Lucifer's Lover Read online

  “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? Yo
u 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 ph
one 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.”