Lucifer's Lover Page 14

  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 an
d 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 m
e 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.”