The woman who answered his call sounded like Sophie, but subtly different. How Sophie would sound in thirty years’ time, maybe.
“Mrs. Gallagher, it’s Lucas Grant calling. I was wondering if I could speak with Sophie,” he said.
“I’m sorry, but Sophie doesn’t want to talk to you.”
Lucas mouthed a swearword and tried to ignore the increasing feeling of desperation growing in his gut.
“Tell her I sacked Derek. Can you do that? I’ll wait,” he said.
She made a doubtful noise, then he heard her put the phone down. It seemed like a long wait before the phone was picked up again.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Grant. Sophie asked me to tell you to stop calling, please,” Mrs. Gallagher said. She managed to sound both firm and regretful at once. “I think that’s probably for the best, don’t you agree?”
The next thing he knew, Lucas was listening to the dial tone.
Sophie was locking him out. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he rubbed the bridge of his nose.
His parents. His childhood. She wanted him to face it, stare it in the eye and come to terms with it.
Just the thought of it made his chest tighten with anxiety.
“Damn you, Sophie,” he said under his breath.
For the first time in his adult life, he admitted to himself that he was afraid of his past. He didn’t believe in love because he’d never had it, because the two people who were supposed to love him no matter what abandoned him to the state’s care and never came looking for him.
Fourteen years in and out of foster care and state homes hadn’t taught him any different. People were unreliable. It had been proven to him over and over, a thousand different ways: the foster family who had returned him to care because he was “too troubled”; the couple who’d wanted to make his arrangement permanent—until she’d gotten pregnant with their own child; the worker at the state home who’d helped himself to his charges’ allowances and abused the younger children.
Lucas’s life had taught him early on that he had to protect himself, and that the best relationships were built on mutual benefit, not love or trust. Yet Sophie was asking him to trust her wholeheartedly. To share himself with her utterly. To believe in a future.
Tears pricked the backs of his eyes as he acknowledged how much he wanted to be able to do all those things with her. When he thought of his life before he’d met her, it seemed so thin and empty. She’d brought sunshine into his days, and generosity of spirit. She’d taught him to care.
She deserved more than what he’d offered her. He winced as he remembered the way he’d confessed his love, the tight, controlled, scared offer he’d made her. She’d never held anything back from him—how could he offer her anything less than everything he had?
Reaching for the scotch bottle, he poured himself a hefty glassful. Taking the bottle with him, he went out onto his terrace and stared unseeingly at the harbor. The day waned, and so did the bottle. By eight in the evening, he was so drunk he could barely stand. Lying on a lounger, staring up at the night sky, Lucas made a decision that terrified him. But he’d never been a man to do anything by halves, not when he put his mind to it.
And Sophie deserved the best.
18
A MONTH LATER, Sophie gave up on pushing around the last few mouthfuls of porridge left in her bowl and stared out the window of her new apartment. In Rose Bay, it was smaller and cheaper than the apartment she’d shared with Brandon, but it was all hers and she’d grown to love it over the past few weeks. Well, as much as she could love anything while she was seeing the world through the monochrome filter of a broken heart.
Sighing deeply, she pulled her pyjama-clad knees closer to her chest and rested her chin on them as she stared at her neighbor’s pool.
Four weeks since she’d seen or heard from Lucas. Four long, lonely, horrible, endless weeks.
Not a day had gone by when she didn’t pick up the phone and think about calling him. She hadn’t—so far. But her will was weakening. For starters, her body craved his touch to the point where she was seriously worried she’d become some kind of nymphomaniac. Every night she dreamed of sex. Amazing, fulfilling, moan-inducing sex with Lucas that left her feeling so…empty when she woke up that she was getting to the point where she dreaded going to sleep at night.
Had she done the right thing? At the time she’d been so sure that Lucas just needed a firm, loving push to get him to face his demons. Even when he walked away from her apartment door after she’d said no to his half-a-loaf offer, she’d been convinced she still stood a chance of finding happiness with him. And he’d proved her right, to a point, pursuing her all that week with offerings and phone calls and unexpected visits. Then she’d removed herself from temptation and gone to visit her parents. And after one last phone call to tell her he’d sacked Derek, she’d had nothing but silence.
He’d given up. She’d made it too hard for him. She’d gambled and lost.
Sighing again, she rubbed her cheek against the soft cotton of her pyjamas. She missed him so much. The glint he got in his eyes when he was about to do something outrageous. The tenderness of his touch. The sharpness of his mind.
He had a new movie coming out next month. And she knew from the celebrity magazines that he’d finished shooting on the film that had been delayed by his leg injury. He was probably back in L.A. by now. Or on the set of his next film. He’d probably forgotten her in the arms of another woman. Why not, after all? The whole of the Western world was his for the taking. Why would he feel her loss for longer than a week or two?
The sound of the telephone cut across her pity party, and she leaned across to pluck the portable receiver from the coffee table.
“Sophie, turn on the TV.” It was Becky, her voice vibrating with excitement.
“Hi, Becks. Is this about going to the movies tonight? Because I’m not sure if I—”
“Just turn the TV on. Now,” Becky ordered urgently.
“Becky—”
“Turn on the freaking TV, Sophie,” Becky yelled down the phone.
“All right. Man, this had better be good,” Sophie grumbled, scooping up the TV remote. “What station?”
“Nine. ‘The Sheri Malcolm Hour,’” Becky said.
The screen sprang to life and Sophie found herself looking at a close-up of Lucas’s face and caught the tail end of what he was saying.
“…not something I felt comfortable talking about previously,” he said.
Sophie’s chest tightened and she bit her bottom lip as she looked at his beautiful face.
“Becky, thanks for the heads-up, but I can’t do this,” she said, her thumb hovering on the off button.
Becky had been great ever since Sophie had returned from the mountains. It had only taken her a few days to break down and confess what had happened between her and Lucas. After she’d stopped rolling on the floor with jealousy, Becky had passed Sophie tissues and bought ice cream and generally been the best. As always.
“Don’t you dare turn it off. Listen to what he’s saying, Sophie,” Becky said.
On screen, the camera pulled back to reveal Sheri Malcolm sitting opposite Lucas in a matching plush-cushioned armchair. In her mid-forties, Sheri was an attractive brunette and her morning chat show was a ratings winner. She was well known for her in-depth celebrity interviews, and right now she was eyeing Lucas as if he’d just tipped a treasure chest of gold bullion into her lap.
“You’ve thrown me, Lucas, I have to be honest. I mean, you’re notorious for being tight-lipped about your personal life. Every time you come on here you let me know there are certain aspects of your life that aren’t up for grabs,” Sheri said.
“And there still are. But something happened recently that made me understand that maybe I’d been keeping quiet for the wrong reasons.”
“And this realization sent you in search of your family?” Sheri asked. “Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“And what did
you find?” Sheri asked.
Sophie couldn’t believe Lucas was doing this. It was hard for him, too—she could see it in the stiffness of his shoulders and the way his hands gripped his knees.
“I discovered that the truth was much less frightening and awful than anything I had imagined over the years.” Lucas gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Kids in care imagine a lot of stuff about how they got there, why there’s no one who’s prepared to take them on. I always told myself I didn’t care why my parents had dumped me.”
“But you did,” Sheri said quietly.
“Yeah. Of course I did. I was a kid. I wanted a mom and dad like everyone else. I wanted Christmas day and a dog and a bike to ride up and down the street.”
“And can you tell us what happened with your parents?” Sheri asked.
Sophie pressed a hand to her mouth. Surely he wasn’t going to tell the world?
“My mother died. She was English, traveling through Australia on her own, apparently. There’s no record of my father. They couldn’t find any relatives to take me on, so I became a ward of the state,” Lucas explained.
His jaw was tight, but he looked down the barrel of the camera as he said it.
This is for me, Sophie knew with sudden blinding clarity. He wants to show me that he can do it, that he’s accepted my challenge. She felt sick and elated all at once.
“You said earlier that something happened to send you off on this quest. Can I ask what that was?” Sheri asked.
Sophie was sure the other woman was holding her breath—Sophie was.
“I fell in love,” Lucas said.
Sophie gasped and clapped her hands to her mouth.
“I fell in love,” Lucas repeated. “And she made me want to be a better man.”
The studio audience gave a murmur of appreciation, and Sheri smiled.
Sophie fell to her knees and crawled closer to the TV. Was this really happening? Was Lucas really making this ridiculous, over-the-top gesture for her?
“I guess I don’t have to tell you that most of our audience thinks you’re pretty fine just the way you are, Lucas,” Sheri said.
Lucas shrugged modestly.
“She must be a pretty special lady,” Sheri asked, obviously fishing. “How long have you been seeing each other?”
“We’re not,” Lucas said. The audience gasped. Sophie stared intently at his face, holding her breath. “She asked me for something I didn’t think I had it in me to give. And I let her walk away.”
Sheri blinked. “Let me get this straight—the love of your life rejected you?”
Lucas gave the ghost of a grin. “Yeah. She’s stubborn. And she knew what she wanted.”
Sheri shifted excitedly in her chair. “But you want her back?”
Lucas stared straight down the camera, and Sophie saw the hope and determination in his eyes. “I love her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I want her to know that she’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Tears streamed down Sophie’s face. “You idiot!” she told the television screen. “You didn’t need to do this. You didn’t need to prove it to me beyond a doubt.”
On screen, Lucas took out his cell phone and laid it on the table in front of him. Still staring down the barrel of the camera, he spoke directly to her.
“Sophie, don’t make me jump on the couch,” he said, a hopeful smile curling the corners of his mouth.
“Oh, my God,” Sophie said. Then she scrambled for her address book to find the cell number he’d given her the day they came to Sydney.
Snatching up the phone, she realized that Becky was still on the line.
“Sophie, Sophie!” she was yelling, obviously trying to get Sophie’s attention.
“I have to go,” Sophie said.
“Tell me you’re calling him. Because if you’re not, I am personally coming around to strangle you with my bare hands,” Becky said.
“I’m calling him.”
She ended the call and stabbed at the number pad with a shaking finger.
“Sophie?”
His voice sounded so good, so familiar, she burst into tears all over again.
“Lucas,” she sobbed.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart. I love you,” he said.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Lucas had vacated the chair on the Sheri Malcolm’s show, and Sheri was talking direct to camera. Lucas had obviously walked off the set the moment she’d called.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” she said.
“I’ve got nothing to hide anymore, Soph. I wanted you to know it, absolutely.”
“You’re insane. Completely off your rocker.”
“But you love me?” he asked. It killed her to hear the doubt and hope in his voice.
“Are you kidding me? I’m mad about you. I dream about you every night. I almost call you every day. I can’t get you out of my head.”
“I don’t want you to. Are you at home?”
“Yes. But I’ve moved,” she said.
“Rose Bay. I know. Give me twenty minutes.”
He ended the call, and Sophie sat back on her haunches. Almost immediately, her phone rang again.
“Sophie.” It was her mom. “Please tell me you were just watching Sheri Malcolm. I tried to call you but the line was busy.”
“I saw it.”
“And?”
“He loves me!” Sophie said.
“I know. I think that answers your questions, don’t you think?” her mother said wisely.
“More than. Above and beyond the call of duty.”
“Good. I’m very happy for you, darling.”
Sophie smiled, smoothing a palm down her pyjama-clad leg. Suddenly she registered what she was wearing. And the fact that she hadn’t showered this morning, or brushed her teeth, or shaved her legs for nearly a month.
“Mom, I have to go,” she squeaked into the phone.
She nearly killed herself running into the bathroom and jumping beneath the shower. Working frantically, she tried to reverse four weeks of mooching around and general self-neglect.
Within five minutes she was out of the shower and dragging clean underwear on over her still-wet body. A pair of jeans and a tank top and a pair of slip-on sandals later, she slammed out the front door of her apartment to run down the steps and wait for Lucas on the street.
As she stood there, the hot Australian sun beating down on her wet hair, she closed her eyes and thought about Lucas: his smell, the warm velvet of his skin, the low timbre of his voice, the tawny heat of his eyes. He was hers. He was offering himself up to her in the way that she’d offered herself to him. Wholly. Irrevocably. Generously.
When she opened her eyes again, Lucas was climbing out of his Porsche, tall and tanned and gorgeous in a crisp white shirt and jeans. She launched herself at him, wrapping her legs around his waist and burrowing her face into his neck as she held him to her with every bit of strength she had.
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she chanted into his neck. “I have been eating my heart out over you every day. What took you so long?!”
He laughed and hugged her back so tightly that she couldn’t breathe. “Sophie Gallagher, will you marry me? Will you have babies with me and teach me to cook and laugh with me and grow old and eccentric with me?”
She kissed him, her hands coursing into his hair to hold his head as she gave him her soul.
“Yes. Please,” she said after a long, long time.
He kissed her back then, and things soon became pretty heated. Lucas remembered they were in a quiet suburban street before things got technically illegal, and they sprinted up the stairs two at a time and raced each other to Sophie’s bedroom. Kicking off clothes with frantic abandon, they came together on the bed and held each other tight.
“Sophie. I’m so sorry I made you wait. I’m so sorry I wasn’t ready for what you gave me. I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” he said, his hands cupping her face tenderly as he bu
mped noses with her.
“You already have,” she said, and then he was inside her and they were making love.
Each stroke, each kiss, each sigh was a gift they gave each other, until finally they gripped each other tight as they found ecstasy. Afterward, Lucas held her and stroked her arms, her legs, her belly as he reacquainted himself with her body.
“There are things I need to tell you,” he said after a while. “About what happened. I understand now about my nightmare.”
Curled up against his side, Sophie listened as he told her about the journey he’d gone on to excavate the truth of his past. It had taken him a full week to track down the people who’d been the first to take him into care. He’d flown to Queensland to talk to the social worker who’d been listed on his forms. As he’d told Sheri—and the rest of Australia—his mother, Tess, had been a young, single Englishwoman. That much he’d been able to find out from his file. The social worker had told him the rest.
Tess’s landlady, an old woman named Dorothy Hobb, had taken Tess under her wing when Lucas was barely one and become quite attached to the two of them, apparently. They lived together in Dorothy’s rambling old house in the leafy Sydney suburb of Paddington. When Lucas was three years old, his mother died of a burst appendix. Dorothy did her best to find relatives to take Lucas on, but had no luck with any of the letters or phone calls to England. So Dorothy did her best by him for nearly nine months until she suffered a massive stroke while posting a letter out front of her house. A passerby called an ambulance, and she died in hospital that evening, never having regained consciousness.
Sophie wrapped her body around Lucas as much as she could at this point, guessing intuitively what came next. His nightmare…
“I was alone in her house for three days before they found me,” Lucas said quietly, the words a whisper against her skin. “Apparently I couldn’t speak for a week, I’d been screaming for help for so long.”
Sophie kissed him, wanting desperately to make up for the sadness of his childhood. She guessed there was more—he’d been in care for fourteen years, there was bound to be more. But he wasn’t denying it anymore. And now that he had invited her into his life and his heart, she would show him what love could be like, what it should be like.
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