Her tears did fall, then. “Thank God,” she whispered.
He brushed them away with his thumb. “Perhaps you should send me away, anyway, Lindsay. I’ll turn your life upside down if you don’t.”
“I’ll risk it,” she told him.
“I’m already doing it. You just had a small sample of coming attractions, tonight.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe you,” she told him. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him toward her. “You’re not going to start running off at the mouth again, are you, Pierse?”
“I might.” He kissed the corner of her mouth.
She slid her hand around the back of his head, her fingers burrowing through the thick, luxuriant mass of his hair, the ends tickling the sides of her fingers. She gently guided his lips to her throat, closing her eyes as they again found the sensitive spot they had zeroed in on before. “I’ll just have to keep your mouth too busy for talking,” she declared, her voice husky in reaction to what his hands and mouth were doing.
He didn’t answer. His hand was on her thigh, sliding up her flank, smoothing its way over her hip. At her waist, it paused for a minute before slipping higher, contouring itself around her breast. She couldn’t help but arch back, opening herself to him and she heard him groan. His lips seared an imprint on her breast, just above the top of her dress, his hair brushing her skin, sending sparks of excitement flitting through her. She realized he was holding her up and she was bent over his arm, ripe for plundering.
His groan seemed to touch off a wall of heat that rushed through her, consuming her senses. She felt the tips of his fingers at her dress and realized they were trembling against her flesh.
She knew what he intended and found herself arching harder, welcoming it. “Yes,” she whispered.
It was all the encouragement he needed. His hand bunched and the dress was ripped from her body, revealing her stocking tops, suspenders and that was all. Luke became very still. “Dear god…” His voice was a mockery of itself, hoarse, breathless.
His hands were at her back, behind her legs, lifting her.
“Where?” And the urgency in his voice brooked no argument.
She pointed toward the bedroom and he shouldered the door aside and laid her on the bed. He straddled her hips with his knees and shrugged his jacket off. In the light spilling through from the sitting room, his eyes were glittering darkly. His hands fitted around her waist, his strong thumbs almost touching each other. They smoothed their way over her stomach and she quivered in response. His hands slid higher and rounded themselves over her breasts, tugging and caressing the nipples. Deep, frenetic excitement caught at her, traveled her body, invaded and drugged her mind. Her hips lifted in response and she heard Luke gasp.
“This was no disguise,” he said roughly.
“No.” She could barely whisper it.
“No more disguises,” he declared, his voice rough.
His mouth, hot and moist, caught at her nipple and her response faded from her mind under the onslaught of hot, delicious pleasure. She felt his thigh pressing between her legs and opened them invitingly, moving restlessly against the weight of him. She pulled at his shirt, reached for his belt, wordlessly stripping him of encumbrances.
Then his flesh was against hers and his hand, big and strong, was cupping her hip. She could feel him, hot and hard, against her and suddenly she couldn’t wait, could not stand the emptiness.
She pulled him to her. He paused at the very brink, quivering, denying her, as he covered his heated flesh in a protective sheath, then drew her to him, his eyes burning into her soul
“Look at me,” he demanded.
She looked up at him, at the dark eyes above her. She was caught up in his mesmerizing gaze. He held her focus as he slid into her and the sensation was so perfect, so fulfilling, that she tensed in reaction, clenching around him, a tight bow of pleasure.
Then his mouth was at her breast and he was moving, slow thrusts that caressed every sensitive inch of her. There was no mercy in his assault on her senses. She was an entity of spiraling delight and she was encouraged by Luke’s growl of pleasure and his quickening movements.
The climax was mutual, locking them together for endless moments, as their bodies and minds hung suspended at the peak.
After, they lay entwined side by side, still joined, satiated and drunk with the after effects.
Luke kissed her temple. “Why can’t it happen like this?”
She shook her head a little, puzzled.
“At the restaurant. You said it’s not going to count if it happens any other way. What’s not going to count? Why isn’t this way just fine? It’s fine by me.”
“This way, you mean?” she asked, moving her hips a little.
He smiled, a slow, lazy grin that warmed her and made her toes curl in anticipation. “Well, this way is really fine. And there’s every other way too. Infinite variety.” He picked up her hand and smoothed the fingers out, then kissed the palm slowly, his tongue tickling the skin. “Lots of ways,” he murmured, “and I’ll enjoy all of them with you.”
She could feel her body already stirring again and moved against him. He caught his breath, his eyes narrowing. “I assume that means yes,” he said, lifting himself up over her once again.
“Yes,” she said with delight.
Later, while he propped his head up on one hand, he lazily drew patterns on her body with his fingers, making her quiescent nerves twitch with lingering sensitivity. Lindsay was in a dreamy state of euphoria, her mind still hazed from lovemaking. Luke’s hand was enough to keep her in a state of longing.
Then his hand became still. “You distracted me,” he said, trying to sound irritated.
“I can do it again, if you want.”
“Not right now. I want to live until morning.” He caressed her cheek. “Not that the distraction was less than adequate, of course.”
“Thank you. I took a course.”
He blinked. “A joke. Was that a joke I just heard?”
“I believe so. Not that I’m any judge when there’s a master craftsman in the room.”
He shook his head. “Followed by a compliment. I should distract you more often, Lynds.” He frowned. “You did it again. What was I saying?”
“You were commenting on the adequacy of my distraction. More than, I believe you said.”
“No, I mean what was I saying before the distraction itself?”
She turned her head a little, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t remember.”
He was silent for a long moment. She felt his hand under her chin, turning her face back to look at him. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”
“I can’t help not remembering.”
His eyes had taken on the dark, glittering intensity she remembered from before they had made love the first time. He shook his head a little. “You remember, Lynds. You just don’t want to discuss it. So tell me why can’t I take the directorship? Tell me how it will screw up your life if I do and maybe we can work it out.”
“We can’t.”
“Tell me,” he coaxed. “You know I’m a good listener at the very least.”
It was so tempting to tell him. The need to explain herself, so that someone would understand all that she had achieved and everything she was working toward, was almost overwhelming.
But it was the small, nagging doubt that Luke wouldn’t understand that stopped her. She couldn’t risk being belittled, or worse, seeing condescension in his eyes.
“Tell me,” he murmured and kissed her forehead. “I won’t laugh. I won’t tell anyone else.”
She closed her eyes. It was easier that way. “I have to make general manager of the hotel by my birthday.”
“Have to?” There was no incredulity there. Just simple interest.
“Yes. And it doesn’t count if they take PR away from me and give it to you. It’s all laid out, you see. Director of marketing—including PR—then general manager by twen
ty-eight, head of the PR department at head office in New York by thirty-two, vice president by thirty-seven, CEO by forty-three.” She’d had the stats memorized years ago and rattled them off with very little thought.
Luke was silent and she opened her eyes a little, alarmed at the silence. His eyes were narrowed.
“That’s…a pretty well defined career path, Lynds. What do you get if you pull it off? A lifetime supply of terry-towel bathrobes?”
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. Well, 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.
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