Lucifer's Lover (13 page)

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. W
ell, 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.