Lucifer's Lover (24 page)

“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.