She clenched her jaw, pushing aside the concern for now. “What about Gormley?”

“He had a heart attack last night. At the restaurant.” He shook his head. “All that champagne, tobacco and good cheer. I heard he put away a king-sized ranch steak and then ordered an apple pie with double cream, which he collapsed into shortly after.”

“Is it really bad? Will he recover?”

“Bad enough. The doctors say he won’t ever work again—not here, at any rate.”

She couldn’t help it. Her first thought was a selfish one. Now the general manager’s position is vacant.

Luke was staring at her, the dark eyes missing nothing, she was sure.

“Poor Vince,” she said.

Luke grimaced. “And poor Lindsay. All your problems just melted away, didn’t they?”

“I don’t know—”

“Yes, you do know what I mean.” He didn’t even let her finish her protest.

She lifted her chin. “It’s not mine yet,” she reminded him.

And he smiled but there was very little mirth in it. “That’s right. Who knows, Lynds? It could even end up being mine. After all, we’re both directors now.”

It was like the floor had suddenly dropped away beneath her. She stared at him, horror and disbelief washing through her.

His smile broadened. “I knew you’d find that a comforting thought,” he told her and turned back to the door. He paused in the doorway. “There’s a meeting for the directors at ten, in the small boardroom. Not to be missed, Lindsay. I guarantee this one won’t send you to sleep.”

He was gone.

Lindsay moved back to her chair, feeling like Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz, all clunky joints and stiff limbs. And no heart.

* * * * *

Was Luke angry with her?

The question wouldn’t go away, despite the flurry and distraction of wondering how she might pull off a small miracle and make the general manager’s job her own.

Somehow the nagging question kept floating back. Had she upset him in some way?

She kept replaying the scene in her office, trying to figure out what she might have said or done to offend him. To cause that bitter edge that lined everything he said.

She kept coming up with a blank. It’s not like he hadn’t known her ambitions. She’d never made it a secret from anyone.

He’d just…changed.

Or was it her imagination?

No. Now that she thought about it, he’d been reserved when he’d left the house that morning. Her father had noticed too.

Was it something she’d done at breakfast, then? But no, that was ridiculous. She’d barely spoken, in between eating and cooking. Perhaps that was it? Had he been upset then? No. It was after. At the end of breakfast.

She cradled her head in her hands, jamming her fingertips into her temples. She was no good at this sort of stuff! How could she figure it out? She had a hard enough time figuring out herself, let alone anyone else. Especially someone as convoluted and difficult as Luke Pierse.

Her mother would have had him figured out six months ago but she wasn’t her mother and she just didn’t understand him.

But I want to.

The thought popped into her head unbidden, surprising her.

She picked up her notebook and pen and headed for the small boardroom on the third floor, busy with the idea of getting closer to Luke, learning more about him. It was a novel idea but it was definitely attractive.

Inside the room, the other three directors had already sat down. So had Luke and she was disconcerted to hear the bantering flowing back and forth between all four men. Luke, despite no formal announcement, appeared to have been completely accepted by them.

She still wasn’t one of them after three years.

She dumped her notebook on the table, picking the strategically important middle seat down the longer side of the table. Nobody would have the guts to take the symbolic top chair, and the middle seat was the next best thing.

She leaned down closer to Luke. “Could I speak to you outside for a moment? Please?”

His eyes narrowed a little and she saw his gaze flick across the other three men. “Sure,” he murmured, standing up.

She walked back out of the room and shut the door behind Luke as he emerged.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“I was…” She could feel panic gripping her chest. It was just like at the Christmas party. Her heart was starting to pound. “I was wondering about…whether…you…” She had to stop for a breath.

Luke was watching her, letting her battle it alone. Not helping her out. Well, she hadn’t said anything, yet. He had no idea what she was going to say. Or did he?

She knew she had to spit it out, no matter what agonies it caused her. “Come over for coffee tonight,” she said, the first inane idea to show itself.

“Coffee.” His eyes narrowed a little.

“Coffee and…” She shrugged, trying to make it look casual despite her clammy hands.

“Oh, coffee and. Yes, I’m acquainted with coffee and.” He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “What are you serving? Cappuccino? Latte?” He smiled. “Or double double decaf…all froth and no substance?”

“Macciata,” she answered, irritation flaring.

“Macc— Okay, I’ll bite. What’s that?”

She swallowed. “Long. Long espresso…with a dash.”

“Long…” His expression was thoughtful, almost dreamy.

“Double strength,” she added. “It’ll keep you up all night.”

She realized the double meaning the instant she’d spoken and braced herself for Luke’s comeback. He would not spare her over such a slip.

But he leaned closer to her, his voice dropping low. “I don’t need espresso for that, Lynds. I just need you.”

She could feel the same breathless, floor-dropping sensation envelope her but this time it was anything but unpleasant. She was staring into his black eyes, lost there, floating weightless in a maelstrom of hot need.

She yearned for him to lean that little bit further and kiss her and take her into his arms and run his hands over her body, peeling aside all her clothes, which suddenly felt tight, restrictive—almost claustrophobic.

She wanted to be plundered just like all the heroines she’d read about. She had dismissed the idea as silly, vapid, until this moment. Now she understood it and wanted it, with every fiber of her soul.

She heard her breath push past her open lips with an unsteady rush.

And that’s when he moved away.

He straightened, like a soldier snapping to attention when caught off-guard by his superior officer. His expression resembled a man caught by surprise too.

He straightened his cuffs with a sharp tug. “I can’t come over tonight,” he said crisply. “I have a prior engagement.”

Fury flooded her. She had no idea why, or where it came from. But it gave her courage beyond normal. “A prior engagement? Does she serve espresso too?”

There was a flicker of something in his eyes too quick for Lindsay to recognize it. But she knew she had somehow reached past his armor and scored a hit. It didn’t make her feel any better. In fact, her sudden anger was gone as fast as it had arrived.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was uncalled for.”

She had no trouble recognizing his surprise.

“Well, that’s a first,” he said quietly. He glanced at his watch quickly, then at the closed door to the board room, before turned back to her. “Let me tell you about my aunt—”

“Another aunt?”

“A great aunt, actually. My grandmother’s sister. Or sister-in-law…I never did get the rights of that one.” He frowned, recalling details.

“Anyway, Aunt Rosie drank coffee. Gallons of it. Pails of it. Every day. She’d start first thing in the morning and be onto her second jug just after breakfast. This was years ago too. Long before all the health nuts started gabbing about the bad effects of too much caffeine.”

“And?” Damn it but she was hooked into the story despite herself. Again. Why did she let herself get sucked into all these terrible tales of his?

“Rosie was married to Albert. Great guy. Dedicated to his work. Spent thirty years running Albert’s Autos, down by the lake, around Michigan. Then he up and died one day and they found him sitting bolt upright clutching the wheel of a ’57 Pontiac. Died with his boots on, they say, although he was wearing sneakers at the time.

“Anyway, after that, Rosie started drinking more coffee than ever before. She said it comforted her. But she started putting on weight, even though she wasn’t eating much at all. Nobody could figure it out. She swelled and swelled and finally someone had the wherewithal to get her to the hospital.”

“What happened?”

“She died,” Luke said flatly.

Lindsay blinked. “But why?”

“Well, the doctors had lots of technical talk for it. Water retention was the simplest term they used, although I never did figure out how a diuretic like caffeine causes water retention. Basically, they were saying she drowned in her own body fluids. I don’t believe them.”

“Why not?”

His eyes seemed to bore into her. “I know she died of a broken heart.”

Lindsay felt like she’d been slapped in the face. There was a lesson there, she knew. But surprise was scrambling her wits, preventing her from putting it all together.

Luke headed for the boardroom door. “We’re late,” he said over his shoulder.

* * * * *

The meeting started badly and went downhill from there.

Her body was thrumming with unfulfilled tension and her thoughts were a chaotic whirlwind of questions, half-formed ideas and hazy, unsettling suspicions that wouldn’t let her focus and channel her energy into working the meeting properly.

Although they were nominally there to decide how to proceed until Vince formally retired, it was an unspoken assumption that the meeting had really been called to decide who would take over Vince Gormley’s job.

Lindsay wanted that to be her. She’d never fully dominated the other directors, though. She needed to do that now if she was to gain the general manager’s seat.

But every time she tried to wrest control of the meeting back to her, it was pulled away again. Someone would interject with a new thought, a different direction.

And having Luke sitting opposite her meant her thoughts were scattered every time she happened to catch his gaze. She was losing it and the harder she scrambled to pull it back together, the worse it got.

Perfect, she reminded herself. Be perfect.

Luke watched Lindsay gradually jitter to pieces and hated himself for doing it to her.

But a demon had hold of him and was driving him into it. He couldn’t explain it any better than that even to himself. Something was goading him into deliberately catching her gaze every now and again, knowing the reminder of last night would faze her completely.

And every time she regathered—and she relentlessly regrouped and charged right back in there time and time again—he would delicately drop another suggestion into the midst of the group and watch the others pick it up and take off with it, leaving Lindsay dangling again.

She was doing it again—damn but she was persistent! He watched her gathering her energy again. The other three were arguing over how they were going to announce Vince’s misfortune.

Of course, whoever did make the announcement would be a clear leader in the race for Vince’s chair. Luke didn’t fool himself that all the arguing here in this room wasn’t jockeying for that desirable position.

Lindsay waited for a break, then spoke with that forceful, don’t-argue-with-me voice of hers.

“If you really think nobody has heard about Vince’s heart attack by now, you’re misguided fools.”

There was a little stunned silence, which forced Luke to smother a smile. Trust Lindsay to call it how she saw it.

“This is Deerfoot Falls,” she added. “Not New York. The receptionist in the lobby probably already knows who you slept with last night, gentlemen. Any formal announcement of Vince’s condition would be looked upon as grandstanding of the worst kind.”

Luke gave them a chance to let it sink in a little, before throwing in his misdirection.

“Hadn’t somebody better tell New York, by the way?” he suggested.

And suddenly, they were arguing again.

And Lindsay was looking at him, the sharp green eyes spearing him from across the table. There was hurt there. And fury.

She knew what he was doing, then.

Guilt scraped through him and a touch of regret. He hoped one day he’d be able to explain it to her…once he figured it out himself.

No way was he going to get away with that unscathed!

Lindsay was aware she was striding furiously but couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t reach the main office fast enough. She wanted to flay Luke alive but he had conveniently shot out of the room the moment the meeting had come to its inconclusive end, while she had been forced to struggle around the table to the door.

Timothy was where he should be. That was one small blessing.

“Where is he?” she demanded, dumping her notebook on Tim’s desk.

“Who?”

“Luke, of course!”

“Wasn’t he at the meeting with you?”

“Of course he was. I want to know where he is now!”

“Did you lose him?”

“He ran away, dammit!”

“He’s not in his office?”

She grimaced. “Like he’d come back to the first place I’d look. I want my pound of flesh and he knows it!”

Timothy shook his head. “And here’s me thinking things might change around here, after…” He pursed his lips. “Never mind,” he muttered.

But she couldn’t ignore it. “What?” she demanded. “What, you thought I’d become more reasonable after…what?” Fury gripped her. “You’re the last person I thought would stoop to male chauvinism, Tim.”

“I never!”

“Then finish the thought you just refused to finish.”

His gaze flickered and dropped.

“No? Then I’ll finish it. You thought things might change once we’d had sex, is that it? Little ol’ Lindsay gets a proper lay and she’ll become all sweet and feminine again. Is that it?”

Tim looked startled. “You had sex with the guy?”

Dammit. She whirled away. “If you see him, tell him I want him.” She winced. “I mean, I want to see him in my office, immediately. He has some explaining to do!”

“Right, boss.”

But Luke didn’t show up for the rest of that day.

All day Wednesday, whenever she received a report of him appearing in one place or another, by the time she got to the spot to find him, he was gone again.

His appointment book showed a series of appointments with clients and they all seemed to be legitimate. There was no way Lindsay could call a guy to task for doing his job, so she had to fume in silence.

Tomorrow, she thought. I’ll get him tomorrow.

Thursday rolled around bright, crisp, clear and the temperature hovered just below zero. KTLM, the local rock station, was gabbling on about it being a heat wave.

Lindsay waited for Luke to arrive for work but was called into meetings herself just after nine. When she emerged, an hour and a half later, Luke was locked into a meeting with Arquette and Berenger, the two heads of the medical association. Even if she had wanted to bust in on the meeting, she couldn’t have, for Luke was touring them around the hotel again, showing them the facilities and she had no idea where they were.

Was he deliberately avoiding her? Somehow it just seemed to be too convenient, the way he was always…unavailable.

She could wait him out, she knew. She pretended to work at her desk, listening for sounds of his return. His office door had a peculiar squeak she knew well and she cracked her own door open enough to listen for it.

She heard it just on noon and bounded from her desk and was out the door in a flash. She came to a skidding halt when she saw Timothy shutting Luke’s door and testing the handle to ensure it was locked.

“Where is he?” she demanded.

“Gone.”

It was like an icy hand clutched at her heart, freezing it and stunning her body in one blow. “Gone? But…”

“New York,” Timothy added. “An extended weekend. Luke snagged a seat on the afternoon flight and Berenger wanted to drive him out to the airport, so he asked me to lock up for him…are you all right, Lindsay?”

“I’m fine,” she snapped.

But she wasn’t. She could feel a low grade buzzing building up in her mind, blanketing thoughts. Confusion, she thought dully. Confusion is killing me.

Luke had left town early and she knew with utter certainty he’d left town to avoid her.

Chapter Nine

“Linny, sweetheart. It’s time to go.”

Lindsay looked up, coming back to earth with a reluctant bump. Her mind was too busy with other things this weekend. She was becoming a danger to herself. “Sure, Dad. All packed up?”

“Five minutes ago,” he told her.

She grimaced. “Sorry. I’m not really here with you, am I?”

“I noticed. Don’t worry about it.”

“I can’t worry. I’ve too much to worry about already.”

He glanced at her as they climbed into the truck and she tried to give him a reassuring smile.

He cleared his throat, staring ahead and started the truck up. Same old Dad. Couldn’t share a heart-to-heart if his life depended upon it.

Neither can I, she thought bitterly. Was that what had driven Luke away? For she knew she had driven him away somehow. She just didn’t know why. And the more she tried to figure it out, the more foggy her memory became and the less sure she was of her own assessment.

Edward drove the truck out of the driveway, bumping over the curb and onto the road with slow, careful speed.

The back of the truck was loaded to the roof with all the furniture he had carefully finished in the last couple of weeks, including the bright, beautiful rocking horse. Lindsay had painted the last of the eyelashes on it around midnight last night, when she was too tired to think and not tired enough for sleep.

They were delivering it all to the house that was in the final stages of completion for a single parent family. The Habitat for Humanity project had been stepped up so it would be completed by Christmas, which meant some of the workers were giving up their entire weekends instead of the Saturday or Sunday plus evenings and odd weekdays they usually donated.

It was the thought of four little children living in squalor that drove them all, Lindsay knew. Just finishing the rocking horse gave her an immense sense of satisfaction, knowing the children would be in their own home for Christmas, with at least one new toy to play with.

And it gave her something to do. Anything was better than sitting around the house, wishing the phone would ring when she knew it wouldn’t.

The street where the house was located was lined with the cars and trucks of the people working on the building. Edward inched the truck closer to the porch and backed onto the front lawn, tires crunching through new snow. He turned the engine off and jumped out and Lindsay slowly followed him. Already people were unloading the furniture and she reached for the rocking horse, wanting to deliver that one herself.

She followed the line of people moving into the house, carrying her awkward load. There was a cheerful and energizing sound of industry coming from inside. Lots of talking and muffled banging and the buzz of machinery.

The stairs began just inside the door and after shrugging off her coat and gloves and hanging them over the newel post, Lindsay went straight upstairs. The rocking horse belonged in one of the smaller bedrooms.

In the main bathroom some guy was giving a stream of orders. His voice was booming and echoing in the empty room, as he explained the process of grouting, emphasizing the spacing of tiles.

She found an empty and obviously finished bedroom and dumped the rocking horse. She had to reassemble the rocking mechanism, which had come loose, and as she reattached the rod and drove it home with the bottom of her fist to ensure it wouldn’t come adrift again, she listened to the guy explaining the job. Basic stuff like tiling had to be retaught to every new recruit.

He was doing a good job, she decided. Crisp, clear, precise. She’d be hard put to explain the process more succinctly.

She replaced the plastic covering and turned to leave and came face to face with the guy stepping out of the bathroom, the hammer on his tool belt swinging and the nails in the pockets jiggling.

It was Luke—a Luke she had never seen before. The Armani suit was gone. He wore faded, snug jeans and safety boots, a flannel shirt in bright red plaid rolled up to show well-muscled forearms. The tool belt slung around his hips was old and well-used.

The first, the very first thing she felt was delight. But that was quickly swamped by an anger that bloomed large and grew larger with each rapid beat of her heart.

“What in hell are you doing here?” she snapped.

“Just visiting,” Luke shot back. He looked over his shoulder.

“Checking for witnesses or looking for escape?”

“Witnesses. If you’re going to murder me, I’d rather you pay the price.”

“You think I haven’t already? You son of a bitch, you deliberately screwed up my chances at that meeting!”

He lifted a hand, indicating she should keep her voice down and again, there was that quick check over the shoulder.

“I will not keep quiet!” she railed, her fury spilling over. “I’ll scream it from the rooftops if I have to. Just what the hell were you thinking, Pierse?”

He sighed and crossed his arms.

Fine, she thought. Let him be stoical. I’ll blast him out of it.

“You think you can walk in and take my job? You? You haven’t shown the slightest enthusiasm for your job since you got here. People notice. Word passes. You might be best buddies with the other directors but they know, Pierse. And if they don’t know, I will take the greatest pleasure in telling them, because you are not getting my job. Do you hear?”

His face tightened. “It’s not your job yet,” he growled.

“It won’t ever be yours, so stop torpedoing me!”

“You did it to yourself, Lindsay.”

“Pig swill! You—”

“Pig swill?” And he actually laughed a little.

She wasn’t quite sure how it happened. Her arm moved by itself. She thumped his shoulder with the heel of her hand. He was caught by surprise and actually stepped back a pace. Surprise skittered across his face.

“Lemme tell you something, Pierse. I may not be the most qualified for the job but I stand a fighting chance. You don’t. It will never be yours. Do you hear? I will make sure of it. And another thing…why have you been avoiding me?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Busy? You’re never busy. You weren’t too busy to duck off to New York two days early!”

“That’s a private matter,” he muttered.

“Like hell it is! Not when my best salesman deserts the office for two days and doesn’t have the decency to inform me!”

“I’m not one of your salespeople anymore.” He glanced away. “Thank god.”

It was too much for her. The words weren’t there to adequately convey the fury, the hurt, all the tight bundle of wounded feelings his little aside skewered into life. Three days of miserable loneliness had done their work. She hit out, her hands flailing at him, tears stinging her eyes.

Intellectually, at the back of her mind, she knew she would never be able to actually hurt him because she knew how strong he was and he had the added advantages of height, weight and reach.

But she wanted him to feel some of the pain she was feeling. To dish out some of the hurt he had delivered upon her this last week.

He quickly caught her flailing arms and she was locked against his chest and arms. She caught bunches of his shirt in her hands and began to shake him, driven by frustration at her own inability to hurt him. She couldn’t touch him, she realized. Nothing touched him. And the knowledge made her grit her teeth and pound on his chest with her fist.

And then, suddenly, her fist was stilled beneath his hand and his lips were on hers and he was kissing her. There was nothing gentle about the kiss. It was almost an assault—on her senses, on her mind. In her anger she kissed him back, her hands on his shirt pulling them closer together. He was holding her head in one hand, the other steadying her as he drove her backward, back into the room she had emerged from. She heard the door shut and his hand returned to her back, to hold her still while his invasive kisses stroked her soul.

She poured all her fury into the kiss but even as she vented the emotion, it evolved, emerging as a hot, hard passion that brooked no reason and tolerated no delay in gratification.

She realized she was almost panting with the need to get closer, to reach the natural goal of such an all-consuming fire. Luke’s breath was just as ragged. His fingers twined in her hair, pulled her head back a little, while his mouth devoured the flesh of her throat, moving down in hot leaps and bounds to the thin vee of skin showing between her shirt. His hands were on the material and she could feel the pressure he was putting on the buttons. One hard pull and they would give way, exposing her to his lips and tongue. She remembered the fate of another set of clothes he had disposed of in such a way.

“Yes,” she croaked, her voice thick with want.

He groaned and became still. “No,” he said and his voice too, was thick and furry. “No. Not here.” He dipped his head a little to kiss the tender skin showing between her shirt and straightened up. He looked her in the eye. His own were wide, black, depthless. “Not now.”

She still held fistfuls of his shirt in her hands. She let them go, trying to still her pounding heart and shaking limbs. She cleared her throat.

It was much too bright in the room. She felt almost groggy and her lips were swollen.

Plundered.

This is what she had wanted him to do, outside the board room. He had pulled away then too—sooner than this time but she had not been goading him into it then.

Why did he pull away?

And did she really want to know the answer? Because in her heart of hearts, she knew it was something to do with her.

Nothing touched him. The thought was almost a despairing one. Nothing touched him—especially not flawed, frightened Lindsay.

She turned away, staring at the window.

“Hey, no, don’t do that,” he said, his voice rough. His hand curled around her arm and tugged her backward and she was enveloped in his warm arms, her back pressed against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Lynds, you don’t need me in your life. I’ll…ruin it.”

“It’s already ruined,” she told him. “And it had nothing to do with you.”

She’d said too much again. Annoyed, she stepped out of his arms and headed for the door, carefully avoiding his gaze. He didn’t try to stop her.

She opened the door and would have stepped through except she knew if she did then it really would be over. It was too symbolic. Too final. She couldn’t let it go at that. Not yet.

She turned, her back against the open door. “Tell me one thing. What are you doing here?”

“Here?” He spread his hands to indicate the room. “Recovering. Getting my heart back to normal speed.” He grinned.

“You know what I mean.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and Lindsay recognized it. He was feeling awkward and uncomfortable.

“What are you doing here, Luke? Why aren’t you in New York?”

“I…ah…I’m just helping out a little.”

“Hey! Boss!” The call came from the bathroom and a skinny kid in dirty overalls wandered out, a tile in one hand and a tiling scorer in the other. “This thing doesn’t cut worth shit. Now what do I do?”

He was talking to Luke.

“You have to score it a few times on the same line then break it over something,” Lindsay told the kid. From the side of her vision she saw Luke’s quick glance at her.

The boy’s eyes opened wide. “Gotcha,” he said slowly. “You mean, break it over my knee or something?”

She winced.

“Line up two of the matches I gave you for spacing out the tiles and break it over them,” Luke told him.

“Riiiiight,” the boy said and headed back to the bathroom.

“Boss?” she repeated softly.

He spread his hand helplessly. “I’m just helping out this one weekend.” He waved toward the hallway. “Let’s go downstairs, huh?”

She followed him down the stairs and into the lounge area. “Who is the project manager on this, if you aren’t?” she asked.

“Tom Britton,” Luke answered over his shoulder.

Well, he was right on that count.

“Hey, Luke!” a woman called, stepping over drop sheets and cans of paint. She had a cell phone in her hand, which she offered to Luke. “Your Pinewood project is on the phone. They need you to authorize the delivery of the lumber you ordered last week.”

Luke glanced at Lindsay took the phone and turned away, speaking quietly. He disconnected the call and handed the phone back silently.

Lindsay out-waited him, her arms crossed.

“What?” he said at last.

“Your project?”

“I guess they just trust me. You know how people do that?”

“No.”

“Luke!” It was the woman again, the cell phone clipped to her belt. She was holding a sheet of paper. “Could I have your Visa card again, Luke? We gotta pay for the railing for the stairs before they’ll deliver.”

Luke didn’t even glance her way and Lindsay knew he was trying to avoid her gaze.

She kept her gaze firmly on him as he pulled out his wallet and handed over the card to the woman, who went away happy.

Luke pushed his hand through his hair, watching the pair of men painting the inside of the kitchen cabinets through the connecting doorway.

Dozens of questions were pushing at her. There was so much unanswered here. It occurred to her that she didn’t know Luke at all. The last place in the world she would have expected to find him was here at a Habitat project. And running it? It didn’t make sense. It didn’t add up. Which meant she didn’t know all the facts.

The woman came back three minutes later and held out the card, a pen and the same sheet of paper. “If you’ll just sign?”

Luke scribbled his signature and put away the credit card.

“Oh, will you be here on Monday night as usual, or has this weekend thing changed the routine?” the woman asked. “No more hot dates?” She laughed, shooting a glance at Lindsay.

“I’ll be here,” Luke answered very quietly.

When she was gone, Lindsay waited him out. She’d learned from Luke himself how effective silence could be and she clenched her jaw and shut up.

He shot a glance at the front door, almost longingly. Then he shrugged and turned to her.

“Well, it’s a bit more than a helping hand,” he said.

“A bit more?” The understatement staggered her. “Luke, do you ever tell the truth? Is there a single person at the hotel who knows about…this?” She waved her hand around the room.

“What’s to tell?” he demanded. “It’s not like I’m out robbing banks in my spare time. It’s completely harmless. And none of anyone else’s business.”

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 failure.

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.

Catherine saw Lindsay as she tried to hide behind the secretary who was escorting her and rose from her desk with a smile on her face.

Which meant every man turned to look at her.

Lindsay could feel her cheeks burning and she tugged at the hem of the long sweater she wore over her simple skirt.

“Lindsay, darling. You’re here. Wonderful.” Her mother floated over to her—Catherine always seemed to float, for she wore flowing garments in elegant silks and extravagant materials that gleamed dully and felt wonderful against the hand.

Lindsay suffered her cheek to be kissed, painfully aware of the businessmen watching them. She cringed as her mother put her arm around her and turned back to the men. “Gentlemen, this is my daughter Lindsay and today is her sixteenth birthday. I’m taking her to lunch after the meeting and then—” she brushed at an invisible speck on Lindsay’s sweater, “some shopping is definitely in order.”

“Wonderful idea.”

“Happy birthday.”

“Congratulations,” came the various murmured responses.

Lindsay could feel herself curling up at the edges. “Hi,” she murmured. Her cheeks couldn’t get any hotter. Surely, if her mother had a meeting to get through, she would shove her out the door with the secretary—who had disappeared—and Lindsay could go recover somewhere private. She fervently hoped so, anyway.

The secretary reappeared carrying a heavy tray full of black porcelain.

“Ah! Coffee. Lindsay, you’re just in time. I believe Barbara has a Dutch chocolate cake hidden away somewhere for special occasions. And this is a special occasion, after all.”

Her mother was pulling her toward the group of men and Barbara was nodding and smiling, as she laid out the coffee service on the low table to one side of the desk.

The men were rearranging their chairs around the coffee table.

Lindsay’s heart sank even further. She had been looking forward to time alone with her mother. There was a boy at school she wanted to tell her about and ask her advice. This was too overwhelming. Too grown-up for her right now.

But her mother’s arm around her allowed no protest. Lindsay was being led to the table.

Murphy was alive and well that day. Lindsay noticed the raised edge of the beautiful Persian rug as she approached it and even as she mentally told herself to be careful not to trip over it, her toe caught under the edge. Her leg was yanked back by her forward momentum and Lindsay tottered on the brink of balance, arms wind-milling, as she desperately tugged her foot, trying to bring it forward to prop up her balance.

Just as Barbara was arriving with the chocolate cake, of course.

Lindsay’s shoulder slammed into Barbara’s hip. The cake was flung across the table. A good proportion landed on the lap of the Japanese gentleman and the rest skidded across the glowing wooden floor, smearing brown and white mess right up to the door of the office.

Barbara fell backward, knocking over one of the other men, who swore shockingly and landed on his butt with an undignified “hummpppfff!” and Barbara fell on top of him.

Lindsay, bumped aside by her collision with Barbara, slid across the coffee table top, sending every single piece of china skidding across the glass top to shatter on the floor beneath.

She came to a stop spread-eagled on the table, her hair hanging in the pool of steaming coffee spreading across the floor and soaking into the rug, turning the white fringing a deep ecru.

She lay staring at the floor through the table top, unable to believe what had just happened.

“Bloody hell!” one of the men said, his voice awed.

The silence that followed was strained.

“Oh dear,” said her mother.

Lindsay closed her eyes and rested her burning face against the cold glass.

“Mr. Ikabanu, we can have housekeeping take care of your suit for you. Barbara, are you all right, dear? Take Mr. Ikabanu to the penthouse suite and let him use the facilities.” It was her mother, taking charge, organizing. Recovering. “Is anyone injured?”

“Your daughter might need some assistance,” someone suggested dryly.

“Yes, of course. Lindsay, sweetheart?”

She felt her mother’s hand on her shoulder. She had to get up. She had to face them all. There was no way around it. She couldn’t die right now and shrivel up and blow away. It wasn’t going to happen.

Lindsay pushed herself up off the table, onto her knees, then carefully stepped onto the floor, finding a clear space for her feet.

She couldn’t lift her gaze from the floor. It was too much. She didn’t dare look at any of her mother’s business associates. She’d die before she did that.

Her mother laid her hand on her shoulder, firmly. “I think we can safely call this meeting adjourned, gentlemen. Barbara will arrange another appointment for us all—tomorrow, I think. Lindsay—”

Lindsay lifted her chin to look at her mother and only her. Catherine’s green eyes were glittering with an unguessable emotion but her face was pleasant, gentle. “Go with Barbara. She’ll get you another room. You can clean up and…recover. I’ll be along shortly.” She gave her a smile.

Tears blurred her vision and Lindsay nodded mutely. Catherine wasn’t angry with her. That was more than she had expected. She turned and stumbled away, heading toward the office door by instinct.

Behind her, she heard her mother—managing, again.

“Gentlemen, I apologize for my daughter’s behavior. I have no idea where she gets her clumsiness from—not me, that’s for sure.”

There was a little laugh.

Something cold, big and hard grabbed Lindsay’s heart and squeezed hard. She couldn’t even breathe, so chilling was the shock of it.

Centuries passed, while Lindsay absorbed the betrayal. Then she picked up her feet and walked out of the office to wait for Barbara to find her.

* * * * *

Her mother came to the anonymous hotel room a little later and by that time, Lindsay had her emotions under a tight control. She sat on the corner of the bed and watched her mother gracefully stride over to her and run her fingers through her still-damp hair.

“You never do things by halves, do you?” her mother said, with a small smile.

“I’m sorry,” Lindsay told her.

“Well of course you are,” Catherine answered with a little laugh. “I know you didn’t deliberately ruin a three-million-dollar deal for me. Others might accuse you of it but I know better.”

A touch of relief speared her. “I’m so glad you’re not mad at me! Mom, that was so embarrassing. And in that wonderful office of yours and in front of all your people. And all I really wanted to do was be like you, I would die to be like you—to have the clothes, the office, the attention…”

But Catherine was shaking her head, a little crease between her brows.

“You will never be like me, sweetheart. Never.”

Lindsay stared at her. “I beg your pardon?” she said through lips that wouldn’t work properly.

Catherine smiled and cupped her chin. “You’re sixteen now, Lindsay. Old enough to face truth and take it in stride. You’re not like me at all. You’re too much like your father. Your intelligence frightens me sometimes. I’m already fielding calls from Radcliffe about enrolling you early.” She dropped her hand and straightened up. “You’re not a people-person, darling. You don’t have the talent to mix with people. What happened in my office is a prime example.”

“That was…” Just nerves. Lindsay stared mutely at her mother, unable to accept what she was saying.

Catherine shook her head. “I know it must be disappointing, darling but trust me—you’ll thank me for it later. You’re just not cut out for this type of career. Your social skills are inadequate despite the best training I could get you and, well, subtlety is not your strong suit.” She smiled as if she wanted to take the sting out of the terrible things she was saying.

Lindsay watched the smile forming but the warmth it was intended to convey didn’t register.

“The thing is, darling, you just don’t have the edge to beat men at this crazy game they insist on playing.” Catherine sighed. “But you will make a wonderful doctor of something or other, my dear. Your father says yours is one of the best minds he’s come across in many years. He would know.”

She patted Lindsay’s shoulder. “Shall we go and get that lunch now, hmmm? I think an early break is called for. And then, some shopping.”

Lindsay remembered the casual flick of her mother’s fingers across her sweater and nodded.

They went shopping at Saks and Lindsay wouldn’t let her mother buy her anything but business style skirts and jackets and button down shirts.

When she got home to Deerfoot Falls, she burned the sweater.

It was her first deliberate act of defiance.

* * * * *

Luke listened to the quietly spoken tale with growing horror. What had her mother been thinking of? Apologizing like that, within Lindsay’s hearing?

Then he recalled Lindsay’s rush for safety at the Christmas party. Her biggest fear had been that he might be forced to apologize for her.

He closed his eyes, letting it sink in.

“My mother used to commute to New York every Monday and come home on the red eye every Friday night.”

He jumped a little. That was what he did, in reverse.

“She didn’t come home that Friday after my birthday.” Lindsay spoke so casually that for a moment Luke didn’t grasp the significance. Then he felt giddy shock. “God, Lynds, you mean, that’s the week she died?”

“That Friday night, on the way to the airport. Traffic accident. They say she wouldn’t have had a chance to know she was dying.”

“Is that when you decided to do what she did?”

“No. That came after. After Radcliffe. I thought I was sophisticated and worldly and I was going to prove my mother wrong no matter what it took.” She sighed. “The really ironic thing is, she was right. I don’t have what it takes. I am lousy with people. I don’t have the killer instinct she did. I just steam roller over everyone and get what I want that way.”

“But Lindsay, you still made director of marketing on your own terms. Nobody got the job for you.”

“Doctor of something or other,” Lindsay murmured. “She couldn’t even be bothered giving it a name. Just so long as little Lindsay was pushed off into her geek box in the corner, out of sight.”

“I don’t think she meant it that way.”

“I do.” Amazingly, Lindsay yawned. “I’m tired…”

“I’m not surprised.” He said it quietly. “That’s a big load you’ve been carrying for a long, long while.”

Lindsay slept, still curled up against him, while he indulged in some very heavy and long overdue, thinking.

The answers he formed frightened him.

Chapter Eleven

“I thought I’d find you here.” Lindsay’s voice in the empty house echoed a little. She rested her hand on the newel post and stared up at Luke where he perched awkwardly across three stairs, replacing some of the railing.

Luke looked around. When he saw her he smiled a little. “So…sleeping beauty awakes.” He straightened up from his side sprawl, wincing a little.

“Yes, to find herself tucked into bed like a little girl.” She tried to school her voice into a stern tone.

His were lit with merriment. “It seemed appropriate.”

She relented. “Thank you.”

“De nada.”

She nodded toward the railing. “What are you doing?”

He grimaced. “Replacing some of the down rails. The banister and the newel posts are oak…they’ll last another century but the rails were replaced sometime in the past and the new ones were cheap and they’ve almost rotted away just around here, where there was a leak from the bathroom.” He turned back to his job and Lindsay crept up the stairs to look.

He picked up the rail he was trying to fit in under the banister. “By the way, I checked in with Tim. Everything’s under control at the office, so you don’t have to rush back in today.”

“Thanks. I phoned him before I came looking for you.” She seated herself on the step below him. “You’re not going in?”

He glanced at her. “No. It didn’t seem…appropriate. Could you hand me that—”

She picked up the hammer he had been about to ask for and gave it to him.

“Thanks,” he said absently, already tapping the post into place. Satisfied, he put the hammer down. “So. What now, Lynds?”

“Meaning?” She handed him the electric drill.

He fished a wood screw out of the packet by his hip. “I’ll need the two-eighths drill bit,” he said, pointing to the case of bits next to Lindsay.

She popped the appropriate metal bit out of the plastic and handed it to him.

“I mean,” he said, screwing the bit into the drill, “Are you going to keep working at the Derwent?”

“No…Yes…” She frowned. “I don’t know. There doesn’t seem to be any real reason to do that anymore, does there?”

He frowned, looking down at the packet of screws. “Damn, I meant the three-eighths wood bit,” he said.

“That’s what I gave you,” she said.

He looked at the drill bit and grinned. “So you did.” He sprawled across the stairs again and drilled through the post and into the railing above. He blew the sawdust away. “So you don’t think you should stay but you don’t want to go.”

“Not exactly. I just don’t know where to go to.” She handed him the screwdriver bit and took the hot drill bit back. “I never really considered what I might do if I failed.”

“You haven’t failed,” he said quickly, sitting up. His eyes snapped fire. “Don’t start thinking of it as failure, Lindsay, because it isn’t. You didn’t achieve what you wanted—an almost impossible set of goals as it happens. But in everyone else’s terms, you’re still doing just fine.” He rested his forearm across his knees. “It’s just not what you want to be doing.”

He lay back down again, preparing to drive the screw home. “You just have to figure out what you want.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “And I have no idea where to start to figure that out.”

He screwed the screw into the banister and then tested the rail to see if it was secure and turned to her. “So, what are your interests, then? What do you do outside the office?”

Nothing. The answer was a bleak one.

Luke grinned. “I forgot for a moment. It’s Lindsay Eden we’re talking about. Home, office, home again.”

She felt a tiny spurt of irritation. “It’s not funny,” she said.

“No, funny isn’t in your repertoire.” He grinned. “I had a cousin who—”

Lindsay groaned.

“What?”

“Another one of your mad relative stories?”

“Mad relatives?”

“Well, you’ve got to admit, Pierse, you have one of the most eccentric families in America.”

“Says Lindsay who has a genius rocket scientist for a father, who spends his time making furniture for charities while she spends all her time proving her dead mother wrong.”

She could feel anger wanting to grow in her. It smoldered. But Luke gently added, “I envy you.”

Her anger evaporated. She stared at him, lost for words. “Why?” she said at last.

He started screwing the screw home and she realized he wasn’t going to answer her question.

“Anyway, my cousin—Des, his name is—he runs an employment bureau on Staten Island. He—”

“Successful?” Lindsay interrupted.

Luke pushed his lips out, weighing his answer. “Not at all,” he admitted finally. “Des spends too much time trying to find jobs for misfits and long term unemployed and given the location of his bureau, that’s ninety percent of his clients.”

“How on earth does he make a living, then?”

“Barter, mostly.” Luke grinned. “He agreed, once, to accept a pork roast as payment and was delivered a whole pig—live and kicking. He had to butcher it at home and his wife nearly divorced him as a result.” He frowned. “You distracted me,” he said, trying to sound vexed.

His complaint reminded Lindsay sharply of the last time she had distracted him. Warmth stole through her, prompted by the memory.

“Anyway, where was I?” Luke murmured. “Right. Doug’s greatest talent is in inspiring some of those deadbeats to better themselves. He can get inside them, open them up and help them figure out what they really want in life. I’ve seen him doing it. He can dig out latent desires, hopes, dreams that some of these people didn’t even know they had. And he usually started with a series of questions.” He looked squarely at Lindsay. “What are your strengths, Lynds? What are you good at?”

“I can demonstrate one thing I’m good at,” Lindsay told him. She climbed two steps so that she was straddling Luke’s thighs and crouched down, pushing against his shoulder, forcing him to lie back against the steps behind him.

He looked a little startled but there was a knowing gleam in his eyes. “Oh?” he prompted.

A perverse demon was driving her, one she didn’t understand. All she did know was that she felt an incredible lightness, a freedom from worry and toil and it was influencing her actions. She rested her knees against the steps and reached for the buttons on his shirt, slipping them undone. She pull the shirt from his jeans, opening it all the way and sliding her hands across his chest to part it and push it back over his shoulders.

Luke drew in a small, sharp breath as she leaned forward and kissed each small erect nipple in turn and slid her tongue across each. Her hands were busy undoing the button on his jeans and his own hands came alive, sliding up to her hips.

“Lindsay…”

She slid the zipper undone just before he pulled her on top of him, his mouth capturing hers and his hands holding her against him. Warmth bubbled through her, mixing with the headiness that already possessed her. She delighted in the feel of his hands on her, his mouth against hers, his body so large and warm and responsive. He was matching her mood, her speed—raining little kisses on her mouth, helping her unbutton her shirt and peel it away, deftly divesting each of them of the rest of their clothes, quickly, furiously.

For the kisses grew swiftly heavier, deeper and the mood between them became a sultry, unspoken declaration of all Lindsay could not and Luke would not say aloud. A thousand hours of stilted conversation could pass before they would stumble upon the words to express what they said now in a searing kiss, a soft caress, the touch of his mouth against her flesh. Even the frantic climb to fulfillment spoke of the hunger for the other each had harbored and now sought to appease.

Their union was a joining of body and mind, a rare moment unsullied by neither miscommunication, mistrust nor dark imagination.

As they lay recovering, she could hear her heart beating just beneath the slightly slower echo of his, reverberating against her shoulder. And she knew that something between them had shifted and changed forever.

He kissed her temple and drew her close. The simple action warmed her.

This Luke was so different from the man who drove her insane at the office.

How do I get him to stay?

Because she knew with a little touch of sadness that this side of him would soon retract and the charming, facile devil would re-emerge and she would have to pull up her shield again.

How long have I got? she wondered.

* * * * *

Eighteen hours, Luke thought.

It had taken only eighteen hours to drop from a stunning high to an all time low.

He stared at Doug Anderson, hoping his expression showed he was dazed and delighted, rather than the sick horror he did feel.

Doug grinned and pushed his hands against his big desk, to kick back in his leather chair. “Kinda nice to see you speechless, Pierse,” he said. “I should promote you more often, if that’s what it takes.”

Finally Luke managed to get his tongue working. “Director of marketing? Lindsay’s job?” He tried a grin. “So, does Lindsay become assistant director or something?” It was a test, to confirm that his suspicions were right.

Doug’s cheery grin faded and he straightened up in his chair. Very deliberately, he placed both hands flat on the blotter in front of him.

Let’s be frank mode, Luke realized.

“I know I can be candid with you, Luke. You’re stepping into her shoes, so you need to know this. Lindsay’s performance in this company has been under question for some time.”

Bingo. His stomach roiled. They’re canning Lindsay.

He’d known as soon as Doug offered him the promotion. The worst of it was, he knew why.

It had nothing to do with Lindsay’s performance and everything to do with how much of a threat Doug perceived her to be.

A big threat, apparently.

Doug was cleaning house now he was general manager, making sure there was no one with any true potential left to climb up the ladder while he wasn’t looking.

Luke frowned. “I wasn’t aware she was under a cloud.” He was deliberately fishing. They must have something concrete to justify firing her for poor performance. It just remained for him to find out what it was they were going to hang her with.

“Oh, poor performance is probably putting it too strenuously,” Doug answered. “It’s more her attitude that is the problem. It has come to my attention that Lindsay doesn’t have the best interests of the company as one of her priorities. As you can fully appreciate, for a director of marketing, this is an alarming and unthinkable approach to the position.”

Luke nodded. Here it comes.

Doug frowned. “There was recently a perfect demonstration that Lindsay puts personal concerns above work interests. There was an incident at the country club’s ski lodge at the top of their ski runs…”

Luke’s heart did a flip and landed on its back. How the hell did they find out about that?

“I was there,” Luke said through stiff lips. “It was an accident.”

“Not according to the current president of the medical association. He saw it all, apparently, from the cable car he was in. Lindsay very deliberately timed her approach to drop a fairly substantial amount of snow all over the victim. I learned just yesterday that she probably carries a personal vendetta. There was rumor of an old court case…” Doug frowned again. “It’s very tawdry and I’m sure you don’t want to hear the details. Enough said. I’m convinced that someone who would give into impulsive, emotionally driven acts such as that would not serve the company at all in such a public-oriented position as director of marketing.”

Guilt was a rusty sword hacking at his stomach, hammering at his head. When were the consequences of that one moment of temptation ever going to end? All he’d wanted to do was win a simple bet.

Instead, he’d destroyed Lindsay’s life.

He licked his lips, preparing to confess all but Doug held up his hand. “I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out to you, so I’ll stop there. That just leaves us with one more little formality.” He looked Luke in the eye. “Someone has to break the news to Lindsay.”

All the spit in Luke’s mouth dried up, as he looked into Doug’s eyes. No, he didn’t need it spelled out for him. Doug was sweeping house. He was shoring up his support team. Junking those he didn’t trust and testing those he wasn’t sure of.

This was Luke’s initiation into the team. What Doug was saying was, Show me your loyalty to me is stronger than any past loyalty to Lindsay.

Show me by firing Lindsay yourself.

Doug insisted on celebrating Luke’s promotion by buying him a cappuccino at the bistro in the foyer. One cup became two that Luke choked down, all the time wondering how in hell he was supposed to get out of this pickle he was in.

By the time he got to Lindsay’s office, it was close to noon and the room was empty.

He found Timothy.

“She went shopping.”

“Shopping?” Luke took a deep breath. “Lindsay never goes shopping. She’s a freak of human nature, a woman who doesn’t like to shop.”

“She went shopping.” Timothy grinned. “It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow. She said she had a last minute Christmas present to buy.”

Luke pushed his hand through his hair, wondering what on earth he should do now. He could maybe drive around the several blocks that made up the central shopping area of the town and check out the two shopping malls that were closest to Lindsay’s place. He looked out the window. Thick, low clouds were taking most of the day’s light. More snow was on the way.

If Lindsay didn’t like to shop, for sure the fresh snow would drive her back to the office. Or would it?

He looked at Tim. “Did she say she’d be back?”

Tim shook his head. “No. And that’s the miracle part of it. She said she wouldn’t be back in today, no matter what.”

Then she would be going home.

“Thanks, Tim,” Luke said. “I’ll leave it at that. She’ll be back in tomorrow. That’ll be soon enough.”

He detoured via his office to pick up his car keys before heading for the basement car park. He didn’t think he had fooled Timothy with his breezy dismissal but it might make him second guess where Luke was going when he found his office was empty too.

Luke knew he had to find Lindsay and fast.

It didn’t matter what he did or didn’t do. Lindsay was just as fired in any scenario.

The idea of telling her himself made his gut clench and his heart throb with a sickening jolt and cold sweat break out on his forehead.

But he only had to think about Doug imparting the delightful news to her, a rabid grin on his face, to know that letting someone else do it was unthinkable.

Luke was the only one who knew how much Lindsay’s esteem and self-image was tied to that job. She’d already taken a bitter blow, despite all Luke could do to minimize it.

But there were ways and ways of presenting bad news. Salespeople knew them all and he was, if nothing else, a good salesman. He just had to find a way for Lindsay to look at this as anything but a complete rejection of her as a person.

So despite the wrenching in his stomach, he had to find Lindsay fast and do the deed himself.

And watch and hope he didn’t see her soul die right in front of him.

Chapter Twelve

When the doorbell rang, Lindsay was five feet up in the air.

Her father put down his eggnog. “I’ll do it,” he assured her. “You keep flapping those wings.”

Lindsay turned her attention back to loosening the wings on the back of the angel that for many years had graced the top of their Christmas tree. The wings were mounted on tiny springs that allowed the wings to shimmer and wiggle with the tiniest movement of air, or vibration in the Christmas tree but they were growing stiff with age.

She worked them carefully loose and then stood up on the top step of the ladder and reached over to place the angel on the top of the tree.

“You have a visitor, Linny,” her father said, just as she was reaching. “Look who’s here.”

She looked over her shoulder. It was Luke. Abruptly, she became aware of exactly the view he must be getting—for she was wearing one of her shortest business skirts. She smiled, impishly finishing her task of placing the angel and slowly climbing down the ladder to stand in front of him.

Her smile faded.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, for Luke looked almost ill. Then she remembered. “Oh hell. Dad, is that pine on the fire now?”

“I think so. Why?”

“Luke gets sick when he smells it.”

Edward put down his eggnog again. “Then I’ll fish it out. I only just put the log in there.”

“No, I’m fine.” Luke put out his hand, forestalling Edward from racing to the fireplace. “I’ve never seen anyone pull a log out of the fire without setting fire to the carpet or something. I’ll survive.”

Edward chewed his lip.

“Really,” Luke insisted.

Lindsay shook her head. She could see beads of sweat gathering on his temples already.

Her father was playing host. “Eggnog, Luke? I’ve got some spiced rum to go with it. Just the thing for a chilly afternoon like this.”

Wordlessly, she opened the big French doors that led onto the deck, scraping aside the snow that had already built up on the deck. It was still falling, thick, fast and gentle, from an iron-gray sky. Fat flakes drifted down with hypnotic grace.

She motioned to Luke to take the rocker that sat next to the doors.

He crossed the room but didn’t take the chair. “I need to talk to you,” he said. His eyes! They were that masking, all-over black and they seemed to be almost sunken. Dark rings of tiredness circled them. This was not the light-hearted, gentle man who had held her at the project home.

Uneasiness touched her. “I’m listening.”

Edward picked up his glass. “I’ve got to sweep out the workshop,” he murmured, heading for the kitchen.

She looked back at Luke, expectantly. And shivered.

Luke stripped off his coat with swift movements and dropped it over her shoulders. His scent drifted up to her nose and she breathed deeply. It brought back a quick kaleidoscope of images, the strongest ones of them making love.

Luke was drawing her back into the room, seating her on the sofa by the fire, away from the chill seeping through the three inch opening between the doors.

He took a deep breath and cast a glance at the fire that was almost resentful.

Abruptly, it occurred to her that he didn’t know how to begin whatever it was he wanted to say. The realization was tinged with surprise and her uneasiness deepened.

“What is it you hate about Christmas?” she asked. It was a starting place.

“Who says I hate Christmas?” He seemed almost surprised—and grateful—for the distraction her question gave him. She could see his chest relax as he exhaled. A sigh?

“You said it. At the hotel, in the lobby—when they were burning pine. You said ‘Goddam Christmas’ before you rushed outside. Or something like that.”

He stood for a long moment, silent. Would he answer the question this time? Lindsay held her breath, hoping.

“It’s because of Stella,” he said and blew his breath out in another gusty sigh.

“Who’s Stella?”

“My stepmother. For a while, anyway.”

When he didn’t rush to explain, she deliberately let the silence grow.

Finally, he scrubbed his hand through his hair, ruffling the thick dark locks out of their slick, professional perfection. “After my mother died—”

“She died?”

“Yeah. Not long after the divorce from my no-good, drunken bum father. Birth complications, they tell me.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry,” she said at last.

Luke shrugged. “It was a long time ago,” he said, dismissively.

“What happened to you, after your mother died?” She already knew his father had essentially refused to acknowledge Luke’s existence.

“I learned how to camp.” The bitter expression on his face was terrible.

“Camp?” She remembered something. “You mean…all those sofas you told me about?”

“Sofas, beds, bunks, pallets, sometimes a sleeping bag on the floor. Uncles, aunts, cousins, great-aunts, second cousins. You name it.”

With dawning realization, she murmured wonderingly, “All your mad relative stories…”

He gave a grimace. “It was an unusual childhood. I learned to hate Christmas.” He glanced at the tree beside him.

Now that he was talking, telling her things, Lindsay was able to connect errant facts, comments, innuendoes that had puzzled her in the past. “Family,” she breathed. “You didn’t have a family. No wonder you don’t like Christmas.” The idea of spending Christmas alone appalled her. She had never had to do that in her life. Even with just her and her father and a few relatives dotted about the state, they always got together and Christmas was a noisy, busy affair.

“Didn’t like Christmas,” he amended. “I’ve got used to it now.”

She gave him what she hoped was a withering look of disbelief and he smiled a little.

“So, how does your stepmother figure in all this? How did you get to know her if your father didn’t want anything to do with you?”

“Stella was good for him. She sobered him up. He was besotted with her and it was easy to see why when you met her. She was this bottomless, calm pool of empathy and understanding. God knows what she saw in my father. Potential, perhaps. But she married him and he cleaned up. Enough to remember he had a son and that it might be nice to get to know him.” Luke’s lip curled sardonically. “Three months, it lasted. And I was still sleeping on the sofa.” He shrugged. “But I got one magical Christmas out of it.”

He sank onto the sofa beside her. “I think I loved Stella from the moment she crouched down beside me, lifted up my chin and told me I had—” He stopped and glanced at her, sideways, as if he was measuring her tolerance for what came next. “She said she could see I was a wonderfully clever boy and had huge potential and if I didn’t mind, could she call me Luke, as it was her favorite name in the whole world.”

“Nobody called you Luke before then?”

He shook his head. “It was always Lucifer—and it was meant.” He grimaced. “I was a holy terror as a kid. I lived up to my name.”

“You haven’t exactly improved with maturity, either,” Lindsay teased, pushing him with her shoulder. “And your magical Christmas?”

His gaze became unfocused. He was remembering. “It was the most amazing day of my life. My father was sober and remembered to turn up. He even gave me a Christmas present.” He delved into his trouser pocket and pulled out his keys. He separated them and showed Lindsay a very old, two inch long Swiss Army knife attached to the ring. The distinctive red plastic covering was gouged and yellowed with age and the grime from years of handling.

“That’s what he gave you?”

“I wanted to throw it away when he left again but I just couldn’t. I don’t know why.” He put the keys away. “He gave me a present and managed to stay relatively sober all day. Stella…” He cleared his throat suddenly. “Stella cut a cart load of real green stuff which she used to decorate the living room. That dingy room looked like heaven—there were candles everywhere and even a fire roaring in the grate. She had a table with a sheet for a tablecloth. She pulled it up to the fire and we ate Christmas dinner there. The smell of the decorations and the wood on the fire…if I ever smell them now, I get dizzy.”

He looked at her like she might laugh.

“It was pine, wasn’t it?” she said softly. “That’s why you can’t stand the smell now.”

“I know—it’s all very Freudian and sometimes I feel like Pavlov’s dogs. I hate being jerked around by something in my brain that I can’t even touch but it doesn’t seem to matter what I think. If I get a whiff of that smell, I have to get out of the room or throw up”

“You’re doing okay now,” she pointed out.

He sought her hand and squeezed. “This is helping,” he said quietly. “Telling you.”

She knew then that no one else had ever heard the story before.

“What happened after that Christmas? What happened to Stella?”

“My father chucked it in. Sobriety, that is. Even Stella’s patience ran out. They were divorced pretty soon after that. I went back to camping.”

“You never saw her again?”

“Not until I was an adult.” His voice was bleak. “My father told me it was my fault she had run away and for years I believed him.”

“Oh, Luke, no…” The words weren’t there. So she squeezed his hand instead.

“Well, all the other relatives had given up on me, sooner or later. I figured it was the same with Stella. And…I don’t know…it became a lot easier to not make friends after that. Not reach out.” Again, that long sideways look at her, to measure her up. “I wasn’t just a brat, Lynds. I was a full-out rebel. Somehow, I just managed to stay out of jail and avoided becoming a ward of the state by the skin of my teeth. Mostly it was because I’d figured out how to make people laugh by then. Being funny was my life saver.”

“Why?”

“Have you ever noticed, people who make you laugh instantly feel safe, warm, acceptable to you? You let them in a lot quicker than anyone else.”

She frowned. “Yes, I see what you mean, I think.”

“When you have to make a new set of friends every six months, instant acceptance is as valuable as gold.”

“Oh…” It was all starting to make terrible, appalling sense to her. Luke’s superficial, easy charm, the constant one-liners, the comedian with the sharp, observant gaze and the obsidian eyes that gave away nothing.

“Making people laugh has another advantage too,” she said. “As long as people are busy laughing, they can’t learn anything important about you. You hold people away from you Luke, just like I do. Only you use jokes and I…well, I just intimidate them with my intellect, mostly.”

Abruptly, she heard an echo of her mother’s voice. Don’t blind them with science, sweetheart.

She mentally shrugged. Too late, Mom.

Luke’s face sagged a little, his eyes widening. “My god…” he said, his voice low. After a moment, he gave another small, weak smile. “We’re a hell of a pair, aren’t we?”

“We are indeed,” she whispered, her heart suddenly beating hard. “Stay there.”

She hurried through to her sitting room and picked up the small wrapped package on the table there and took it back. She held it out to Luke, who was standing again, waiting for her. “Merry Christmas, Luke.”

He looked a little stunned. “You went shopping this afternoon,” he muttered, almost to himself.

“Yes, how did you know? Oh, Timothy.” She put her hands behind her back, suddenly nervous. “I hope…you don’t mind, do you? That I bought you a present?”

He fingered the gilt bow with a gentle touch, like it was a precious piece of china. “No. No, not at all.” He lifted his gaze to her face and smiled but there was a peculiar furrow in his brow, almost like he was in pain.

He made no move to open it.

“It’s okay—you don’t have to open it now,” she hurried to assure him, just in case he was in a dilemma about it. An idea occurred to her and she acted on it instantly, before she could change her mind.

“In fact,” she told him, plucking the package out of his hands, “it’s probably better to leave it right here.” She walked over to the tree and placed it beneath. “Then it’ll be there for you, Christmas Day.”

“Christmas Day?”

“I’m inviting you to join us for Christmas, Luke.” She hesitated. “Or do you have other plans? I know it’s very late notice.”

He turned away from her, with a low curse.

“What?” All her courage was trickling away at high speed. “Luke, what is it? Am I forcing you into something you’d rather not have to deal with?”

She could see his profile and the grimace that contorted his face.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s nothing you’ve done!” he said, whirling back to face her. “I came here to tell you something…and this is just making it harder still.”

“Tell me what?” Alarm trickled through her. No, it wasn’t simple alarm. It was fear.

I don’t want to see you anymore. I don’t like you. It was all a game. I had another side bet with the guys and now I’ve got you into the sack, the bet’s over, so sayonara, sweetheart.

All of it and more—all the little treacherous whispers her paranoia had produced over the last couple of days—it all filtered through her mind in the small moment she stared at him, feeling that fear.

She knew where the fear came from.

Luke must have seen and recognized her fear, for he stepped closer to her and took her face in his hands. “No, no, Lynds, don’t look at me like that,” he begged. “This is hard enough.”

“Are you here to tell me we’re through?” she asked, barely able to voice the words. She was trembling. He must be able to feel it.

His thumb caressed her cheek. “Hell, no,” he whispered. “I’m not exactly sure what we are, Lynds but we’re not through. Do you know what you’ve done to my life so far?”

So great was her relief that she could only shake her head a little. Words had deserted her.

His hands dropped and he ran one of them through his hair. “It’s like having a tornado rip through your house. You start off hating the tornado and what it has done to your life, the wreckage it leaves behind. But while you’re standing there surveying the wreckage there’s a wild, pure exhilaration in you. That comes from having survived it. That’s before the new excitement kicks in—when you realize that you can start to build your life again, that this time you can build something better, that the tornado has given you a second chance to get it right.”

He sat on the sofa suddenly, as if all his energy had run out on him. “That’s a really bad analogy.” He shrugged.

“I’m the tornado?” she whispered.

“Yeah, well…” Again, the quick nervous push of his fingers through his hair. Then he sighed. “I don’t know if I could ever explain it to you, Lynds. You used to irritate the hell out of me—when you weren’t making me furious instead. Life hasn’t been easy while you’re around. Interesting, yes. Easy, what a joke.” He closed his eyes for a moment.

“For someone who can barely talk about his feelings, you’re surprising me, Pierse,” she said, deliberately using a light tone, despite her heart beating hard enough to hurt.

“That’s because I’m procrastinating,” he said bluntly, opening his eyes. “I’m putting this off. Even talking about this stuff is more attractive.”

“Than what?” she whispered. For someone like Luke, what could possibly be worse?

He stood up again, with the sudden convulsive movement of someone who was fighting an inner battle and had suddenly come to a decision.

“Do you remember I said I would destroy your life, Lynds?” he asked and there was a bleak expression in his eyes that suddenly terrified her. Despite his backward declaration of a moment ago, Lindsay’s fears came flooding back.

“Like a tornado?” she asked.

“No, not like a goddam tornado,” he said, with an aggressive chop of his hand. “I’m the four horses of the apocalypse. There’s no exhilaration with me. Just death, decay, ruin.”

“You’re frightening me!”

“Then tell me to go!”

“No.”

“Goddam it, Lynds, I’m not the person you think I am.”

“No, you’re not,” she shot back. “You’re better than that. You’re better than me in so many ways. It took me weeks to figure this out but I finally did it. You keep pushing happiness away from you, Luke. Happiness and the people who might bring that happiness to you.”

He rubbed his temple wearily. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“Because you think you don’t deserve it!” she railed at him. “You’re convinced you’re this no-good son of a bitch who shouldn’t ever get anything good out of life.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” she agreed. “Except that’s what you do and you’re not crazy. You’ve just never let go of the conviction you’re a bad person. Now I know where you got it from. Your father had you convinced you were bad and that’s why the people in your life kept going away.”

She spread her hands. “You went out of your way to get a date with me. Did you ever stop to wonder why you worked so hard for that date, Luke?”

He laughed a little. “I like long-legged women.”

“No. It’s because you were utterly convinced I’d say no. The bet was a safe one too, because there was an odds-on chance you’d lose and you’d be safe that way too. Even if you won and got a date with me…well, I’m the woman who irritates you when I’m not making you angry. What a perfect match for the man who doesn’t deserve anything good.”

Luke took a deep breath. “Saving me some analyst’s bills, Lynds?”

She shook her head. “I’m doing this for me,” she said. “Your plan backfired, didn’t it, Luke? I’m not going away as easily as you thought I might and I don’t irritate you as often as you’d like me to.”

“That’s…” He shook his head. “You make me sound like a monster.”

“I’m trying to show you that you’re not. I know you’re not. The reason I know that is because I love you.” She took a deep breath, her trembling worsening now that the truth was out.

Luke buried his head in his hands with a groan and Lindsay sat on the sofa next to him. “You’re a much better person than me, Luke. You’re very clever. You have huge potential. You could find a better person than me if only you’d let yourself. But for what it’s worth, you have my love. If you want it. If you can convince yourself you deserve it and reach out and take it.”

He reached for her, his mouth searing a brand on her lips in one hot, hard kiss and he rested his forehead against hers, his long fingers curled around her neck. She saw his eyes were closed.

She kept very still, her lips tingling and her heart trip hammering frantically.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “So sorry.”

“Why…?” she began but suddenly he was on his feet and striding to the door.

It wasn’t until she heard the front door slam shut that she realized she still wore his coat.

Stiffly, she rose and crossed to the French doors to shut them, numbness spreading through her.

Halfway back to the sofa she felt the ground swaying beneath her, then swing up to collide with her. Then nothing more.

Chapter Thirteen

This time, Luke thought, flaying himself with the vicious repeat. This time you have to tell her.

He pulled the steering wheel around savagely and the car went into a leisurely four wheel drift across the icy road, dropping his heart into his stomach and forcing him to be a bit more gentle on the wheel.

He had enough to feel sick about. He didn’t have to write off his car into the bargain.

He crept around the last corner to Lindsay’s place. It was still early and quite dark but he wanted to get there before she left for the office. The last thing he could afford to do was let her reach the office.

The driveway where she usually parked her big Land Cruiser was empty.

“Damn.”

Well, he could always race into the office now and catch her before she saw anyone else who might spill the beans. He swore again under his breath and headed the car back to the downtown area.

What a mess. What a disaster.

She loves me.

The thought kept creeping up on him, catching him by surprise. It would send a hot nugget of warmth through him, before the pleasure was dashed by the chill of what he was about to do to her.

So just walk away. Leave. Let someone else do it. Get on a plane. Go home.

But he couldn’t. As much as he longed to get on that plane and fly out of here and away from all his problems, he couldn’t let someone else chop Lindsay’s legs out from under her.

Not now.

He parked the car haphazardly and raced through the public foyer, for the elevator. He stuffed his staff card into the security slot and jammed his finger on the key for the administrative floor, then seethed until the elevator cranked its way up to that floor. At this time of day, any other office complex would be deserted and he’d be whisked up to the appropriate floor in a nanosecond. But in a hotel, not long after breakfast, he was battling morning rush hour in the elevator banks.

He grit his teeth and mentally steamed until he could step off and start striding down the corridor toward the marketing department and slap his hand on Lindsay’s door and thrust it open.

Lindsay’s office was empty.

Where the hell was she?

Luke flipped open the management directory on her desk and dialed her home number.

“Edward Eden.”

“Uh…hi…Edward, it’s Luke Pierse. Sorry to call at such an uncivilized hour. I’m looking for Lindsay. Do you know where she is?”

“I don’t, sorry. She left a bit early—said she had some errands to do.”

Great. He sighed. “Okay. Thanks. Sorry to bother you.”

“No bother.”

Luke hung up and stared out the still dark window. Where was she? And why the hell didn’t she use a cell phone like every other blessed executive in the United States?

* * * * *

It was fully light by the time Lindsay reached the hotel and the lobby was very quiet.

Then she remembered. It was Christmas Eve. Not too many people were touring or on business trips right now, which meant fully sixty percent of their primary clientele was back at home with their families.

In the rush of extraordinary events this morning, she had forgotten it was the day before Christmas.

She bumped into Doug Anderson on the office level and he took her hand in a gentle handshake. “Finishing off loose ends?” he asked.

“Medical appointment,” she said, puzzled.

He frowned, his hand going limp in hers. “Did Luke catch up with you yesterday?”

“In the office? No.” She’d gone shopping.

“Oh.” His hand slipped out of hers and he cleared his throat.

“What’s up, Doug?”

He looked at his watch. “I can spare you ten minutes. Would you come to my office, please?”

“Sure,” Lindsay answered, following him along the corridor. What did Luke have to do with this?

* * * * *

Luke arrived back at the office by ten and went straight to Tim. “Is she in?”

Tim dumped his files on his desk and stood up. “No, and do you want to tell me what’s going on round here? She left Doug’s office looking as white as a sheet and sailed passed me without a word. I haven’t seen her since.”

Tim grew up next door to Lindsay, Luke reminded himself. His concern was genuine.

Luke took a deep breath. “If what I think has happened did happen, then Doug let Lindsay go this morning.”

It took a minute for Tim to process it. “They fired her?” His tone held total disbelief. He looked at Luke and frowned. “And you let them do it?”

“Tim, what the hell could I do?” Luke asked reasonably, even though his gut gave a guilty jump.

“You could have defended her. Lindsay’s damn good at her job. She’s just as good as you, even without the two-faced charm.”

“Thanks,” Luke said dryly. “They’re not firing her for lack of performance.”

Tim threw his hands out. “Then I don’t get it!” he declared angrily. “Why else would you fire someone?”

Luke rested his hand on Tim’s shoulder. “If you want the truth, Tim, I think it’s because she’s too good at her job and won’t ever compromise or back down. She threatens the wrong people.” He squeezed a little. “But you’ll hear different, officially and unofficially. Anything else you hear is wrong.”

Tim stared at him for a long moment and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Who’s getting Lindsay’s job?” he demanded.

Luke let his hand drop. “It…hasn’t been decided yet.”

Tim’s mouth curled up in a sneer. “But they offered it to you.”

It would be much easier to say no, he knew. He stared at Tim, willing the little word to come out. But something held him back.

However, his silence gave him away.

Tim sat in his chair, slowly, like a man wounded. “I thought you were her… I thought you two were…friends.” The look he sent him was loaded with disgust.

Luke writhed under that expression. The condemnation in it was a touch of days gone by. A quick parade of disapproving relatives flickered through his mind. All the court officials, state and federal authorities he’d ever got into trouble with—all wearing that scowl.

In days gone by he would have shrugged and dismissed the disapproval. But he couldn’t do it now. Just like he found himself unable to lie a moment before. He rested his hand on Tim’s desk.

“It’s not what you think.”

“No?” Tim’s expression was sourer than lemon.

“I’m going to fix this. For Lindsay.”

“How? You gonna make Doug give her her job back?”

Tim’s patent disbelief prodded him. “Have faith, dammit!” he told him. “Lindsay does. She’s the last person on this earth I’d let down.”

Tim stared at him silently for a long time. “All right,” he said at last. He nodded. “Okay.” He frowned. “If she really did get canned, shouldn’t you be going after her?”

“I am.” Luke pulled his gloves out of his coat.

* * * * *

Experience told Luke to try his place first.

Lindsay was sitting at the tiny table, drinking Perrier, a pensive look on her face.

“When are you going to get a cell phone?” she demanded as he tossed his keys on the table.

“For you, I’ll get one this afternoon.”

“There’s coffee if you want some. I made it.”

“But you didn’t drink it?”

She sipped the Perrier water and grimaced. “I thought I’d find out what this stuff is like.”

“Not to your taste, obviously.” Luke sat on the other chair, which put him more or less eye to eye with her. She was still white, he saw. Pale, despite the light makeup she wore. And she looked tired.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She nodded. “I know.”

“You can yell at me if you want.”

When that didn’t get a response from her, he added, “I tried to tell you last night.”

“I know. I can reconstruct almost all of it now. You came around last night to tell me I was fired. But you couldn’t do it, could you?” She smiled grimly. “I made it hell for you, didn’t I? That untimely confession of love. Christmas trees and presents.”

“Don’t.” He gripped her hand. “It’s not your fault I chickened out.”

She pushed the glass aside. “Congratulations on your promotion, by the way.”

“Lynds…”

“You are taking over my job, aren’t you? It’s perfectly logical in hindsight. Who else could possibly do it with more flare and creativity?” Her green eyes riveted his. There was no mercy there.

“I haven’t said yes, yet,” he said flatly.

“You will, though. I don’t know why you insisted on the last promotion but I assume that motive is still in force for this one too.”

“I took it for the money,” he said. “But what about you? That’s what I—”

“The money?” She seemed a little shocked.

“Sure, why not?” He shrugged. “What about you?”

“Why?” she demanded.

He took a deep breath. No lying, he reminded himself. “For the project homes,” he said, forcing himself to voice it.

Her eyes widened. “I see,” she murmured. “I didn’t realize you were sinking your own money into the Habitat group.”

“I don’t think they realize it either.”

“Then why?”

“Because if I didn’t, half the homes we’ve finished over the last twelve months wouldn’t have happened. Whole families would have been without somewhere to live. What was I supposed to do? Say ‘so sorry, you’ll have to keep living on the street for another year because the only hardware store in town won’t supply us with free lumber’?” He could feel himself tightening up, his defenses kicking in. “Homes don’t come cheap, even with all the volunteers we get.”

She regarded him with a long, frank stare. “You’re still camping,” she said at last, softly.

His indignation propelled him to his feet and into the living area, where he paced the floor around the coffee table before spinning to look at her. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” She waved her hand around the room. “Look at this place. You haven’t done anything except exist in it. The walls are bare, there’s no knickknacks, no photos, no magnets on the fridge. There’s not even a favorite ugly, battered chair in the corner opposite the TV. It’s too perfect—like a hotel room.”

“This is—” he began to protest.

“Just temporary?” she finished sweetly. “Fact is, Pierse, you’re still moving on, still looking for the next sofa, hoping that’ll be the one you can call your own. This obsessive home building is part of it all.”

He ran his hand through his hair. “I thought we were talking about you.”

She nodded. “We are.”

“Huh?”

She lifted the glass of Perrier. “Any idea why I suddenly decided to try this?”

“Your mother drank it all her life,” he said, the cruel words pushed out by the childish need to hit back. She had struck home a few times now and it was stinging.

She smiled a little. “She drank Lapsing Soochong. No, I thought I’d better get used to avoiding caffeine for a while. Just like I thought I’d test your resolve one last time.” Her smile became sour. She pushed the glass away. “Same results, both times.”

“You’re not making a lot of sense, Lindsay,” he told her, genuinely puzzled.

Her smile took on a false brightness. “You shouldn’t have hurried out so fast last night, Luke. You would have been witness to a spectacular sight. Lindsay Eden passing out and not from too much Christmas cheer.”

“What…?” Luke couldn’t find the words but his mind was racing at light speed. All sorts of horrid possibilities were occurring to him and he didn’t have the courage to voice a single one of them. Leukemia. Brain tumor. Some sort of fatal disease that would take her away.

“It was warning enough,” she told him. “I had it checked and confirmed this morning before work. I’m pregnant, Luke.”

His mind really did go blank for an endless moment. He found he was sitting on the coffee table and couldn’t recall sitting down.

Lindsay was watching him. Silent. Goading him with her silence. She’d learned the tactic well.

“How?” he asked at last. His voice was a croak. “We used…”

“Nothing is one hundred percent effective,” she said softly. “I guess the universe really wants me to have a baby.”

He tried to wrap his mind about it and couldn’t. It was too enormous and too shocking.

“You’re supposed to ask what I’d like to do about it,” Lindsay prompted softly.

“You’ve had a few more hours than me to think about this. Give me a moment,” he said.

She nodded. “I can do that but I don’t think it’s going to do any good.” She tapped the glass. “I already have my answer.”

“That was before you said…” He couldn’t even voice it aloud. What was wrong with him?

“Okay, so what’s going through your mind right now?” she demanded. “Quick answer, no editing,” she added.

He tried. “I’m not ready…” he began. “It’s too soon…”

She nodded, pursing her lips. “Exactly,” she said and stood up. “For some reason, Pierse, you like camping. Maybe it’s because you’ve done it so long you’re comfortable with it and can’t imagine doing anything else.”

Alarm filtered through him. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” She picked up her coat.

“But what are you going to do?” The knowledge hit him anew. “Damn and you’ve just been fired. No one is going to hire a pregnant woman and give her maternity leave…”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“For what? Getting you fired?”

“Did you?” She shrugged. “It hardly matters now, does it? Actually, I meant thanks for not airing the possibility of aborting. I don’t think I could have put up with that.” She slid the coat on. “Don’t worry about me, Luke. I’ve learned how to take care of myself. This’ll be no different.”

“That’s it? You’re just walking out of here?” Panic was gripping him now and he could feel himself starting to jitter with adrenaline overload. “Don’t I get any say in this?”

“You did get your say. You were very eloquent.”

“What about support, then. Money?”

She shook her head. “You keep it for your homes.” She picked up her briefcase and bag. “If I can’t have you totally in my life, totally grounded to a home that we make, then I don’t want you in my life at all.” She smiled and there was a deep sadness in her eyes. “You kept warning me and finally I listened. I don’t want you in my life, screwing it up any more. I don’t think my heart could stand it.”

He watched her, stunned, as she opened the door. True to form, Lindsay threw a passing comment over her shoulder as she left—the last word.

“No offence, but I’ll name this child.”

It was too much. The pressure of emotions in him was too overwhelming. Horror, self-hatred, anger. And beneath it all, a keening, building sense of loss that loomed larger than all the others.

You did this to yourself.

All the names and epithets in the universe would not remove that simple fact.

Bravo, Lucifer. You really topped yourself this time. You not only royally screwed up Lindsay’s life, you just totally destroyed your own into the bargain.

Luke pushed his fingers into his temple, trying to expel the thoughts, almost moaning with self-loathing.

Chapter Fourteen

“Happy New Year, Linny.” Her father held up his glass and Lindsay reluctantly tapped hers to his. She sipped and pushed it away.

The log in the fireplace popped, sounding loud, emphasizing how quiet the room was.

“Is it?” he added, softly.

There was a scratch on the table top, an old one that had always fascinated her because if she tried hard enough, she could make out a man’s profile from the odd little bumps. There, there was the nose—

“Lindsay.” His hand rested on hers.

She looked up. Edward was watching her with an odd intensity she had never seen before.

“What?”

“You have to tell me. Whatever it is.”

She blinked and found herself staring at the blackened scratch.

“You’re worrying me,” Edward added. “You’ve been silent for a week, you’ve barely eaten and you’re not going into work.”

“You haven’t been in your workshop for a week, either,” she pointed out.

“Because you didn’t come to find me there.” He moved his chair closer to the table. Settling down to business, she realized. “You’ve always come to talk to me there and this time you didn’t. So I’m afraid you’re going to have to do without the sawdust this time, Linny. Tell me what has made you so pale.”

She bit her lip. The need to spill it all, to lay it at his feet, was so strong.

“I don’t want to dump my troubles on you,” she said, managing to keep her voice steady. “I got into this, I have to carry the load.”

His piercing blue eyes did not skitter away, his attention did not wander to the project at hand. Instead the eyes narrowed.

“It’s that bad, sweetheart?”

She swallowed. “Yes.”

He patted her hand. “Tell me.”

“I’ve been fired from my job.”

“Oh.” He looked puzzled, so she finished the rest of it quickly.

“And I’m pregnant.”

Total silence this time.

She cleared her throat, feeling the ache from holding back tears. But suddenly, the need to cry had gone. In its place was a sweet relief.

“Does Luke know?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

She bit her lip. “I sent him away.”

His eyes widened enormously.

“Oh my,” he gasped. “Why, Linny? He seems like a good man.”

She shook her head and suddenly the tears were there again and spilled down her cheeks. “He doesn’t want a home and a…f-f-amily. He thinks he does. He’s spent his life looking for somewhere that he can call home but he doesn’t really want it. Not deep down. He’s got used to not having it. He likes it now. And I know if I tie him down, sooner or later his real nature is going to break through and he’ll be gone.”

A sob stoppered her words and she put her hand over her mouth to hold it in. No self pity! She’d made a bargain with herself.

Edward sat patting her hand. She felt him tuck a handkerchief under her fingers and she wiped her face.

“Is that what you would want? Luke, a home, a family?”

“Well, of course!” she spluttered.

“No, there’s no of course about it, Lindsay. Listen to me.”

She wiped her tears again and focused on her father. Gone was the gentle man who wandered around the workshop. Gone was the worried father.

“I learned a long time ago that home and hearth is not for everyone. Not the sort of idealistic version that most people reach for.”

“You’re talking about Mom, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “She would never have been happy staying at home and raising you. I knew that before she got pregnant. I knew it and accepted it. Because I loved her.” He sighed.

“She gave as much of herself as she could. She stuck by us both through good and bad times. She’d maybe not get back here on the Friday for dinner but she always made it back sometime during the weekend, even if it was just to tuck you into bed on the Sunday night before she got on a plane for New York again.”

Lindsay sniffed back the last of her tears, her attention caught. “You mean…that’s what I should accept from Luke…if he offers it?”

Edward smiled. “Oh, I don’t think that’s really all he’s got to offer, though.” He patted her hand again, firmly and straightened up. “I was talking about you. About what you really want. You’ve spent many years now carving a career for yourself. You really want to throw it all overboard?”

“As a single mother, I can’t see that I have much choice.”

“Take single parenthood out of the equation. I’m talking about family. What’s your ideal family, Lindsay? What would you really want?”

She stared at him. Where had this articulate, logical and wise man come from?

“This isn’t like you,” she said, at last. “You’re not usually this…concise.”

Edward smiled. “I was the terror of the lecture hall when I was teaching, didn’t you know?” He tapped the table. “And you need guidance, right now. Now you’ve got rid of this miasmic idea of proving yourself better than your mother—”

“You knew!” The accusation was jerked out of her involuntarily.

He nodded. “I figured it out. I was never as quick to understand people as your mother was but I’m no slouch. Neither are you, darling daughter, although you seem to have convinced yourself you are.”

“But I am bad. I don’t pick things up about people as quickly as…”

“Luke? No, you wouldn’t. He has a natural, in-built divining rod when it comes to people. Comes from a lonely childhood, I suspect. When you’re that young, you learn quick how to read people so you can get what you need.”

Lindsay stared at her father. “You’re scaring me,” she said. “You’ve never talked like this before.”

“You’ve never been ready to listen. To really listen, I mean.” He picked up Lindsay’s glass of champagne and poured it into his own. “You don’t need this,” he told her, with a smile.

“So…now you think I’m willing to listen?”

“Willing? Perhaps not. But you’ve been jarred out of your old ways of thinking, so now’s the time to say what I want to say and maybe you’ll hear it.”

“Hear what?”

“It’s time you figured out what you want in life, Linny. No more running after your mother. No more being her substitute. You’re not like her. You’re so different from Catherine that you need to turn your back firmly on her choices and see what’s out there for you.”

“What’s out there for me is motherhood,” Lindsay answered softly. “It’s a bit late for this lecture, isn’t it?”

“Not in this day and age. Motherhood is going to be part of your choice, obviously but there’s so many other choices to be made to go along with it.”

He sipped the champagne. “So what’s your definition of family? You lay that equation out, Linny and you’ll be able to extrapolate the rest of the answers.”

“And what if I want Luke as part of that equation? He doesn’t want me. Not really.”

“Are you sure? Did you really give him a chance to decide? Or had you already decided for him?” Edward smiled a little and the gentle man from the workshop was back. “I know what you’re like, sweetheart. You can be a bit of a steamroller when your mind is made up. That’s why I haven’t tried to give you this lecture before now. Your mind has been made up pretty much for the last ten years now.”

“Are you saying I pushed him away?”

“No. Are you?”

She bit her lip, trying to remember the things they had said to each other, that last time. All she could remember was the bitterness she’d felt when he had hesitated.

Bitterness…and a sense of inevitability.

Wasn’t it that she had been fully expecting him to shy like that? She had almost anticipated it, planned around it.

“Damn,” she murmured.

Edward patted her hand again, sympathetically.

“Family is the most blessed gift an individual could have and if your Luke doesn’t want it, it’s because he hasn’t learned that he needs the cement that holds a family together—any sort of family, no matter how it’s built.”

“Cement?”

Edward shrugged. “Love, of course.”

“He doesn’t love me.”

“No?”

“He never said he did.”

Edward just looked at her, patiently, his eyes not letting her go.

She had to break the gaze.

“So what are you going to do now, sweetheart?” he asked softly.

She sighed. “Think, I guess.”

“Think hard,” he advised. “You’re only going to get this one chance, now.”

“I don’t know that I have even one chance, Daddy. He hasn’t rung, or been to see me…”

“You sent him away. He’s not going to come back easily. If you truly want him in your life, on whatever terms you want and whatever terms he wants, then you’re going to have to do some very hard bargaining indeed.” He stood up. “But do the thinking first, Linny. Get it straight in your own mind before you try to lay it out for him. Because when you see him, you’ll mess it up if you haven’t got it down pat.”

“Is that what happened to you? With Mom?” she asked, curiously.

“Every time.” He sighed. “Every time. She made me feel like an elementary school kid, all knees and stutters. Asking her to marry me took more courage than I’ve ever had to use since. I still don’t know how I managed to get the words out and I still don’t know what made her say yes.” He shrugged. “I always thought she deserved so much more than me and my paltry offerings.”

Lindsay grew very still, her father’s words echoing and chiming, connecting and growing. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Yes. That’s it. It’s something like that.”

“What is?”

She stood up and kissed his thin spot. “You’ve just given me more to think about..”

He smiled again. “Good. I’m glad. It’s about time you indulged in some clear thinking.”

She went to bed, knowing sleep would be an absent friend tonight. Her father’s words were circling through her mind.

I always thought he deserved better than me.

But it was her voice whispering them.

* * * * *

When the phone rang the Wednesday after New Year’s Eve, Lindsay gave a little start. Luke. It’s Luke.

Her certainty was so strong that she found herself running for the phone and snatching it up breathlessly before her father, who was sitting next to it, could so much as reach out his hand.

“Lindsay Eden speaking.” She still was using her office manner despite being officially unemployed for nearly two weeks. But then, the phone hadn’t rung all too often since then. And none of the callers had been Luke.

“Hi, Lindsay.” The male voice wasn’t Luke’s.

“Hi.” She frowned. “Who is this?”

“It’s Doug Anderson, Lindsay. How are you?”

“Just fine, thank you.” She was pleased at the breezy tone that emerged, despite the little spurt of anger that shot through her. Well, she certainly didn’t have to suffer the formalities for him, anyway. “How can I help you?” Cut to the chase, Doug, I don’t have to give you my time any more.

“Uh…well… Let me see. It’s about Luke Pierse.”

“What about him?” Her tone was a little sharper than she intended.

“It’s come to my attention that you…ah…enjoyed something more than a working relationship with him…and, well, don’t get me wrong—I’m not calling about that precisely…but I thought…”

She could hear his labored silence and sensed he was deeply embarrassed by the subject.

Something important had forced him to call despite his reluctance.

The realization gave Lindsay the necessary patience to wait him out silently.

“I thought you might know where he is,” Doug finished quickly, pushing it out in a fast breath.

She frowned. “If he’s not at the office, he must be out on an appointment. Really, Doug, I think you’ve got the wrong impression about the relationship between Luke and me. I don’t know his movements from day to day. I haven’t spoken to him in over a week.”

Not since Christmas Eve, when you fired me.

“Oh.” He seemed almost downcast by her answer.

“Doesn’t Timothy keep his diary? He must know where he is.”

“It’s not quite like that,” Doug responded and he sounded almost apologetic. “He’s gone missing.”

“Missing? What does that mean?” Her voice was rising, despite her control.

“It means, for over a week now he hasn’t shown up for work.”

The pulse in her temple began to pound heavily, hurting. “Have you rung him at home?”

“Of course. I got Timothy to call around at the apartment. No answer.”

“He could be out. He works at a project over on the east side—”

“I tried calling at midnight one night. I figured risking getting yelled at for waking him was justified but there was no answer.”

She was getting a massive headache. She pushed at her temple. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve done in a week? Just phone and call around?”

“Well, I called you,” Doug said, laughing a little.

“Doug, most people are officially listed as missing after twenty-four hours and you let it go for a week? What are you? Inhuman?”

“He’s a grown man, Lindsay. You want me to add him to the list of homeless kiddies?”

Why not? He is one. The voice spoke with acrid sourness in her mind.

“What if he needs help, Doug? You know he has no family here. You’re in a privileged position and you’ve sat on your thumb for a week. More than a week!”

“Luke need help? That man has more lives than the devil himself. He’ll probably turn up in a couple of days time with a massive hangover and a few more stories to tell. He’s causing us a hell of a problem here, let me tell you. It’s very irresponsible of him to just take a dive like this. I’m concerned, yes but I have to think about the hotel. Right now, that’s my major concern.”

“Your major concern?” Lindsay forced her lungs to work, to draw breath. “Doug, you’re a complete, utter idiot. You make me sick.”

She slammed the phone down, wishing it was Doug’s head she was dumping it on.

Edward looked up from the paperback in his hands. “Doug is the new hotel manager, isn’t he?”

She nodded and walked toward the French doors, trying to think past the heavy beat of her heart and the buzzing in her mind.

“Lindsay?” Edward’s voice pulled her around to face him.

“Luke’s missing, Dad. He’s been gone a week or more. And those…those…imbeciles didn’t even have the commonsense to send up any sort of alarm. They only phoned me because their marketing department is grinding to a halt and they don’t like it. Men!”

“Where do you think Luke is, then?”

“That’s easy.” She shrugged. “New York.”

“Where in New York? It’s a big place.”

“I don’t know.” She bit her lip. “But I’m going to find out.” She headed for her car keys.

“And when you find out?” her father called after her.

She didn’t answer, because she had no proper answer to give. There were so many factors involved, least of all Luke’s mysterious life in New York. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to rest easily until she had found him and assured herself he was alright, for she had a niggling fear that perhaps it was her fault he’d skipped to New York. With the hotel ready to lynch him, her guilt was doubled.

It wouldn’t do for her to get him fired, as well.

So, she had to find him. She just had no idea what she was going to do when she did find him.

* * * * *

Luke’s apartment was dim and silent. And very empty.

She checked the milk in the fridge. Sour to the point of solidness and she hastily pushed the carton away from her nose. Her stomach was queasy enough these days.

The milk confirmed her guess. Luke had been gone for days, at least.

She looked around the apartment, looking for clues. Everything was as neat and tidy, as unlived-in, as usual. There were no hasty signs of decamping, no open drawers that might have hinted at hurried packing.

But then, she’d seen Luke step on the plane to New York with no luggage at all and return the next Monday in a different suit and clean shirt. That had been one of the details that had let her think he had an apartment in New York, still.

But Luke was human and had to operate in a culture that documented everything. He couldn’t move without generating a paper trail of some sort, even in sleepy Deerfoot Falls.

She dropped her keys on the table and headed for the bureau next to his bed and opened the first drawer. Socks, ties and a small velvet box that opened to reveal male jewelry—cuff links, tie pins and even a set of old-fashioned shirt collar studs.

It was strangely intimate, fingering through someone else’s possessions when they were not present.

She shut the box with a snap, guilt slicing through her and turned to the next drawer with a deep breath. There was obviously no paperwork in the first drawer. She had to stay focused. She needed a clue to start looking for him.

She needed a place to start finding out about the real Lucifer Furey Pierse.

Chapter Fifteen

Manhattan looked as glittery and intimidating as she remembered it, even from this distance.

Lindsay stood at the foot of a long, uneven row of headstones. Far away the spires and towers of Manhattan punched into a dark gray sky. From here, she could only see a slip of water. A cold, biting wind whipped around the headstones before her, making her eyes tear and her ears ache.

The headstones were endless, marching down the shallow bowl before her and up the other side of the hill to crown the top in a gapped-toothed row.

In the middle of the dip in the land a group of people huddled around an open grave. The grave was the reason she was here. This was where Luke’s trail had ended.

She pulled her coat around her more firmly. She was reluctant to walk down the slope to the grave. She didn’t want to face this. She didn’t want to have to deal with it.

The knot of people was slowly breaking up and they began moving away. Some followed the path that Lindsay stood on and they would eventually pass her.

Time to move.

She walked down the slope as quickly as she could manage, fighting the cold with movement. Couples and individuals passed her, barely looking up from their preoccupation and their downcast stare at their feet.

There was only one mourner left at the graveside by the time she reached it. He didn’t move or show any sign of noticing her.

“I’m sorry, Luke,” she offered.

He did look up then and his only sign of surprise was a slight narrowing of his eyes.

She was shocked at his appearance. His eyes were bloodshot and tiredness seemed to drag at them. His chin was unshaven and his hair, usually immaculate, was wind-blown and unruly.

“I supposed I should say something like ‘What on earth are you doing here?’, or ‘how did you find me,’ shouldn’t I?” Even his voice was low, rough.

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t. Your appearance here is inevitable. You wound your way into the rest of my life. You might as well leave your brand on this side of it too.” He sighed.

She swallowed back the fear his harsh analysis provoked. He was talking like a man with nothing to lose.

She glanced at the new headstone.

Stella Pierse Parker.

“You kept contact with her all these years?” she asked softly. “I thought your father told you she’d gone away because of you.”

“He did. But later, when he died, I tracked her down. I wanted to apologize, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s when I found out he’d burned the letters she sent me and prevented her from seeing me again. She got married again and after that…”

Again, the fatalistic shrug.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

Luke was staring at the casket, as if he could see through the wood.

“Is this… Is Stella the reason you came back to New York every weekend?”

“Not in the beginning. In the beginning, I just wanted out of Deerfoot Falls so bad. I wanted to be back home. I hated it there. So I came back here every weekend and tried to catch up on a week’s worth of New York living before I dragged my butt back there on the Monday.”

“Why on earth did you stay if you hated it so much?”

He pursed his lips, as if he was weighing up his answer. “Well, I had this boss, you see, with a great figure and a mind like a pretzel, sharp as a tack, with a tongue to match…” He looked at her from under his brow.

She smiled a little. “No, I mean really—why did you stay?”

“I gave you my answer.” His voice was flat, expressionless.

She studied him. “More forbidden territory, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“You. I’ve got a mental map of all the areas of your life that are off-limits to me. Questions or probing only get me one of your sarcastic answers and make me regret stepping over the line. Forbidden territory.” She tried to suppress the bitter note that emerged and failed.

The expression that crossed his face was fleeting and hard to define but she thought it contained surprise.

“I’ve been that bad? To you?”

She shrugged. “To everyone. That’s sort of why I’m here. Doug at the hotel is ready to fire you. He’s tearing his hair out because he doesn’t know anything about you either and doesn’t know where to find you as a result.”

“Screw the hotel,” Luke said and there was genuine anger in his voice. “Some things are more important.”

“Like family,” she added, touching the casket briefly.

He sighed. “Yes, I guess Stella was family. To me, anyway.”

“I know she had cancer. I was at the hospital yesterday. They told me you visited her every weekend. All weekend, almost.”

“They talk too much,” he growled.

“But Luke, don’t you see? If you’d only talked to me about this, I wouldn’t have had to sneak around behind your back figuring it all out.” The protest emerged on a wave of vexation and sorrowful empathy. “I could have…helped. I could have—”

“What? Told everyone in Deerfoot Falls so they could feel sorry for me?”

She tilted her head at him, pinning him with an irritated expression. “I could have… I don’t know!” She lifted her hands helplessly. “I could have been there for you.”

“It was my choice.”

“Damn it, Luke, stop shutting me out! Stop shutting everyone out! You’re not this undeserving hard case you think you are! You need people whether you like it or not!”

“I didn’t shut everyone out,” he muttered and rested his hand on the casket.

“No but I bet you didn’t start visiting her every weekend until the end, when it was too late!”

His face sagged and this time Lindsay had no trouble reading the hurt there.

She held out her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I’m… That was unfair. It was a cheap shot.”

He turned and walked away without a word.

Lindsay rubbed her forehead wearily. Now what? She’d only had one chance at this and she’d just blown it utterly. She turned and walked back along the path again, her mind a blank. What could she do now? The idea of meekly returning to Deerfoot Falls with her tail tucked between her legs was abhorrent.

Her heart was shuddering along unhappily, unsteadily and the climb back up the long slope was more taxing than she’d guessed. Halfway along its length, she felt her energy drain as suddenly as water from a tipped glass. She moved onto the verge, to lean against the trunk of a leafless oak, while her heart thudded unpleasantly, echoing in her throat and mind, making her feel a little dizzy.

Fool. You’ve lost him for all time, she told herself.

Weak tears pricked at her eyes.

Oh, stop it! Crying isn’t going to achieve anything.

Hands, big hands, slid onto her shoulders.

“Lynds?”

She suddenly adored the sound of that horrid contraction of her name. And she gulped back her tears, trying to hide them.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she told him.

His hands were trying to turn her around and she swiped at her eyes quickly, before turning to look at him.

“Fine, huh?” he asked and touched the skin below her eye and held up the moist tip.

“No, really, it’s just—” She halted, unwilling to speak it aloud.

“The baby?” he finished. His expression was neutral, the eyes narrowed and guarded.

“It’s perfectly normal to cry at the drop of a hat,” she said defensively.

“I know.”

“You do?” The idea that Luke had any experience with pregnancies and babies was ridiculous.

“My sister has just had her first child. I’ve suffered through her hormone swings.”

“Your sister?” It wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned a sister. “But you were an only child.”

“Stella’s daughter, Kim,” he amended, with a shrug. “It’s a courtesy title. It wasn’t my idea.”

“No, it wouldn’t have been,” she said mildly. She looked over his shoulder. “I thought you were halfway back to Manhattan.”

He shook his head. “You and your uncompromising truth. How could I walk away from that? Your cheap shot was dead on target, Lynds. You were right.” He smiled a little. “I don’t know why I do it but I do. I lock people out.” He glanced away, toward the hill she had stood upon when she’d first arrived.

He’s uneasy, she realized.

He held out his hand. “Let me make up for that. Let me show you New York. My New York.”

* * * * *

Luke’s car was a long-nosed, sleek black thing that Lindsay could almost hear purring, sitting there at the curb.

“What is it?” she asked, looking for a badge to identify it.

“Porsche,” Luke said, opening the passenger door for her.

“I’ve seen lots of Porsches and they’re nothing like this.”

He grinned. “I don’t doubt it. This one’s an antique. I’ve been driving myself crazy for ten years trying to keep open the supply lines for spare parts on this thing.”

She settled herself into the car as Luke got behind the wheel.

“Where are we going?”

“Coffee, first.”

“Decaf,” she qualified.

“Of course. And something to eat for you. You’re too pale.”

His judicious comment pleased her in a small, warm way. He cared, then. A little.

The coffee house was deep in Manhattan. Luke used the Brooklyn Bridge and negotiated through the congested midday traffic with experienced ease. It was fascinating watching him nose the car through gaps that seemed too small and accelerate away from snarls scot-free.

He glanced at her once and grinned. “What?”

“You drive like a rally driver.”

“This? This is nothing. After a winter of unplowed icy roads around Deerfoot, this is a walk in the park.”

She frowned.

“What?” he prompted.

“I know so little about you.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “That’s why you’re here, remember?”

The coffee house was almost invisible from the street, to the point where the casual passer-by would not even suspect it was there. Luke had to take her arm and steer her toward the tucked away door.

But inside, the place was a noisy swarm of colorful-looking characters that only New York could assemble.

“Hey, Luke!”

“Lucifer!”

The calls were bellowed across the clatter and conversation and Luke lifted his hand in greeting to people that she couldn’t quite pick out of the crowded room.

She’d dressed in her smartest dark business suit but the few people dressed in office clothes that she could see were the last word in sophisticated fashion.

The rest were an eclectic mix of every trend and fringe group and street-smart dressing possible.

Only in New York.

“Doesn’t anybody work around here?” she murmured, feeling like a country hick, suddenly.

“Some of the people here are working,” Luke said. He nodded toward one of the tiny tables tucked under the window, where a rugged, handsome man in a sagging blue sweater and jeans was sipping an espresso and smoking a long thin black cigar, a bored expression on his face, while a woman with dyed, vibrant carrot-colored hair who sat opposite to him talked while making wide gestures.

“What’s his business?” Lindsay asked, curious.

“He’s a walker.”

“A walker?”

“An escort. He provides companion services for woman—entrepreneurs, mainly—who need a partner for social functions but don’t need the hassle of a social relationship. They hire him, he will arrive in a limousine to pick them up, he’ll be dressed in exactly the right clothes for the occasion, he will say exactly the right things to the right people, be charming, witty and intelligent. He’ll be attentive to her needs and won’t get his nose out of joint if she spends most of the evening networking with every big spender in the room. He’ll drop her off safely at her apartment at the end of the evening and take home a fat envelope of cash.”

“He’s a gigolo?”

“No. The opposite. He’s paid not to have sex. Most of the businesswomen he walks out don’t want that complication but they need the appearance of a successful personal relationship with a man who matches their business profile.”

“That’s…so calculating.”

Luke shrugged. “That’s business life for a woman. She is still judged by the man on her arm, even in the boardroom.”

“How do you know him?”

“Jean-Claude always uses that table to set his deals.”

“You come here a lot too?”

“I used to, before it was ‘discovered’. Now there are too many here.”

The waiter led them to an empty table then and Luke sat her down.

“Why did you bring me here, then?”

“I know lots of people here. It’s a convenient way to bump into them.” Luke emphasized his point by lifting a hand in greeting again, to someone over her shoulder.

She resisted the impulse to turn and look.

“Luke, man. Been a while.” A hand thrust at Luke and she glanced up at another business suit. The man barely glanced at her.

“I’ve been out of the loop for a while,” Luke said, shaking the offered hand.

“I heard about it. Sick aunt in hospital, right?”

“Something like that.”

“She got better, obviously.”

“No.”

“Oh. Sorry to hear it. Give me a call when you’re ready. I’ll throw a party. It’s been a long time since we had a hell-raiser. You too—you’ll come, right?”

Lindsay blinked, realizing he was talking to her. “Well, um, if I’m in town…”

“Great!” He moved off, already waving to someone else and heading in their direction.

Luke caught the waiter’s eye and beckoned him over to order coffee and a bagel and cream cheese for her. Before the waiter had even left the table, another person came to stand next to Luke. A woman. She looked very young but her eyes seemed old beyond their years.

“Luke, honey. You’ve been away.”

“For a while, yes. Karen, this is a friend of mine—Lindsay, Karen.”

Karen nodded at her, with a friendly smile, then touched Luke’s shoulder gently. “You’ve been missed, honey.”

The hand wasn’t a particularly feminine one—the nails were chipped, uneven and there were lots of little nicks and scrapes and red knuckles.

But the way Karen let her hand linger on Luke’s shoulder for that fraction of a moment longer than was really necessary irritated Lindsay

Luke smiled up at Karen. “What can I say? You get a job in the boonies and you tend to lose contact.”

She grinned. “Then you’ll just have to ditch the job and come back to us here, won’t you?”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Luke assured her.

“Do that,” she insisted and walked back down the aisle to another table further into the room.

“You weren’t exaggerating, were you? You really do know lots of people here,” Lindsay observed.

“I guess these people were the reason I kept coming back to New York every weekend. It’s hard to let go.”

“Let go of what?” Lindsay asked, genuinely puzzled.

“This. Friendships. A life. Your identity, I suppose.”

“But these aren’t friendships,” she retorted. “That guy, the one who stopped by here first—he’s so moved by the news of Stella’s passing that he’s urging you to get over it quickly so he can have another party soon.”

Luke frowned. “What would you know about it?” he asked and his voice was even, even though the narrowed eyes seemed to be glittering with a suppressed reaction.

“Beyond what I’ve seen in the five minutes I’ve been here? Nothing. And I know I’m not a shining example when it comes to meaningful relationships but I do have some. More than you, I’d guess.”

“Your father,” he said dryly.

“And Timothy,” she shot back, feeling her irritation spurt. “They were both at my mother’s funeral. Timothy was there for my sake. Were any of your friends here at Stella’s?”

She watched his lips thin and the corner of his jaw ripple as he clamped down hard. “More Lindsay-Eden-style truth? You just don’t know how to pull punches, do you?” His voice was low. Hard.

Suddenly, all her anger drained and she felt incredibly tired. “No, I don’t,” she admitted freely. “I’m sorry. Again. I guess my only excuse is that I can’t bear to think that these people are what pulled you back week after week. That your life was so shallow. I’m sorry if that hurts but that’s how I see it.”

“Truth or die, is that it?” His expression was bitter.

“Oh, Luke, haven’t you figured out that’s the reason I’m here in New York, yet? I didn’t come here to get Doug his favorite salesman back, for goodness sake!”

“I know that much.”

“Then you must know I can’t afford anything else but truth right now.”

“Maybe it’s the last thing I want.” There was no mercy in his eyes at all. Not an inch given.

She swallowed back the fear his words provoked. “If that’s truly how you feel, then we’re doomed to keep walking away from each other for the rest of our lives.”

The waiter arrived with her bagel and she stood up. “I’d better have that to go,” she said.

Luke’s hand gripped her wrist and she was reminded of the last time she had walked out on him at a restaurant.

“Not this time, you don’t,” he said, pulling her slowly but inexorably back into her chair. “Sit.”

She sat. Luke kept his grip on her wrist, however, while the waiter put the coffee on the table between them and scurried away.

All the time, Luke’s gaze bored into her.

“Tell me what you meant,” he said when they were alone.

“Meant?”

“About us always walking away from each other.”

Her heart started hurting. She was at the point she had been trying to rehearse for days now and despite her preparations she was still no more ready to take the risk she was facing.

Luke gave her wrist a little shake. “Tell me what you meant,” he insisted. “Because last time we talked to each other in Deerfoot, you gave me every indication that you never wanted to see me again.”

“True,” she said evenly. “That’s what I meant, then.”

“Then? So are you trying to tell me now that this trip to New York isn’t just a way of turning the knife a little deeper and harder? Of getting in any last licks you forgot to hand out back home?”

“No!” The idea appalled her. “I would never do that!”

“A mercy trip then? Luke goes missing—better check and make sure he hasn’t chucked himself into the river in remorse and misery?”

It was too close to the almost subconscious reasoning she had given herself for making this trip out to the east coast. She gave a mock laugh. “You? Chuck yourself into the river? That’d be the day.”

His grip on her wrist tightened, almost convulsively. His eyes were steady on her face, his gaze so intense it seemed to be all she could focus on. There was a ferocity in his eyes that almost frightened her.

“Then I’m right,” he said, his voice very low. “You are here to take back your demand that I stay away.”

“It’s not quite as childish as you’re making it out to be,” she said quickly, disliking the way he phrased it.

“No?” His tone was so cynical it could have curdled the cream in her coffee. Abruptly, her wrist was free. “You know, you were very persuasive last go-around. You managed to convince me I was a complete loser, a waste of good earth. In fact you were so convinced I’d poison your child, you disdained even the money I should rightfully provide it.”

Lindsay bit her lip. “That’s not—”

But he didn’t wait to hear her out. “Goddamn it, Lindsay, you carved a piece out of my heart and threw it back at me and now you’re saying you’ve changed your mind?”

She sat mutely, staring at him, her heart pattering along unevenly, while she composed and discarded a dozen different responses. None of them could do more than inadequately defend her actions.

There was a sharp peak of laughter from one of the other tables. It reminded her of their public position. She realized, uneasily, that there was someone sitting so close behind her he could probably hear her breathing…and would be privy to everything they were saying.

“Is there somewhere else we could talk about this?” she asked a little desperately.

Luke glanced around the room, as if he was seeing it for the first time. He swore under his breath and stood up. “Come on,” he said, pulling out money and dropping it onto the table. “Let’s go.”

His hand was on her arm, tugging her along as she scurried to keep up with him as he strode back to the car. She had the feeling that he barely noticed she was there, so preoccupied with his own mood and feelings was he.

He unlocked the car and opened the door for her to get in, a deep frown burrowing a ridge between his brows.

She reached up to touch it with the tips of her fingers. “Don’t,” she murmured. “I didn’t come here to hurt you.”

He snatched at her hand. “Just get in the car,” he growled.

But she couldn’t leave it there. She knew she had to act now. There was no way she could get in the car and meekly sit beside him while all this churned up desperation circled through her. Her heart couldn’t stand it.

So she gave way to an instinct that led her to press herself against him and slide her free hand into his hair and kiss him.

He was a solid, unresponsive mass that oozed hurt and fury but within a heartbeat she forgot all that as the pleasure of kissing him rushed through her mind and body. There had been so few kisses! How could she have lived without these for the week since she had sent him away?

The rigid body against hers relented and she heard his guttural groan as she was clamped against him, his arms coming to life and circling around her. His hands were in her hair, pulling her head back so her mouth would lift up and it was Luke kissing her, his lips hard and demanding and, yes, hurried.

Her senses slowly faded beneath the steady beat of pleasure coursing through her, as the kiss intensified and left her breathless and weak.

Abruptly she was released—almost pushed away and she staggered back against the car. She blinked in the suddenly harsh light and saw the curious glances some of the pedestrians were giving them.

Luke was watching her and as she tried to make sense of what happened, his mouth twisted. “Damn you,” he said, his voice low. He lifted his key chain and picked out the car key again and she was astonished to see his hand was shaking.

“Get in,” he said harshly.

She obeyed and realized that she was trembling too.

He slammed the door on her and strode around to his side of the car.

She braced herself for the journey to wherever Luke was taking her next. She had to pull her resources together again. She had to move beyond this moment but for the entire silent, tense trip, she kept recalling the way she had felt Luke’s defenses crumble and how he had drawn her to him.

There was hope, she would reassure herself.

And then she would glance at the grim, steely man sitting beside her and a terrifying wave of fear and doubt would wash over her.

Chapter Sixteen

The trip was short, for which Lindsay was eternally grateful. Luke drove the car into an underground car park and parked in a slot with 7G painted on the wall behind it. An apartment number, she realized.

Luke’s New York apartment? The one she’d always suspected he had. The one she’d wanted to see, to discover if it was more lived-in than the Deerfoot Falls one.

Well, she was getting her wish now but she didn’t want it. Not this way.

He got out of the car without a word and Lindsay scurried to get out before he could come around to the passenger door. He held his hand out toward the elevator.

“This way.”

She stood silently next to him in the elevator, trying to think of a way of justifying her actions by the car. Kissing him? It could only come down to sheer cruelty, or sheer idiocy.

She heard again his low “Damn you.” Well, no need to ask Luke what he thought her motivation had been. Her heart sank even further. This was not going at all the way she would have preferred it to go. But then, had she really expected him to scoop her into his arms without a fight?

He did just that a moment ago, her treacherous mind whispered.

It hadn’t been without a fight, though.

He opened the door of the apartment and let her in and she looked around with avid curiosity.

The brownstone was old and the furnishings matched it. The overall impression was one of contemplative comfort. Big, overstuffed chairs and a well-worn, deep sofa, a small, highly polished dining table with a richly patterned runner and thickly upholstered and stuffed dining chairs provided some of the comfort. Low task lighting, dark woods, a patterned, low-key wallpaper, helped the impression along.

But what most influenced the atmosphere was the fact that three walls of the room were lined with floor to ceiling bookcases and those bookcases were stuffed full of books, magazines, small freestanding frames with artwork, photos, maps, lots of video cases, music CDs and more and more books. There was a whole shelf devoted to what looked like about fifteen years of National Geographic magazines. The overall impression was of someone who spent a great deal of time intellectually occupied.

“Oh!” Lindsay said, a little awed. She had not been expecting this at all. A dying, potted plant, perhaps and a cheap, easy-to-move sofa bed and some plastic shelving to hold the rest of life’s barest essentials off the floor.

“What?” Luke asked. “Not what you were expecting?”

“No! The books…” Already, titles were catching her eye, drawing her closer to investigate.

“You like them?”

“I love them.”

Luke snapped his fingers together. “What a shame. They’re not mine.”

“They’re not?” Pure disorientation flooded her. “This is your place, isn’t it?”

“One half of it,” Luke agreed. He lifted his voice. “Josh!”

“Yo!” The answer emerged, muffled, from behind one of the closed doors leading off from the main room. The door opened and a young, good-looking guy with black hair and glasses shielding blue eyes, emerged from the room. He was carrying a pencil. “Heard you come in,” he said. He had a sharp, precise manner of speaking.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Luke said. “But Lindsay was salivating over your books, so I thought I’d introduce you.”

The sharp gaze was turned on her. “Hi.” He held out his hand. “Josh Morrow. You like my collection?”

“It’s very extensive,” she said, shaking his hand.

“Comes from twenty years of freelance writing.”

“You work from here, then,” she guessed, looking again at the pencil he held and realizing why the door to his room had been shut.

“That’s right. Luke, here, is probably the best roommate a guy could have. He’s not here half the time and always pays his rent. And he doesn’t mess up my books.”

“Wouldn’t dare,” Luke added.

Josh jerked his thumb back toward his room. “I’m on deadline, so…”

“Oh, don’t let me keep you,” Lindsay told him. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Ditto.” He nodded and retreated back behind the closed door once more.

She turned to face Luke. He was sitting astride the arm of the sofa, his arms crossed, watching her.

“You deliberately let me think this was all your stuff,” she said.

He nodded. “I wanted to see what your reaction would be.”

“That’s unfair.”

“Ditto, Lynds,” he said quietly.

She bit her lip. “Is that what this is about? Scoring points off me? Getting even?”

Surprised skittered across his face. Then he nodded again. “Maybe. A little. I’ve had a whole lot of points scored off me lately.”

“Isn’t that life, though? You win some, you lose some.”

“I don’t think life was designed to hand out a week like mine has been,” and he pushed his hand through his hair, slowly. Wearily.

“It’s been very bad for you, hasn’t it?” She spoke softly, feeling a sudden remorse for her ruthlessness. She’d not really stopped to consider what Luke’s week might have been like. She’d only really thought about her own week of misery.

“Bad? That doesn’t really cover it. I’d say the whole week could be written off as one of complete uselessness and frustration. First there was Stella.” His expression was bleak. “I hope you never have to sit by someone you love and watch them die in pain. It’s the most helpless, frustrating position anyone could be in. You can’t halt it, you can’t take the pain away, you can’t make it go faster. You just have to watch them suffer through it.” He stared down the fabric of the sofa arm, far away with his own thoughts.

She tried to think of something even remotely adequate to say in response and nothing came. And for a moment she cursed herself. Her mother would have known what to say. Luke would have known, if the situation had been reversed. All she could think of was a measly “I’m sorry,” and she had already said that too many times this morning.

He lifted his head to pin her to the spot with his dark gaze. “Then there was you,” he added.

She frowned, feeling her forehead pucker and her brows pull together tightly, as she braced herself. “I know my end of it,” she murmured.

“Do you? Look at it from my end for a moment. One second, I find out I’m going to be a father, next second—because I couldn’t quite scramble to assimilate it all in time, you’re pushing me away from…the baby. Not only that, Lindsay, sweetheart but you tell me never to darken your door again.”

“Your answer wouldn’t have been any different even if I’d given you a year to think it over.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Yes. Because I know why you gave the answer you did.” She licked her lips, suddenly dry. Nerves.

He cocked his head, regarding her with frank, cynical interest. “I’m all ears,” he assured her.

“You wouldn’t allow yourself to be a genuine father because, deep down, you don’t think you deserve it.”

“This is an old theme of yours, Lynds. I’ve heard it before.”

“There’s more.”

“There might have been, if you’d just given me a chance. Did it not occur to you that I might have been willing to try?”

“Yes. But it would have been doomed to fail,” she said quietly.

“Ye of little faith.” His voice was infinitely bitter.

“It has nothing to do with you,” Lindsay returned quickly, her heart banging in her chest again, with the same sickly booming as before. “It was me, Luke. Me. I’m just like you, only I never figured it out until you had gone. I pushed you away. I didn’t give you a chance—you were right about that—but not because I’d made up my mind about you. It was because I’d made up my mind about me. I didn’t think I deserved the chance of…of…” She stopped suddenly, aware of where her rushed words were hurtling her. She wasn’t ready to cross that particular chasm yet.

“Of what, Lindsay?” His voice was quiet. Dangerously quiet. “The chance of what?”

“For…a normal life. No—for a family. Of sorts.” She bit her lip and found her gaze was drawn away from him, back to the books and the so-comfortable living room.

“And what about love?”

The quiet question, vocalizing her unspoken words, made her jerk with surprise and swing back to look at him.

She swallowed and forced herself to speak the truth. “I couldn’t quite hope that high,” she said. “If you were to love anyone at all, I know I’d be the last person on Earth you’d fall in love with.”

The silence that greeted her words was so long, she wondered if she had somehow angered him. Luke’s gaze seemed to be drilling into her mind, right through her eyes. Finally, she had to look away. The tension was too unbearable.

“You really think so little of yourself?” The question was softly put.

“No, it’s not that at all,” she jumped to explain. “It’s the reverse. It’s…” She couldn’t quite state it aloud. It sounded so school-girlish. She looked up, though, to check on his reaction. Was he laughing at her? Amused? Disbelieving? Or angry? So many unexpected things made him angry, after all.

But his expression was a deeply puzzled one, the brows drawn together, his gaze only distantly focused on her. Then the furrow smoothed out. “Oh, no, Lindsay, you don’t surely… It’s not that ridiculous is it?”

She took another deep breath. “I’m afraid it is. We’re a great pair, you and I. You’re convinced you don’t deserve family and I think I don’t deserve you.” She shrugged and tried to make light of it. “Freud sucks.”

“I’m with you there.” He rubbed his temples with thumb and forefinger. “I have suddenly developed a massive headache.”

She nodded sympathetically. A headache was easy to understand, given the circumstances.

“After all I’ve done to you, Lynds, how on earth did you develop such an exultant opinion of me?”

She shrugged. “Must be that killer gaze of yours, Pierse.”

He held out his hand. “No. No jokes—my god, you learned that one from me too, didn’t you? I’m no good for you. Do you remember me telling you that? I’m no good for you and I’ve already comprehensively proved that. How on earth could you possibly think so highly of me?”

She bit her lip. “I think it started when we went out on that date thing.”

“The Christmas party?”

“You were…kind.”

“I was my normal run-off-at-the-mouth idiotic self.”

“Not in my office, when I ran away. You could have got months and months worth of ribbing and teasing out of that. You could have heaped coals on my head when I showed you just how much of a klutz I was with people. It was a prime opportunity. And you didn’t take it. You never used it later, either.”

He looked away then and she knew from her own similar reaction that she had made him feel uncomfortable. “Too much truth?” she asked him softly.

He shook his head. “No, maybe that’s what we need right now. Both of us.” He looked back. “You came to New York to get me back to Deerfoot Falls, didn’t you?”

She hesitated.

“Yes or no, Lynds. Time’s gone for coyness.”

“Yes.”

“Back to Deerfoot and back in your life.”

It took her a moment to speak the word and she forced it out. “Yes.” She could feel her cheeks blazing in response.

“Despite being convinced you don’t deserve me?”

“I guess I inherited my mother’s stubborn streak. I tend to ignore unwelcome truths.”

“Yes, your mother.” He sighed and stood up, digging in his pocket for his keys and pulling them out. “My turn to writhe under the glare of truth, Lindsay. For this, I’m going to have to take you somewhere. Will you come?”

To learn more about Luke’s life? “Of course,” she said.

He took her back to the car and again the trip was silent. But it was longer and Luke’s silence wasn’t one of anger or hurt but one of remoteness.

“You’re sad,” she said.

He glanced at her. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know. I just…sense it.”

“And when did you get so good at reading people, hmm?”

When I fell in love with you. She clenched her fist. “Are you sad?”

He concentrated on turning the corner at the lights before answering. And then his answer was no comfort at all. “Just leave it, Lynds. Leave it alone for now.” And he didn’t even look at her. Instead he drove swiftly through the streets to turn into the driveway that ran beneath the portico of one of the grandest hotels in New York—the Albion Orion. It wasn’t the same chain as the Derwent in Deerfoot but they were a strong competitor.

Here in the heart of New York, the competition took a sharp step up in scale. Luke parked the car and a valet came smartly around to take his keys, while a second one helped Lindsay from the car. She was glad of the assistance, for her attention was almost completely on her surroundings and puzzling out why on earth Luke had brought her here.

The lobby of the hotel was a sweeping field of marble and gold, with elegant fernery everywhere. There was the sound of water rushing nearby and the quiet, busy hum of a big hotel doing a steady, impressive business.

Off to the left was the registration area, a twenty foot long expanse of carpet at the foot of an equally long mahogany desk, behind which a dozen or more hotel clerks worked at discreetly positioned computer terminals. Despite a good handful of guests demanding attention, not one of them stood waiting to be looked after.

There was a busy bar to the right and a coffee lounge beyond it and from what she could see, both were doing a brisk trade.

Despite no longer having a professional interest in the Derwent’s success, Lindsay still felt a stirring of envy. “Oh, for a hotel like this,” she murmured.

Luke glanced at her. “Like it?”

“It’s very nice,” she said dryly.

He grinned. “Liar. Tell me it doesn’t seem vaguely familiar to you.”

He was right. But the tickle of familiarity wouldn’t jell into a complete knowledge. And she knew she had never been here.

He led her toward the bank of elevators over to the far left, beyond the front desk. “Despite being the older hotel, the Manhattan Derwent deliberately remodeled their lobby based on the new and popular Albion when it opened. It caused quite a stir…back then.”

“Back when?”

“Oh…twenty years ago.” The doors slid open and Luke waved her in. “Both the Derwent and the Albion have become set in their ways, now. Neither of them will change their décor for fear of losing all that old traditional feeling.” He pushed the button for the fifty-fifth floor.

Was that where the sense of familiarity came from? She had been in the lobby of the Derwent once, when she was sixteen.

The elevator car was a throw-back to bygone days. Even twenty years ago, they had reached for the elegance of a vanished era. The car was a tribute to art deco, with etched mirrors with sweeping towers on either side, brass railings and a marbled floor. There was even a throw rug on the floor, a hardy sisal matting.

It was quite simply beautiful.

“Still quite nice?” Luke murmured.

She threw him a glance she hoped was withering but instead of laughing at her, or even smiling, he nodded thoughtfully and turned to watch the indicator light race up the floor numbers.

The doors opened onto another, smaller foyer with a pair of leather sofas and a coffee table. As Lindsay stepped out, she saw a reception desk to her right and knew immediately where she was. She was on one of the administration floors of the hotel.

The receptionist had an enquiring smile ready to go. When she saw Luke step out behind Lindsay the smile softened into a more genuine, pleased expression.

“Morning, Mr. Pierse.”

“Janet,” Luke acknowledged. “Just visiting today.” As she reached for the switchboard keys he held out his hand. “It’s okay. I saw her yesterday. She’s expecting me.”

“Go right ahead, then,” Janet encouraged him with another warm smile.

Luke led Lindsay down the broad corridor toward a large, double set of doors at the end.

And Lindsay felt like she was walking through a time warp, tumbling back to the day of her sixteenth birthday. She had trod down a corridor such as this, toward her mother’s overwhelming office, towed by a secretary and wondering what lay behind the doors.

“Luke…”

“Nearly there,” he told her. He rapped on the doors and turned the handle and pushed one of them open. “Liza, darlin’,” he drawled, walking in.

Lindsay followed him, suddenly scared.

The room on the other side was enormous and Lindsay’s first impression was that all of New York was spread before her, for the other side of the room was almost all ceiling to calf-level windows and the view was a stunning one, a forest of skyscrapers.

Between the bank of windows and where Lindsay stood, stunned, lay a cozy arrangement of coffee table, sofa and easy chairs, united by a colorful rug spread across the thick carpet. And beyond that was a desk—a big desk that glowed with age and care.

“Luke! Darling!” The woman coming toward them was a larger-than-life vision in flowing silk, her blonde hair shining with good health and her stride long and confident.

Abruptly, Lindsay felt her heartbeat leap to her throat and with no warning she felt a wave of prickly heat flash through her, making her feel ill and weak.

Luke’s hand was on her arm, not even allowing her to hang back and absorb the impact.

It might have been her mother walking toward her. Oh, the woman was older than Catherine had been when she died but everything else was the same—the confident walk, the well-modulated voice, the immaculate clothing and grooming.

Even the impressive, overwhelming office might have been picked up wholesale and transplanted to the Derwent, across town, with little fuss and disorientation.

There was also a secretary on tap, who sat in front of the desk, and swiveled to check the interruption.

The woman held her hands out toward Luke as she came closer and gave him a hug and two of those kisses in the air by his ear that people who socialize a lot seemed to perfect without a lesson. Lindsay had never got the hang of it. Had never tried, in fact.

Luke drew Lindsay closer and she let herself be drawn. Reluctantly.

“Eliza, I’d like you to meet Lindsay Eden. A friend of mine from Deerfoot Falls.”

Eliza’s smile broadened as she turned to her. “Welcome my dear. Is this your first time in New York?”

“No,” Lindsay said truthfully and her voice emerged tight and strangled.

Eliza frowned a tiny bit but Luke placed a hand on her silk-clad arm and she smiled up at him instead.

“Lindsay, this is Eliza Pierse.” He turned to look at her. “My aunt,” he added, watching her.

Lindsay couldn’t help it. A little gasp emerged from her and she knew it was almost a moan.

“Are you feeling quite well, my dear?” Eliza asked gently. “You’ve gone a ghastly shade of gray—quickly, Luke! Catch her!”

For Lindsay’s strength had suddenly left her and try as she might, she couldn’t get her feet to cooperate and move her to the sofas a few feet away.

But Luke was there, lifting her and obligingly sliding her onto the luxurious deep velvet cushions on the sofa. “Are you going to be sick?” he whispered as he laid her down, his voice low enough so that no one else would hear. He sat on the coffee table beside her.

“No. I just—I just got dizzy for a minute.” It took effort to speak coherently. It was like being completely and utterly drunk, when the world ebbed and flowed around you and sound came and went in noisy waves and you could only make sense of it all by concentrating furiously on one object at a time.

She found herself staring at Eliza. Luke’s aunt Eliza, she reminded herself. The woman was sitting on the other end of the sofa, one knee casually hooked over the top of the arm, the other foot propping her up on the floor, as she leaned on the back of the sofa, watching a little anxiously. It was an uncannily close resemblance to the way Luke had been using the arm of the sofa for a perch at his apartment.

She should have expected this, she realized. She should have known. Hindsight be damned. This was something she might have anticipated if she had just lifted her head above her own miseries for half a moment.

“Here, Mr. Pierse,” the secretary murmured and Lindsay turned her head to see her offering Luke a glass of water.

“Thanks,” Luke said absently, taking the glass. But he was watching her.

“I’m fine,” Lindsay murmured. “I don’t think I should have water, though.”

Luke put the glass on the table.

Eliza stood up. “Penny, I’d like you to go check the final numbers for the Armstrong wedding on Saturday night—see if they’ve emailed them in yet.”

Penny nodded and picked up her notebook and left.

Eliza sat on the coffee table next to Luke, carefully pushing the glass of water well back out of reach of both of them. She peered at Lindsay. “That was quite a turn. Are you pregnant, my dear?”

Lindsay found herself blushing from her toes to the roots of her hair. She couldn’t help it. The question was simple enough but this was Luke’s aunt. She couldn’t just open her mouth and say yes. Which meant she had to lie. And Lindsay knew with utter certainty that any lie she offered would be instantly seen through.

Luke shook his head. “It’s not that at all, Lizzy. She’s just seen a ghost, so to speak. It’s my fault. Lindsay’s mother was Catherine Eden.”

Eliza’s eyes opened a little wider. “You mean the Catherine Eden? Manager of the Derwent here in New York?”

“That one,” Luke confirmed and his voice held just a touch of dryness. Lindsay studied him, wondering what had caused that ironic note.

But Eliza didn’t notice, for she clapped her hands together and was staring at Lindsay. “Oh, this is a double pleasure, Lindsay. Your mother… My goodness but this will sound so childish! I suppose it’s fair to say your mother was my role model. She was a pioneer in this industry—a pioneer for women. I was just starting out in the business when she died—my first managerial role. I was so green then!” She laughed gaily. “You must be so proud of her. No one has ever come close to following in her footsteps.”

“Not even Lindsay,” Luke added softly.

Eliza smiled. “You’re in the hospitality trade too? Well, that makes sense, I suppose. All in the family. Look at us.” Eliza gently cuffed Luke’s shoulder. “Luke’s a chip off the old block too. His father—my brother—once managed the Albion too. Before his alcoholism truly got the better of him. Well, I’m sure I’m not breaking any confidences to you telling you that particular family skeleton.”

Luke’s father managed this hotel? Lindsay looked to Luke for confirmation and what she saw there frightened her. He was watching her with the same steady remoteness, the air of sadness settling around him like a shroud.

It was true then.

Lindsay couldn’t concentrate on what Eliza was saying next. It was too much—she desperately needed to think.

Luke laid his hand on Eliza’s arm. “Liza, would you mind… Could you give us a couple of minutes here?”

Eliza smiled, all professional charm and grace. “It’s about time I chased up about those damn wedding numbers myself, anyway,” she declared. She held out her hand to Lindsay. “This really was a pleasure, Lindsay.” She held out a business card that magically appeared in her left hand. “Please, when you’re feeling more yourself, call me. I’d love to take you to lunch and have a chat.”

“Thank you.” Lindsay took the card and Eliza left the room, discreetly shutting the doors behind her.

Luke hadn’t moved from his half-slouch on the table.

Lindsay retreated to silence, wondering what Luke could possibly say in response to this that would sound at all understandable.

He sighed and straightened up. “Now you know.”

“She could have been my mother for all the difference it made!”

“I know. The similarities kept me awake for nights on end.” Despite the flip answer, Luke’s expression was utterly serious.

“Is that… Is this family of yours the reason you came to Deerfoot Falls?”

He pursed his lips, considering. “Sort of. Maybe. It was time to move on. To get away.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Her mind kept slipping back to marvel over the similarities between Eliza and her mother. It was frightening, in a way.

“You see now, don’t you, why I’m the worst person in the world to want in your life?” He waved his hand around the office. “I could be blood brother to the woman who made your life a complete misery.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Tiredness was pulling at her mind.

“I need to think about this,” she told him.

He was silent for a long time. “I guess that’s fair,” he said, at last. “Where are you staying? I’ll drive you there.”

She looked at her watch. “I’m booked on the five thirty flight back home.”

His brow lifted. “Home. Okay…”

She sat up, bringing her feet back to the ground.

“Are you going to be all right to fly?” he asked.

She grimaced. “After all this? Flying will be relaxing.”

He looked away and Lindsay cursed herself. “Luke, I appreciate you showing me—for introducing me to your aunt. But you knew it would be a shock. You told her I’d seen a ghost, so you knew ahead of time.”

“Why do you think it’s taken me so long to tell you?” he shot back. He took a deep breath. “I kept chickening out.” and he lifted a stray lock of hair from her temple and brushed it back. “I wanted to enjoy it a little longer…”

Lindsay could feel herself responding just to the touch of his fingertips in her hair and hated herself for the weakness.

She was going to have to be strong now. Luke had no more mysteries to reveal. She had all the facts now. She clasped her hands together.

“Now I know it all, I have to think about the future. I have decisions to make.” She touched her belly. “This child means I can’t afford the weakness of emotional choices. I can’t just think about me anymore.”

His eyes were very black and totally unrevealing. “I know.”

“I’m going to go back to Deerfoot Falls. What do I tell Doug?”

He frowned. “I’ll deal with him.” It was almost a growl. He stood up and held out his hand. “Come on—I’ll get you to the airport. I can tell you from extensive experience that it’ll take a good hour to get there at this time of day.”

It took two hours, for first she had to check out of the motel she had stayed in the previous two nights while she was tracking down Luke. She hadn’t quite been able to stay at the Derwent. The discomfort level would have been too high even if she wasn’t watching her bank account right now.

Throughout the two hours Luke was the charming, funny PR man she remembered from the Derwent. The change was uncomfortable. It showed her just how much Luke’s behavior had began to change when he was with her and how comfortable she had become with the man she had begun to think of as the hidden Luke.

But that man was back in hiding and it was her fault he’d retreated.

Luke waited with her until her flight was boarding and then walked her to the boarding gate. She hesitated a little, unwilling to simply say goodbye and walk away—yet she couldn’t really think of anything appropriate, either.

But Luke’s hand on her arm, pulling her aside, halted her. She turned to face him and realized with a jolt that he’d dropped his mask. The real Luke was looking at her. He cupped her face in his hands, studying her with the intent gaze of someone storing up details for later. He didn’t say anything and she didn’t know what to say, either.

His dark eyes seemed to be trying to tell her something she couldn’t quite read.

“Take care of yourself,” he murmured at last and she sensed there was far more he wanted to say but couldn’t. Something was blocking the words.

“I will,” she answered inadequately. She added, “Thank you too. For showing me. For letting me in.”

He shook his head a little. “Ah, Lynds, you were already in. Didn’t you know that?” A tiny furrow appeared in his brow. “You just won’t take up residence.” His voice was a rough whisper.

He kissed her, then, a gentle touch of the lips that lingered a little. She found herself clenching his jacket lapels and fought the impulse to pull him closer, to make him stay.

He dropped his hands and tried to step back but she still held his jacket. He rested his hands on her fists. “Time to go.”

The attendants announced the final call just then and Lindsay knew they were probably gently trying to nudge her aboard the plane too, for they could see her from their desk at the side of the gate.

Panic gripped her.

“It wouldn’t work,” she said quickly, trying to spill it all out instantly, to explain herself. “We wouldn’t work. You wouldn’t change. I can’t change. And you’re bad for me. You said it.”

“I said it,” he agreed heavily.

“You’re New York. I’m Deerfoot Falls. And your family—”

“Lynds, don’t do this.”

“I can’t help it!” she confessed. “I don’t know how to get on that plane.”

His hands on hers tightened and her fists were plucked away. “Go,” he said.

She nodded.

“Just turn. Walk away. Don’t look back. I won’t be here, anyway. Hell, I’ve got things to do. I should have been doing them for the last two hours except I had to make sure you didn’t get mugged on the way to the airport like some hick tourist.”

Even as he said it, she knew he was lying. Knew he was helping her leave.

“Thanks,” she whispered. She picked up her cabin bag and walked swiftly toward the gate. And she didn’t look back but not because he’d told her not to. It was because she didn’t want him to see her tears.

Chapter Seventeen

Spring was threatening when Lindsay went for her first ultrasound scan. Both the spring and the scan acted like a cattle prod, pushing her out of the nice, comfortable bolt-hole she had been hiding in since her return from New York.

Like the lingering winter, she had been sluggishly pretending she was getting her life organized for the last few weeks.

In truth, she had been hibernating. It was too much to have to think about the future when her alternatives seemed to be so few and so bleak.

She had never been a big spender and consequently had a good financial cushion to tide her over. An immediate financial crisis might have got her moving and the lack of it helped make it easier to procrastinate each day over the tasks she must undertake to get herself organized for the future.

Each day she put it off, the easier it became the next day to do it again.

Except the baby in her was an alarm clock that could not be ignored. Her timeline was not open-ended at all. By the time this baby was born she knew she had to have her life settled so that she was ready to cope with the demands of motherhood. Alone.

But it was easier to let it all slide for now. Fall next year seemed to be so far away that she could convince herself there was plenty of time to get things done.

When she entered the examination room, her biggest concern was the pressure from her bloated bladder.

Her first dose of cold reality was when the technician helped her onto the table. “Hi. I’m Gillian. The baby’s father won’t be coming to watch?”

“Er…no.”

Gillian cocked her head to one side. “That’s a shame,” she said breezily. “The first scan is always so exciting. I’ll videotape it for him, then, okay?”

“Oh…uh…sure.” She could feel her cheeks starting to warm. It was the first time she had been confronted with the fact of her single-parenthood and the natural assumptions that people would make about her and she hadn’t really rehearsed the words to explain it all.

Gillian pushed a videotape into the maw of a bank of high-tech equipment and settled onto a stool. She smeared a gel onto the handpiece and slid Lindsay’s gown back to reveal her belly.

“Did you drink plenty of water?” she asked.

“Six cups, as they said.”

“Good. Then things should show up nicely.” Gillian pressed the handpiece into her flesh just above the pubic bone and quickly made a few adjustments on the console, before nodding happily. “There we go.”

She moved the handpiece around a few more times, pausing here and there to study the monitor in front of her. And a couple more times she nodded, as if she was pleased.

“Let me just measure the cranium here.” She punched buttons. “I calculate you’re about ten weeks into the pregnancy. Does that sound right to you?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve got a nice, healthy baby growing there, Ms Eden. Everything looks good.” She swiveled a monitor around so Lindsay could see the screen and the grainy black and white triangular image. “There’s your baby.”

“Really?” Lindsay couldn’t make head or tail of the mass of snow.

Gillian pointed to a vaguely solid line, a thin moon shape. “That’s the head there, see?”

“Sort of…” Lindsay offered doubtfully.

Gillian smiled. “I work with this stuff all day. It’s as plain as print to me. But hang on…” She moved the handpiece around again, small adjustments, until she froze.

“There,” she said, tapping the screen. Where she tapped was a cloudy patch that seemed to pulse frenetically. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat.”

“No! Already?”

“Oh yes—there’s a heartbeat from a very early stage. That’s life you’re looking at.”

Lindsay lay back, as thick, heavy shock settled into her bones. My child. Abruptly the nebulous concept of a baby somewhere in her future coalesced into a concrete, undeniable reality. Her child lived. It was here already. And she could not put off its future any longer.

“Do you want to know the sex of your baby?” Gillian asked softly.

“Can you tell that?” Her voice was husky and she could feel tears pressing at her eyes.

“Not always but this time, yes, I can definitely tell.” Gillian smiled, with a twinkle in her eyes and waited for her decision.

“Tell me.”

Her smile broadened. “You’d better stock up on blue, honey.”

“It’s a boy?”

“Absolutely.”

A son. Luke’s son.

And suddenly, she began to cry in weak, breathless little hiccups that hurt and made her cry more.

All her high-minded principals, all the agonizing and decision making she had been putting off, all melted away beneath the tangible reality of a child.

“Oh, hey! Ooops…where’s the box?” Gillian exclaimed, reaching for a tissue box sitting on top of the equipment. She handed Lindsay a few tissues and patted her shoulder. “It’s okay, honey, you go ahead and cry. You’re not the first one to turn on the waterworks in here, by a long shot.”

“I’m sorry…” Lindsay managed to blubber.

“Pshh! Like your hormones aren’t already messed-up big time by the baby, anyway. You ain’t got much choice over what’s going to upset you and what isn’t for the next little while.”

“I wish—I wish Luke could see this.”

Gillian grinned. “Oh…all those big men—they’re even worse than the moms, let me tell you. I’ve seen ’em break down and sob.” She started punching keys furiously. “Tell you what—I’m going to put an annotation on the screen.”

“For what?”

“So your Luke can see it for himself. I’m going to put a great big arrow to the heartbeat and add a note. See?” And on the monitor, a white arrow did appear and HEARTBEAT floated next to it.

“That’s on the videotape?” Lindsay asked.

“Everything that shows up on this monitor is. Even the head I showed you. You’ll have to show him that one, though, okay? I can’t back up the tape on this.”

Lindsay mopped at her face but tears were still oozing from her eyes and the tight constriction in her chest and squeezing her throat told her she wasn’t finished yet.

Gillian removed the handpiece and wiped away the excess gel from Lindsay’s stomach and lowered the gown. “And now, I know, you’re dying to go to the washroom.”

“Yes!”

Gillian pointed and Lindsay hopped off the table and raced for the indicated door. When she returned to the examination room, Gillian held out the video cassette. “They’re going to charge you an extra twenty dollars for the tape, okay? Just letting you know so you don’t get a shock when you get the bill.”

Twenty dollars? For a blank tape? It was an outrageous price but Lindsay would cheerfully have paid double.

* * * * *

She found a bench beneath a bare tree, out in the grounds of the hospital. She sat in the weak sunshine, hugging the videotape and occasionally wiping at her eyes.

Just like the almost-spring day, she was waking up. And her perspective was a new one.

All the lethargic thoughts that had been plaguing her for weeks, begging for an answer, came back now in a rush and the answers supplied themselves readily. Easily.

After twenty minutes, she rose and walked back to her car, to drive home. But she detoured downtown and stopped off at the tiny film production company that made its living from supplying footage of mountains and snow to other productions in the east and in California. There, she paid another exorbitant fee to have the tape copied.

The copy she slipped into a padded mailer, along with a note she wrote on some old Derwent notepaper she found at the bottom of her bag.

Freud sucks. Logic doesn’t count. This is reality. L.

And, after a moment of chewing her lip and hesitating, she added at the bottom, I’ve finally figured it out.

Quickly, before she could change her mind, she stuffed the note into the mailer, sealed it and took it to the postal counter to get it weighed and posted.

The address she wrote on the front she had memorized weeks ago.

* * * * *

After that, her days seemed brighter and her energy and enthusiasm came back in a rush, although she found she was physically tired more often than usual.

She began looking for work, even though she cheerfully accepted that no one was likely to hire her until she’d had the baby and her child-care arrangements were in place. Besides, in a little tourist town like Deerfoot Falls, there wasn’t much call for a masters degree in spatial mathematics—a fact that amused both her and her father.

She also started building a list of necessities for the arrival of the baby and a second list of arrangements she would have to make for the birth and after.

Most of her spare time she spent working in her father’s workshop and these were some of her most peaceful hours. With the world left at the top of the stairs, she worked free of care and troublesome thoughts.

The peace lasted for a week.

Edward had been expecting a friend and fellow woodworker to drop in for coffee and a long ambling discussion about their shared passion. Lindsay answered the door, expecting to find George Waschuk and fell back a step in confusion when the door revealed Luke instead.

“Hi,” he said, simply.

Her heart gave one enormous, hurtful beat, then returned to a fast, furious patter.

Hungrily, she studied him. He was in jeans and a polo-neck sweater. Black, of course, which emphasized the dark eyes and brows. The solid shoulders, built up from constant hard labor on his houses and which his suits always seemed to disguise, were agreeably outlined by the sweater. The jeans were worn and snug around his hips.

She found her gaze lifting to his mouth. She ached to be kissed. She missed his caresses, the marvelous sensations he could provoke in her, the feel of his body against hers. But above all, she missed his kisses.

When he kissed her, it was the hidden Luke who kissed her. There was a fundamental honesty and directness in his kisses that made her yearn for more.

She recalled, fleetingly, the last time she had dared to kiss him. The low, deeply felt “damn you” he had uttered.

All that had happened an eon ago.

She realized Luke was watching her, puzzled. She had been standing and staring at him wordlessly.

She shook her head, to bring her attention back to the moment and Luke’s brow lifted enquiringly.

She spoke the thought closest to the surface. “It’s too soon.”

“It’s been eight weeks,” he said mildly, although she thought she could see confusion in his expression. “Way past time, for most people.”

“You got the tape.”

“Tape?” He shook his head, his confusion more than apparent, now.

He hadn’t seen the tape. Then what was he doing here? And the realization made her mouth open a little in shocked wonder.

He was here for his own reasons.

Her heart, which had begun to slow and steady, suddenly leaped again. Raw, undiluted hope shot through her and she began to tremble.

He pushed a hand through his hair—a mannerism whose familiarity made her breath catch. He was unsure of himself.

“You know,” he drawled, “most people would invite a visitor in on a raw day like this, boss.”

She blinked furiously at the sting of tears in her eyes.

Don’t lose it, she warned herself.

“You’re here for tea?” she said, fighting for a casual, flippant tone and managing it. Just.

“Hell, no, I just stopped by to change the flat tire on my camel and water my petunias.” He took a deep breath. “Please, Lynds.” It was a softly spoken plea.

She stepped aside and motioned him in.

In the lounge, he stopped in the middle of the floor, looking around.

“It looks bare or something,” he said.

“The last time you saw it, there was a huge great Christmas tree in the corner,” she pointed out.

He nodded slowly. “That’s how I remember this place. From Christmas.”

She reached for the normal to cover her nervousness. “Do you want tea?” she asked. “Or coffee?”

He ran his hand through his hair again. “No. Thanks. The way I’m feeling, I’d spill it or something.”

The confession made her jump a little.

“See, the thing is, Lynds, I finally got around to doing some thinking. I’ve been real short on solid thinking for about six months now. I’ve been wandering around trying to dodge the truth and the problem with truth is that sooner or later it catches up with you. And I learned a long time ago…I have a cousin, called Peter. He tried to explain it to me once.

“He used to have a wife. Shelley. Nice lady. Lawyer in a big fancy law firm on Wall Street. But he was in Macy’s one day, getting her a birthday present. Lingerie. Something in red, he told the assistant. Well, one thing led to another and Peter started seeing the assistant on weekends and arranging out-of-town trips. Pretty soon, she decides she wants to get married and Peter can’t explain why he can’t get married without explaining he’s already married. See, he’d forgotten to mention that in all the time he had been taking Felicity out. So he told her he only had six months left to live.

“And Felicity, instead of understanding and letting him go, gets upset and says it doesn’t matter, she’ll marry him anyway—she loves him and she’ll be his wife for however long God gives them together and in the hereafter too. So he’s really in a bind now and finally, he ducks it and marries her. Are you following me?”

Lindsay sank down onto the sofa. “Bigamy. I’m with you.”

“Well, he didn’t really consider it bigamy because he loved them both. If he stopped to think about it at all, it was to wonder how he was going to keep both households going and bring in an income at the same time, because he was a night shift worker at one and a nine to five suit at the other.”

“Even though he was dying of…whatever it was?”

“Leukemia. Right. But only Felicity knew that. So finally, he got a medical student friend of his in on the whole caper and rigged a couple of dummy appointments so Felicity’s feelings wouldn’t be hurt. He had to quit the job he didn’t have because as he was dying he wouldn’t have been able to keep it anyway. Too weak. And all those chemotherapy sessions tend to drain you. He was researching it, you see. He wanted to keep it as authentic as possible. And his medical friend pointed out that for a man dying of leukemia and going through the third round of heavy chemo, he was way too healthy. Worse, Peter had told Felicity his favorite food in the whole world was pasta just like she cooked it, so Felicity cooked it every opportunity she had to, to feed him up. Comfort food, she said.

“So the medical student—Dwayne—put him on a low, low fat diet. Except for when Felicity fed him.”

“Or Shelley,” she added, feeling a light-headed bubbling sensation building in her chest.

“Or Shelley. And he had to run every day, to burn off calories. Of course, he had to shave his head, as he was supposed to be losing his hair. Only he had to explain his new shining dome to Shelley, so he told her the box-building plant where he was supposed to work at nights was riddled with lice and this was the only way to avoid a really nasty infestation.”

He took a breath. “Well, Shelley went into a panic when he started dropping off all the pounds—thought he was ill. He convinced her it was a reaction to the chemicals they were using at the plant to keep down the lice infestation. She wanted to sue the pants off the box plant and he headed her off by confronting the company with his medical records and settling out of court with their lawyers for a massive amount that meant he didn’t have to work again—he could just rest and recover at home.

“What he was actually doing, however, was channeling the money Felicity made to support him while he was battling leukemia into Shelley’s bank account, which he raided when his medical insurance paid off another hefty medical fee—which was how he explained the drain at Felicity’s end. Shelley couldn’t figure out where the money was going, so he told her he had lost a bundle in a stock market scheme that had gone awry and he had been trying to pay it off for the last three months, while the Irish mafia were breathing down his neck.”

Lindsay could feel the laughter building inside her. It wasn’t just Luke’s ridiculous, outrageous story. It was the free-floating airy feeling of release and freedom from a dozen different nagging worries and doubts.

“What happened to Peter?”

Luke shrugged. “Felicity got pregnant. That caused her a minor hiccup of doubt, ’cause sperm count is supposed to subside during radical chemical and radiation therapy. But she was a trusting girl and she loved Peter and put it down to the superman status she’d always known him to have. So she found herself a lawyer to draw up a trust fund for the unborn child.” He shrugged and held out his hands. “She found Shelley.”

Lindsay’s laughter emerged as a smothered guffaw, which she valiantly tried to suppress. Tears of mirth squeezed their way onto her cheeks and she slapped her hand across her mouth to shut in the laughter.

“What? You don’t believe me?” Luke tried to look wounded and failed.

Lindsay shook her head mutely.

“I swear it’s true. I’ll even introduce you to Peter one day. When he’s out of Riker’s.”

She controlled her laughter enough to speak. “This is your family? Your cousin?”

“Well, third cousin, or something. The relationship is a little stretched, I admit.” He sank down into a crouch right in front of her, bringing his eyes level with hers. “But it’s really a story about me.”

She felt her eyes widen as she tried to assimilate this.

“Oh, not the wives and the lice infestations,” he assured her. “But Peter did what I’ve been doing all my life. Pushing the truth away. Dodging it, ducking it. Mainly because it just too damn unpleasant or unwelcome. Only truth comes back around sooner or later and the harder you’ve fought to duck it, the bigger and harder it hits when it does finally catch up with you.” He grimaced. “Well, that’s what I’ve been doing the last eight weeks. Recovering from the impact.”

He caressed her cheekbone with his fingertip. “I’ve always admired your ability to speak the unadorned truth.”

“You mean I did it? I was the impact?”

“Hell, yes,” he said feelingly. He picked up her hand from the sofa cushions. “I’ve got something else to show you.”

“Another executive aunt or hermit roommate?”

“That was the other side of the continent and a whole other world away.” He shook his head a little. “This time it’s just me.”

* * * * *

He drove her to one of the older, established areas of town, Strathmore Valley, where the houses were skirted by well-tended gardens and the streets hugged the feet of the mountains in long graceful curves. Despite being an older suburb, there were still lots of families in the area. Bikes littered lawns everywhere—proof that most kids already considered it to be springtime despite the patches of snow still lingering in the shadows.

Luke turned into the long, sloping drive of a small house and drove up to the closed garage door. He got out and Lindsay followed curiously.

The house was perched overlooking a wide sweep of the north end of town and most of the peaks on the other side of the valley. Somewhere up there was the Gardner Country Club’s private slopes and chalet. She grimaced and turned away, to find Luke was watching her.

“What?” she demanded.

“Happy memories?” he asked, sorting through keys on his key ring.

“Very funny.”

He nodded and strode to the trunk of the car and opened it. He lifted out a cardboard box and shut the trunk, then stepped up onto the deck that lined the house and walked up to the front door.

Lindsay watched, a little shocked, as he lifted his key ring again and unlocked the front door.

A dozen questions occurred to her and no answers came willingly. She hurried up the steps onto the polished floorboards of the deck and followed him inside.

It was warm inside but echoed hollowly. She knew that empty smell from experience. Luke had moved into a large lounge room on the right, through a wide arch and down three polished wooden steps.

“Shut the door,” he called. “Don’t want to lose all the heat.”

She shut the door automatically and followed him into the lounge area. It was a beautiful room—or could be, with the right care and attention to details. Built in bookcases covered the front wall, except for two tall windows. Beneath the windows, the bookcases made window seats—or would with the addition of comfortable cushions. Sunlight would stream in those windows during the afternoon. Now it was coming in through the two narrow windows on either side of the fireplace on the connecting wall, pooling on the thick patterned carpet.

“Luke? Is this a Habitat project?”

“No.” He put his box down and shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s my place.”

She wasn’t exactly surprised—not after he had opened the front door with a key on his own key ring. But she still found herself assessing the room with a different eye. “Your place? Here? In Deerfoot Falls? I would have thought New York at least—”

He strode past her. “Come on. I’ll give you a tour.”

He led her through the big kitchen at the back of the house, the study and bathroom downstairs and the three roomy bedrooms and bathrooms upstairs. The basement had been lined and carpeted at some stage in the house’s life and service rooms had been framed off at the end but very little else had been done with it. It still had lots of potential.

“It’s a great house, Luke,” she told him as they arrived back at the lounge room. “But it’s not something I’d ever think you would consider buying.”

“I know.” He moved back to the cardboard box again. “Can you help me with these?”

She moved to his side as he opened the box and he pulled out half a dozen old hardcover books and handed them to her.

She stared at them, confused.

“They’re books,” he clarified.

“No kidding,” she breathed. “They’re yours?” Suddenly her heart was galloping along.

“Absolutely. They go on the shelves.”

She walked over to the shelves and put them on one of the lower ones, her mind sluggishly trying to figure out the significance of Luke having books. She didn’t know what it meant exactly, but she found herself trembling again. Instead of crouching in front of the book shelf, she lowered herself to her knees and gripped the front of the shelf, staring blindly at the backs of the books.

Did she dare hope…?

Luke sat on the floor next to her.

“The thing is, Lynds,” he said softly, “I couldn’t get beyond decades of habit. I thought I liked my life. I thought I liked the independence and the lack of close connections. So I spent a lot of time making sure everyone stayed that far away. Even you.”

She bit her lip, feeling the too-easily-provoked tears stinging her eyes. She stayed silent, hoping there would be more.

“And the whole time I was furiously building homes for people. I guess it had to come out somewhere.” He gave a gusty sigh. “I was wrong, Lynds. I was wrong, you were right and you had to come to New York and slap me upside the face before I got it. I watched you boarding that plane back here and it felt like someone had taken a cleaver to my chest. I don’t ever want to experience that again.”

She cleared her throat. “That was eight weeks ago.”

“Well, it takes a while to quit your job, start a business, build up financial backers and buy a home. I moved as fast as I could.”

“You quit your job? At the Derwent?”

He nodded. “By voice mail too.”

“Poor Doug.”

“Sod Doug,” Luke said with a growl. He picked up her hand and rested it on his knee, spreading the fingers. He gently caressed the flesh and she felt little tremors and quivers spreading up her arm and through her body in response. She gritted her jaw against them.

“So, Lynds…”

She stayed silent.

He exhaled sharply. “Hell, this is harder than I thought.” He dropped his gaze to her hand and laid his own across it and his palm was hot. “I’m not sure how I’ll go with this but I want to try because I finally figured out this is what I really want.”

“What is ‘this’?” she asked softly.

He looked up then. “You. The baby. This…” He waved his hand around the room. “I bought it with you in mind. I’ve been running around all my life trying to find a family, a home. I guess I’m an idiot because up until you left New York, it never occurred to me that if I wanted a home, I could make one where ever I am. I just have to fill it with people I love. That’s the key.”

His eyes were steady on her face and Lindsay knew he was watching to see if she would accept his words. His offer. The tears crowded her then and spilled down her cheeks and she tried to wipe at them but Luke beat her to it, gently smoothing them away.

“Please say yes, Lynds,” he said quietly.

She had to clear her throat to speak. “I said yes a week ago.”

“You did?” Delight warred with confusion on his face.

“But I sent it to New York. I didn’t know you were back here again.”

“This tape you mentioned?” He scrambled to his feet. “Hang on.” He strode to the front door and she heard the letterbox lid open and shut.

When he returned, he was carrying her padded mailer. “Josh posted it on. Can I open it?”

She nodded and Luke ripped it open. He caught the video as it dropped into his hands and sat back down on the carpet to read the note. And frowned. He looked at the tape. “What is it?” he asked.

She laid her hand over her stomach. “It’s the ultrasound scan of the baby. And his heart beating.”

“His?”

“Yes.”

He lowered the cassette to the floor and looked at her. “This is scary stuff,” he said quietly.

“I’m scared too.”

“I’ve never done this before.”

She couldn’t help her watery smile. “I should hope not.”

“I mean…the family, home, whole life thing.”

“Most people start out as amateurs,” she told him. She leaned over to caress his cheek. “You’re supposed to kiss me now, I think.”

His dark eyes danced a little. “Really?” He picked her up and placed her in his lap, his arms wrapping around her. His first kiss was a light peck and she grabbed his sweater and shook him a little.

“You!”

He laughed and kissed her properly and Lindsay floated into the power of the kiss, her body tightening with pleasure, reveling because this time there would be no hasty push away, no epithet to follow. This time she knew he wanted her.

“This, I know how to do,” he said with a growl, his hand sliding the length of her thigh, to cup her bottom, his mouth trailing kisses and heat down her throat to the flesh visible at the top of her shirt, making her arch against him.

She felt herself slide to the carpet and Luke swiveled to lie against her, his body covering hers.

“I missed you,” she whispered against his cheek.

His answer was a small groan and his arms tightened around her. “These last eight weeks have been hell on wheels,” he said, his voice rough. “I didn’t know how much I’d come to count on seeing you at least once a day—even if it was to hear you rip me to shreds for another infraction of some sort. Did I ever tell you I love how beautiful and sexy you get when you’re angry?”

But Lindsay was busy dealing with another thought, an astonishing one. “My god!” she breathed and lifted his face from her neck so she could look him in the eye. “I just remembered. You joked about staying in Deerfoot Falls because of me. But you weren’t joking, were you?”

His smile faded. “I let you think I was joking, didn’t I? But it was you, Lynds. You were what got me on that plane every Monday morning.” His gaze was steady. Honest.

For a moment she could not speak. Then, she whispered, “Are there any other lies I should know about?”

“Grander than that one?” He shook his head. “I think you know them all now.” His gaze faltered and he glanced away for a moment. “I’m sorry about each and every one of them. I’m sorry for any hurt and confusion they caused you but you have to know. I don’t think I could have coped with loving you in any other way. And I do love you. It just took me forever to learn how to deal with it.”

“Oh, Luke—the trouble you’ve borrowed…”

He grimaced. “Yeah, well.”

She brushed back the unruly lock of hair that fell across his brow. “Kiss me again. I have some catching up to do, thanks to you.”

“At once, boss.” And he did.

Epilogue

Excerpt from the Deerfoot Falls Gazette, October 19 issue,

DEERFOOT FALLS, TUESDAY. Two of the town’s up-and-coming businesspeople, Luke and Lindsay Pierse, today celebrated the completion of construction on the first ten family homes built by their building company, Lucifer Homes. The new company will specialize in affordable, sensible homes for families of all sizes and incomes. At the press conference, Luke Pierse, who controls the promotion and sales for the company, announced that the company has just been awarded a lucrative contract to build medium density townhouses in the new GardenHeights area.

Later, the private family celebration took place at the hospital bedside of Lindsay Eden Pierse, company manager, who delivered a son, Adam Edward, a scant two hours before the press conference.

If you enjoyed Lucifer’s Lover
turn the page for an excerpt
from Eyes of a Stranger

Another  award-wining contemporary
romance from Tracy Cooper-Posey

Eyes Of A Stranger

Chapter One

It looked like the girl was being attacked.

Hot thick adrenaline leapt through him, and David nudged the prow of his boat towards the bridge pylon where she stood struggling.  He opened the throttles on the engines, making the clean-lined boat lift its nose and surge forward through the night-still waters.

He kept his eyes on the slight figure, willing her not to succumb to whatever force was assaulting her until he could reach her.

Then he saw what had first caught his notice.  From either side of the girl came a white flash.  Long, extended wings.  He saw her lunge forward, and her movement made her dress glitter and sparkle under the harsh glare of the neon tubes that illuminated the underside of the bridge.  Again, the flash of wings.  Then the boat drew close enough so that he could see past the girl.

Her supposed attacker was an albatross.

David sagged a little against the wheel, as a weak relief lifted some of the weight from him.  Then he straightened, and juggled the controls of the boat so that he could let it sidle up to the platform.  He cut the speed, ducked out of the wheel house, and tied the boat up at one of the mooring rings thoughtfully embedded in the concrete. His attention was free to deal with the little drama playing out on the platform.

She had a heavy garment in her hands—her coat, he assumed.  It was a raw night, cold for late summer, and the black dress she wore had little straps over her white shoulders, and that was all.  She was trying to drop the coat over the bird.

But the albatross was having none of it.  Every time she moved forward, the albatross reared back with a back-raking of his wings, gave an alarming hiss and tried to peck her.  As David watched, holding his breath, she tried again.  This time the bird shied back, and almost overbalanced.  It flapped its enormous wings a few times, trying to maintain balance.  The rush of air lifted his hair where he stood on the prow of the boat, sizing up the situation.

He could see now what the problem was.  Someone had left their bait and tackle on the platform—the bridge pylons were favorite spots for fishermen.  The albatross had been drawn to the bait, and had caught his feet and legs up into a helpless snarl of fishing line.  Now he was anchored to the iron pylon mounts.

“Throw your coat to me, and I’ll drop it on him from behind.”  David spoke quietly to avoid alarming the bird any further, or startling her, either, although she couldn’t have failed to notice the arrival of the boat.

She didn’t show any alarm or surprise.  She merely spared a single glance at him, and sea-green eyes raked him from head to foot in one all-encompassing glance.  It was like being stripped bare, but he barely noticed the thoroughness of examination because he was too busy dealing with the impact of her appearance.  It was the first time he had looked at her face.

She was beautiful.  Under the unforgiving glare of the neon, her face was alabaster white, clear, and the features were balanced with perfect symmetry.  Her eyes!  Her eyes were enormous jewels framed with thick, assertive brows.  Her eyes were simply glorious.

He remembered to start breathing again.  His heart, which had been slowing after the subsidence of his first alarm, began to beat with an unusual agony.  He couldn’t pin down why she was so beautiful and perfect, but he wanted her to look at him again, so he could examine her face longer, more closely.  She had only glanced at him, and he felt deprived.

“What’s wrong with using your coat?”  Although her attention was fully on the bird, he could hear a touch of dry amusement mixed with exasperation in her tone.  He dragged his eyes away from a visual tour of the sweet lines of her profile, and looked down at his leather jacket.

“I’d be happy to play Sir Walter Raleigh, but your coat has more material in it, and that albatross is a big bird.”

She considered the matter for another short second, then conceded with a business-like nod of her head.  “Here, then.”  She bundled up the coat and threw it to him, with slow movements designed not to alarm the bird.  “Hurry,” she said shortly.  “That line is cutting into his legs every time he pulls back.”

“I’m hurrying.”  He unrolled the coat and shook out the folds so he could hold it like a matador’s cloak.  It really was a cloak, he noticed.  “Move towards him so his attention is on you.”

She didn’t have to move much.  With each movement she made the swirls of silver beading on her dress glittered with eye-watering intensity, and the bird’s attention hadn’t shifted from her.

David stepped forward, straddling the boat and the pylon, lifting the cloak high, waiting for the best moment to drop it over the bird.

The woman seemed to sense his readiness, for she crouched, bringing her head down level with the bird’s.  The non-threatening motion kept the bird occupied, and didn’t alarm it, which would have caused the bird to spread its wings again.

He dropped the cloak over the bird and lunged forward to tuck his arms around the bundle before the bird could spread his wings.  He was surprised at the strength of the bird’s struggles, but after a few seconds it stopped, perhaps recognizing its cause was lost.

“Where do you keep your knife?” the woman asked, pre-empting his suggestion that she climb aboard and get something to cut the line.

“In the wheel house there’s a Swiss army knife hanging on a hook next to the wheel.”

She nodded, and turned towards the boat, then hesitated, looking down at her shoes.  He’d noticed them before; strappy black stilettos, the heels thin and elegant, complimenting the fine ankles rising up from them.  They would be murder on the soft wood of the deck.  He almost winced at the thought of the damage they would do.

She bent, unbuckled the shoes and stepped out of them, then climbed over to the boat and swung herself up to the wheel house with a flash of calves and knees from beneath the long hem of the extraordinary dress, and was gone.

He admired her thoughtfulness, especially in the face of such driving need to hurry.  Where had she come from?  The dress was unusual, the sort of thing you saw at formal evenings, or the theatre or opera.

She was back quickly, and the one glance he got of her face before she crouched back down in front of him showed him a closed expression.  She was absorbed in the problem of freeing the bird, and her focus was so tight that nothing would distract her from that goal.  The fierceness of her concentration intrigued him.  It was as if she was fighting off more than the awkwardness of having to work with a total stranger.

He tucked the ends of the cloak beneath the bird and lifted it so she could reach the line tangled around its legs.  She unfolded the little scissors from the knife, and used them to snip at the knots, gently tugging the line away and dropping it to the ground in bundles.

From his angle, he could only see the top of her head.  He enjoyed the way the light bounced off the mahogany curls and waves of her hair, which fell almost to her waist.  There was a rich, clean scent rising from her, and a hint of an exotic, dark perfume which caused his nostrils to flare and something to roll over slowly at the base of his stomach, that weakened his muscles and sapped his mind.

He lost the passing of time.

She lifted her head to look at him.  “It’s finished.  You can let it go now.”  Her enormous eyes were grave.  She straightened, folding the scissors back into the knife case with precise, neat movements.

There was some blood on her hands.

He stood awkwardly, keeping the bird tucked under his arms, eyeing the blood.  “The bird’s hurt.  I’ll take it to a vet.  There’s one just down the marina—”

“No.”

There wasn’t any compromise in her voice.  There wasn’t room for any.  He frowned a little, and tried to reason it out for her.  “It’s hurt.  The vet will just check it over, make sure it’s okay.”  Suddenly, he thought he understood.  “It’s all right.  They’ll let it go again.”

Her eyes narrowed.  “No,” she repeated.  Her whole expression had changed.  Was it anger he could see?  “Let the bird go.  It’s only a small cut.  The bird will heal by itself.  Let it go.”

“Are you willing to take that chance after all the effort you’ve been through to free the bird in the first place?”  He tried to keep his tone reasonable.

His reasonableness seemed to infuriate her.  Suddenly real, unmistakable anger flooded her face.  The glittering, towering rage made her seem taller and astonishingly more beautiful, in an earthy, far less surreal way than how her beauty had first struck him.

“You let the bird go!  Do you hear me?  You let it go!  Who are you to decide its fate?  It was born free, and it should be left free.”

“Hey, I’m concerned for the thing, too, you know.  I didn’t have to stop—”

“I didn’t ask you too,” she raged back.  She was holding her hands stiffly at her sides, clenched, her knuckles white.  “And now you can leave.  But first let the bird go.”

David stared at her, astonished.  It wasn’t just her anger that had stolen his tongue.  It was the sudden eclipsing of the ethereal, still beauty with this raging, hot…passion.  Was this what she had been holding back, a while ago?  Who was she?

An answer rose.  It was prompted, he knew, from the association of the operatic drama of her dress, and the passing notion he’d had about tackling the bird matador-style with the cloak.  The name leapt into his mind:  Carmen.

She was like Carmen; driven by her passionate, sensual nature to behavior that went against sense.

Before he could gather his thoughts together to formulate a response, the woman had grasped the sleeve of his jacket, and turned him around to face in the other direction, looking out under the bridge to the water on the other side. “See?” she demanded.  “That’s his mate.  She’s waiting for him.”

David saw the second albatross floating serenely on the dark water, at the edge of the area lit by the bridge lights.

“Don’t you understand?” she said.  “You have to let him go.  Anything else is cruelty.”  Her fingers were digging into his arm despite the leather between them.  Her eyes were wide, direct, trying to speak her urgency.  David didn’t need the message from her eyes:  Intense waves of feeling were radiating from her stance, her expression, from every curve and angle of her body.

He found himself nodding, as her impassioned plea made itself felt.  It wasn’t a matter of what was reasonable or logical, but what was right.  He lowered the bird to the concrete, and unwrapped the cloak.  The albatross stepped out and blinked.  After a moment to orientate itself and realize it was free, it waddled to the edge of the platform, and took off awkwardly.  Flapping steadily, it flew gracefully out along the harbor.  The mate gave a cry and took off from the water and joined the first in the air.

It pleased him to have been instrumental in the reunion, even though it had not been his idea.  He found himself smiling and turned to tell the woman standing beside him that she had been right.

She was silently crying.  Two large tears rolled down her cheeks as she strained to watch the escaping birds.

The impact of her tears slammed into him with the force of a train and again he was left breathless and his heart hammering.  He knew instinctively that she wasn’t solely empathizing with the albatross.  It was the symbolism of the bird’s freedom that meant so much to her.

Why?

He stared at her.  It had been a long while since he’d met anyone with the driving passions of this woman.  She had scrambled his senses and surprised him with her reactions at least twice already, and that was…unusual.  He’d grown used to dealing with business people whose motives were logical.  He could anticipate that sort of person.

She must have felt his stare for she scrubbed hurriedly at her cheeks, and whirled to pick up her shoes.  She reached for her cloak.

“Thanks for your help.”  Her voice was husky from the pressure of more dammed-back tears.

“Don’t go,” he responded without thought, maintaining his hold on the cloak.

He wanted her.  The thought stole into his mind with the covert agility of the subconscious prompting it, but as soon as the thought sounded he acknowledged it fully.  It wasn’t just her beauty.  That was only the beginning, the beckoning.  He would have been happy to give her beauty only a passing mental acknowledgment if he had not seen it shift and slide to reveal what lay beneath.  It was her.  She was romantic, empathetic, considerate, driven, emotional.  Sensual.  Gorgeous.

“Don’t go,” he repeated, trying to soften his voice, to remove any command from it.  He was too used to commanding, damn it.  Like the albatross, he knew she must be coaxed, gentled.  He didn’t know where the certainty sprang from, but he obeyed his instinct.

She looked a little surprised.  Then alarmed.  He watched her eyes widen as she looked at him.  This time she really looked and saw him, David, not the stranger who had helped her with the bird.

Awareness filled her face.

He saw her expression change and the same painful pleasure speared his heart, made his throat tighten and his entire body came to stiff alertness, the nerve endings sensitized to a painful degree.  In the heartbeat of silence between them he could hear – far away – the sound of traffic and – loud in his ears – her unsteady breath.  The shimmering black panels of her dress moved a little as she breathed.

Now she was aware of him, just as he was of her.  He recognized her awakening, thanks to his own hypersensitivity.

He felt the touch of chill air on his warm face, and it reminded him of more practical considerations.  He hauled his attention back to their whereabouts.  “You must be freezing.”  He unfurled her cloak.  He inspected it for dirt and damage, then dropped it around her shoulders, and pulled it close about her.  He tried to let go, but his hands wouldn’t loosen.  His mind was back on track, but his body was obeying different rhythms.

He swallowed.  His throat was very dry.

“Come on board for a minute,” he said.  “You can clean your hands and warm up before you go.”

Her eyes were filled with puzzlement and the unease in her expression had grown.  He didn’t know if it was a prudent wariness of strangers, or fear at the swift unexpected impact on her senses, but he knew either one would cause her to bolt for safety with only a little more pressure.  She began to protest hesitantly and he knew she was trying to act normally and sensibly despite scattered wits and tingling nerve-ends.  “No…I…”

“Just for a minute.”  He strove for a reasonable tone.  “You can’t run around Seattle at midnight with blood on your hands.  They’ll arrest you, or something.”

The wariness eased.  She nodded.  “Just for a minute.”

David almost sighed.  He felt like he’d just won a major coup.  As he helped her back onto the boat, he felt absurdly like letting out a war whoop.

About the Author

Tracy Cooper-Posey is a national award-winning writer. An Australian, she brought her family with her to Edmonton, Alberta, Canada in 1996 to marry.

Tracy is a net citizen— she met her husband on the Internet, and has coordinated discussion groups and teaching on-line. She also built and maintains her own web site. She has taught creative writing both on-line and at university, and entertains students and the public with anecdotes and insights into the publishing industry.

By the end of 2011, Tracy had published 38 titles, under her own and other pennames.  She has won the Emma Darcy Award, and the Sherlock Holmes Society of Western Australia’s Best Pastiche Award.

She has been a Romantic Times Top Pick author. Her short stories and articles have appeared in various Canadian and Australian magazines and periodicals, and on the Internet.

Thief In The Night was announced as one of RRT Review’s Best Book of the Year, and also selected by eCataromance for their Reviewers’ Choice Awards in February 2007.

Her 2004 historical romantic suspense, Heart Of Vengeance, was nominated for a CAPA Award for Best Historical of 2004, a Romantic Times Magazine Reviewer’s Choice finalist for best medieval historical romance for 2004, and was published in Germany in February 2007.

In 2010, she was again nominated for the prestigious CAPA awards, in the best erotic paranormal category, and as favourite author, and in 2011, for best paranormal romance.

In early 2011 she began self-publishing her novels, with Blood Knot, which has been nominated at least twice for Book-Of-The-Year.

So far her life has encompassed an eighteen month stint on war-ravaged Bougainville Island in Papua New Guinea, and at various times she has been a secretary, office clerk, single mother, freelance writer, public speaker, columnist, law student, international traveler, writing teacher, advertising production coordinator (for a national newsmagazine), web-press production coordinator, and the first female cinematograph operator in Western Australia.

She has been the editor of WHERE Edmonton magazine, and managing editor of the national magazine, Canadian Cowboy Country Magazine, and for a decade, she taught creative writing at Grant MacEwan University.

She currently lives in Edmonton with her husband, a professional wrestler.

You can find her web site at http://www.tracycooperposey.com.