“Couldn’t help it, I hate that woman. And she was looking at you like you were edible.”
Jealousy? From Belinda?
So sue him for enjoying it. Sure it wasn’t the PC thing—not that he had too good a grasp on that particular school of thought—but suddenly, smiling at the people he passed wasn’t so hard.
Belinda did take him to speak to the councilman, who
was
pleased to see her. Person after person complimented her on her “makeover”, most of them seeming to mean it. She got better at not flinching at their surprise, but it was always there. As if all they ever saw about her was the way she looked. Not her talent. Not her dry humor. How had they missed the things that made her unique?
Had she been the one to play arm candy when she was out with Kyle at these events? Lucas wasn’t sure, but he made it a point to redirect conversation each time, somehow always finding a topic these people cared about before her discomfort showed. Thankfully, Belinda rattled on about architecture and artistic elements often enough that he was able to make heads or tails of what most of them spoke about or what everyone was hoping to achieve with their designs.
The Donnas were nervous, as this was the night when the finalists were being named. Riddoux was friendly, once he’d established his dominance with a grip bone-crushing enough to make Lucas raise his eyebrows.
“Don’t mind him,” Brandon LeMarche interrupted with a grin and a strong French accent to his soft voice. He looked from Lucas to Belinda twice, then murmured something in French to Riddoux. The big artist’s frown lightened to nonexistence while he animatedly discussed the trials of overheated steel with Belinda.
“So
you
are the brother Kyle speaks of so often,” Brandon said quietly a few minutes later when they were collecting new drinks at the temporary bar.
Lucas said nothing, pretty sure this was one of those times when silence was by far the smarter option.
“I play racquetball with him every now and then and you didn’t recognize me. It wasn’t so difficult to tell. Besides, I know my friend.”
“Oh,” Lucas replied when some sort of response was obviously required.
“He said you were painfully reserved, but you’re doing quite well tonight. And, of course, Belinda looks radiant.”
“Yes.” Lucas agreed because, really, she did. He finally sipped at his wine.
“Please forgive Hale. He has difficulties concerning my friendship with your brother. He’s the jealous type.”
And spit it back into the glass.
Brandon patted him on the back, concerned. “Are you all right?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, trying not to cough. “Riddoux thinks Kyle’s
gay
?”
The other man’s blue eyes twinkled. “He swears it.”
The laugh inside him wouldn’t be held in. Lucas saw Belinda’s eyes dart his way, her curious half grin as she spoke to Riddoux telegraphing her wonder about what could be so funny. He shook his head at her.
“I’ve told him over and over, but he refuses to believe me. He says there isn’t a man alive that could come to event after event with a woman like Belinda and not be attached to her unless he was her ‘gay friend’.”
Lucas couldn’t argue with logic. “Kyle always has been a little dumber than the average bear.”
“He seemed quite intelligent to me. He speaks very highly of you.”
If it was an admonishment, it didn’t faze Lucas much. He raised his eyebrow until Brandon relented with a shrug. “Well, he says you are brilliant, at least.”
“At most,” Lucas corrected. “It’s all right. We have a way with each other no one else seems to understand. I know how valuable my brother is, under the fluff. Kyle would be the first one to throw himself in front of a truck for me.”
“And you for him?”
Lucas nodded, but inevitably, his gaze had already gone searching for Belinda.
“Ah, but I think you’d leap in front of a
train
for her,
mon ami
.”
Lucas sighed. “You have no idea.”
“I think I do. Why do you think Hale did not continue to mash your bones into pebbles? All one has to do is look at the two of you.”
“Oh, yeah? And see what?”
“Perfection,” Brandon said with a flair only a Frenchman—maybe only a gay Frenchman—could pull off gracefully. “It’s a beautiful thing to see two people so well tuned to each other.”
“I wouldn’t say—”
“You don’t have to say. We’re artists. We appreciate things without explanation.” Brandon nodded to his mate and left Lucas standing there after a nudge to the arm and a murmured, “Good luck”.
When Belinda smiled at him, ignoring her conversation for a brief second, Lucas thought he might not need it. He started toward her.
“Well, well, well, here we are again, Mr. Lonnigan. Oh, I’m sorry,
Kyle
.”
Lucas looked down to see Yvonne MacInerney stepping into his path and rising on her toes to brush some kind of fake kiss against his cheek. He had the feeling there was supposed to be something sensual about the action, but he certainly didn’t feel it.
The urge to flee ran rampant, but he reminded himself she was a councilwoman on the trustee board. She not only held a vote that could be important to Belinda, she was the head of the project. Belinda had trusted him to help her look good. He had to show he was worthy of her trust.
“How are you doing, Yvonne?”
“Oh, perfectly well, thank you. The gala’s been a success so far, don’t you think?”
“Most definitely.” Starving artists feasting on pâté? What else could it be?
“We’ll have to make the announcements soon. A pity. It will be disappointing for so many.” She pouted briefly, waiting for him to make some sort of reaction.
“When will you have a chosen artist?”
“In about a month. Right now, only the style of the designs has been considered. After tonight, it’s about the bids and the feasibility of the design to the grounds.”
“Sounds time-consuming.” He was pretty sure he could pick something in about five minutes.
“Oh, it is. It is!” The thought occurred to him that if she was so put out, she could quit, but even he knew saying so wouldn’t go over well. Besides, she looked so relieved to have found a friend who understood, he almost felt bad for inching further away. “But it’s important to us, to the city. We take our jobs very seriously.”
Lucas nodded. He could escape from her soon. He only had to stay with her long enough to be polite. Eight minutes more ought to cover it. He hoped.
“Still,” she said, dragging the word over a few empty beats of silence, reaching out to tap his lapel and drag her fingertip over his chest for a second before taking hold of his coat pockets, “we do find time to…enjoy ourselves.”
Better make it three minutes. In eight, he’d no doubt be swallowed whole. “Good for you, Yvonne. Everyone needs downtime.” He looked around quickly, but for once, Belinda was completely out of view. He protected himself with another step back.
“Yes, yes, I agree. My personal time is very important to me. I choose who I spend it with very carefully since my husband died.”
Death, thankfully, Lucas knew the standard response to. “I’m very sorry.”
“Well, yes, thank you.” She fluttered her hand as if the dearly departed didn’t matter much. “Spending time with the right people is very important. The mind needs to be stimulated and kept sharp. You enjoy stimulation, don’t you, Kyle?”
All right, that was it. Time to flee. God, how did Kyle put up with this? He felt dirty and she’d only touched his coat for a half second. “I’m sorry, Yvonne, I think Belinda is waving for me.”
A definite look of perturbation crossed her face.
“I…make it a rule never to let my dates go unsatisfied,” he added quickly, relieved that the corny line he’d seen in a bad movie was right up her alley.
“Oh, then go on. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again tonight.” She touched his cuff, tilting her head somewhat to the side so that she was looking up at him through her lashes. That was some sort of signal, he gathered, but all it did was make his skin crawl. Probably in a desperate effort to drag him away. He forced a smile and went off to search for Belinda.
With any luck at all, he’d find her quickly and it would be time to leave.
Belinda smiled to herself as Lucas drove back to her loft. In her hands was a small medal with her name engraved on it. The top five. She’d made it to the top five!
“If you keep rubbing it like that, you’re going to wipe the letters right off,” Lucas teased with his deeply rumbling voice.
“Oh, leave me alone. This is my first award.” Even if it wasn’t, it would be the most important. Her fingers caressed the feathered wheat representation along the circular edge. Pride flared through her and she allowed herself the ridiculously girly move of holding it to her chest and hugging it.
“I’m pretty sure you won something in elementary school.”
“Nope, they don’t give awards for beating up crybabies on slides.” She laughed at his narrow-eyed sideways glare. “But I did get the cast,” she conceded.
“It’s been over twenty years. I think I’ve been raked over the coals long enough, don’t you?”
“You’re right. How about I harp on the time you ruined my math homework by putting your name on it?”
“That shouldn’t count. I’ve never been good at cheating.”
“What about the time you—”
“Belle,” he warned, despite the thread of humor underlying his tone.
“Oh fine, but I’m not letting you spoil my fun. I won something, Lonnigan. I get to crow.”
“No, you
earned
something. You and your design. You should be proudest of that.” He slid the car into place in front of the warehouse and pulled to a smooth stop. He turned his head to look at her, a faint smile on his mouth. He took her hand gently into his, turning her mouth dry suddenly. “I’m proud of you.”
“Because I pulled off this makeover?” Why she asked, she didn’t know. So many people talked about it. Away from him, the women tittered that they’d cut their hair off for him, too. They all thought she had given up something of her own principles to please him, just like her sister did. She wasn’t so sure she hadn’t. Was it what he thought, too?
Lucas’s scowl was dark even for the late night murkiness inside the car. He let go of her palm, only to caress her cheek with the back of his hand. The strong hand that had always been there for her, offering help, support and kindness. It was impossible not to lean into it.
“If they think changing your hair changes anything about you, they’re out of their minds.” His fingers slipped down to tweak the little skull on her neck. “The important thing is that
we
know who you are.”
“We?” The tension in her throat made her feel like a frog.
He nodded, nothing but seriousness on him now. “You’re everything.”
Her indrawn breath, ragged and loud in the intimacy of the vehicle, must have sounded like she was trying to argue because he shook his head at her.
“I know you think I don’t know anything about the real you. You think I only see who you used to be. The little girl we played with because she was more fun than any of the boys on the block.”
“Lucas.” Oh, God, he was going to say things she didn’t mean to ask for. She took hold of his wrist, hoping to stop the words, but he wouldn’t be put off. Not this time.
“I know you’ve outgrown her. You’re not the doll your mom tried to shape with frilly dresses and shiny shoes. And you’re not the innocent kid trying too hard to be what no one should have asked of you as a teenager. But you’re not the antichrist you want the Donnas to think you are, either.”
She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the emotions welling up in her. But he kept talking and they kept rising, so much bigger and stronger than her. She might fear it, but God…she wanted to hear it all the same. Wanted to feel what he made her feel.
“You’re all of them, Belle. The girl, the innocent and the attitude, all balled up into someone I’m glad to know.” He feathered his fingers over her cheeks again, making her realize he was wiping away tears. She lifted her lids, looking at him through wet lashes. He swallowed, his huge heart right on his sleeve, burning into her own heart without mercy. “The woman I’m proud to love.”
Six words turned out to be all he needed to shatter her.
All her reserve, all her fears, simply crumbled into dust under the force of that one sentence. She’d always known how he felt, but neither of them had ever said it without hurling it in an argument. She’d always felt it from him, deep in herself. His love was her only constant, even when he was far away. When she railed against it, it held firm to her. When she needed it, he wrapped her in it like down, protecting her with everything he was, even from himself.
And she’d cursed him for it.
Almost as much as she’d cursed herself.
“I don’t deserve you, Lucas,” she said with a sandpaper whisper.
She wanted him, though. More than her next heartbeat, she wanted this man a part of herself forever. The good part, the strong part, the best part. Forever. Because she loved him, too. Always had, always would. Loved him in a way her own mother could never fathom—not with begging, not with fighting for every morsel of his affection, but with giving. With sacrifice and best intentions.