The Man From her Wayward Past

by Susan Stephens

  ‘Do you remember that barbecue?’ he murmured, so softly she barely heard him.

  ‘How could I forget?’

  She knew exactly the day he was referring to. As Luke turned to stare at the spot where their two families had gathered she took the chance to pull on her clothes. By the time Luke turned around his face had softened and all the anger was gone.

  ‘My brothers nearly set fire to the table,’ she said, remembering.

  ‘The table my mother insisted must be brought down from the guest house, complete with linen tablecloth, silver table settings and candlesticks,’ Luke supplied.

  ‘My mother burnt the food.’ She began to smile.

  ‘But your father saved the day,’ Luke pointed out.

  ‘Your father helped,’ she reminded him. ‘They really liked each other, didn’t they?’

  ‘Strangely, they did,’ Luke agreed, remembering his stiff, unbending father forming a surprisingly easy relationship with Lucia’s striking, autocratic father.

  ‘Not sure our mothers got on so well,’ she said, ‘though they always made the effort—’

  ‘Both of them were polite to a fault,’ Luke cut in, ‘though there was never going to be too much common ground between them,’ he admitted, thinking back. His mother had always been too worried about what people might think, while Lucia’s mother hadn’t given a damn.

  ‘They were good days,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Yes, they were,’ he agreed, shifting position to shield her from the wind. ‘You’d better get back to the house.’

  Luke wanted space—just as she did sometimes, Lucia guessed, taking the hint. ‘I’ll head in and grab the first shower,’ she said.

  ‘Were you crying when I first came down to the beach?’ Luke probed softly, returning to the subject uppermost in his mind.

  ‘I should have remembered you’re the master of waiting until you’re certain your dart will strike home.’ Her mouth pulled in a rueful line.

  ‘That wind can be a real nuisance sometimes,’ Luke commented, but his eyes were warm with concern.

  ‘Yes, it can be,’ she agreed, holding his gaze steadily.

  He caught hold of her as she went to move past him. ‘So, do we have a bargain?’ he demanded, staring into her eyes. ‘A bargain not to hide our feelings about the past from each other?’

  ‘All right … Yes, we do.’ She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t disappointed that that seemed to be the only thing on Luke’s mind.

  Lifting his hands away from her, he let her go. ‘Margaret’s been talking about a party for everyone involved in the restoration of the guest house. Have you heard anything about it, Lucia?’

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘Will you be here for it?’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  Hurt, she demanded, ‘How low down on your list are we?’

  ‘Not low enough,’ Luke growled.

  When he yanked her close this time she was expecting some sort of lecture, but that was the last thing Luke had in mind. All thoughts of Luke the friend, Luke the almostbrother, shot out of her head, to be replaced by Luke the man she had watched over the years growing into a formidable warrior, protector, leader, unofficial guardian angel. And, whether she wanted him in the past or not, pain-in-the-neck adviser. And unashamed sexual tiger, she was now forced to add to that list.

  As emotion overwhelmed her she clung to him, standing on tiptoe to kiss him back. Luke soothed as he stimulated, and claimed her for his own even as he set her free. But he knew everything there was to know about wild creatures, and that like the wildest and most wary of them all Lucia needed the ultimate coaxing, so even as her own passion grew Luke stepped back.

  ‘The wind’s blowing up again,’ he pointed out. ‘You should get back to the house before you catch cold, Lucia.’

  His thoughts were always for others and not himself. ‘Just one thing first.’

  ‘Name it.’

  ‘Equals?’ She held out her hand to shake his.

  ‘Agreed,’ he said.

  When he clasped Lucia’s hand their heat mingled. Her eyes darkened and her lips parted to suck in air, but there was still too much reserve in her—and until he got past that …

  She turned for home as if nothing of significance had passed between them.

  But it had and they both knew it. They had both committed to travelling the same road together for a while, with neither of them certain where that road might lead. His goal had always been straightforward: restore St Oswalds and the guest house, and then shoot back to attend to his other business interests. But then he’d rediscovered Lucia and retraced her steps to London, with everything that involved.

  He should have known life was always going to be more complicated than he had originally planned.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  They say that you have to get all the pus out of a wound before it can heal, but the cleansing of the wound can be traumatic.

  They say that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

  Who is this indefatigable ‘they’? And have ‘they’ tried it? Have ‘they’ tried laying themselves bare in front of the one person with whom ‘they’ least want to share their shame?

  THEY reached the house and parted without a word to find a shower. She came down to find Luke in the kitchen. He didn’t waste any time—but then subtlety had never been Luke’s strong point.

  ‘Let’s talk about what happened in London,’ he said tensely, his eyes like shards of glass.

  ‘Luke, please, I don’t want to do this now.’ Her voice rose with every syllable. Luke’s expression told her he hadn’t just dug up part of her life she had been trying so hard to forget, he had laid it bare, and now he was going to shake it in her face and demand a reaction. ‘Please don’t make me …’

  Luke slammed the door shut so there was no escape from the kitchen. Leaning back against it, he said in a deceptively soft voice, ‘As someone who cares about you, Lucia, I think it’s important that we do this.’

  ‘I don’t care what you think. I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Luke—’

  ‘So I’m not supposed to care that I find you working as a cleaner in a trashy club?’ he broke in. ‘Or to notice that you’re living in a barely habitable caravan in Cornwall, out of season on a rundown caravan park?’

  ‘You’re happy enough to work with me.’

  ‘Margaret’s known us long enough,’ Luke said, refusing to rise. ‘And I’m giving Margaret the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps she’s on to something.’

  ‘Let me out of the kitchen now, Luke. I don’t want to talk about this.’

  ‘If not now, when?’ he demanded. ‘You’ll never be ready, Lucia. You keep everything locked inside you until it grows like a worm and eats you from the inside out. And I won’t stand by and watch that happen.’

  Luke was whip-fast as she tried to slip past him. She stared in fury at his fists planted either side of her face on the door. ‘If co-operation’s the key to working together you’re not making a great start,’ she fired back. ‘First you go nosing about in London, and now you’re trying to—’

  ‘I’m trying to what?’ he bit out.

  She had been distracted by something else. ‘You’ve been fighting,’ she exclaimed under her breath. ‘Luke, what have you done?’ she asked faintly.

  Pulling back, he studied his bruised knuckles. ‘I’ve been hitching up caravans and moving rocks. What?’ he demanded. ‘Do you seriously think I’d beat up on some sad, disgusting little man? Is that why you think my knuckles are bruised?’

  ‘So you know …’ she whispered.

  ‘Of course I know,’ Luke confirmed. ‘What I can’t understand is why you didn’t tell me.’

  ‘Because whatever happened in London I’ve dealt with it. It’s over and it will never happen again.’

  ‘Is it over?’ Luke said quietly.

  As he spoke Luke lowered his arms and stepped away from the door, but this time she made no attempt to escape. Le
aning back against the wall, she hugged herself for comfort as she remembered the day her life in London had come to an abrupt end.

  ‘Moving from getting a good degree to my new life in London was supposed to be so different from the way it worked out—so straightforward.’

  He could have told Lucia that nothing in life was straightforward, but he had waited so long for her to let the poison out he wasn’t going to say a single word to distract her.

  She felt the shame again—of arriving at the guest house feeling pretty much like the filthy slut the concierge had called her. She remembered how her heart had raced with fear and panic that Margaret might turn her away. She had realised how it must look to the elderly owner of the guest house, but Margaret had taken her in without a word.

  ‘It all began when I went to change my uniform,’ she explained to Luke. ‘I went into the staffroom. I didn’t bother locking the door. It was supposed to be for female members of staff. It was a very formal hotel in London, so I should have been safe. I heard a sound, and when I turned around a concierge I thought was my friend was standing by the door, watching me.’

  She had to pause. She didn’t want to make this overly dramatic. She wanted to remember it exactly as it had been without any theatrical flourishes.

  She shuddered, remembering. ‘He was touching himself through his trousers as he watched me getting changed. When I turned and he saw me looking at him he gave himself a special firm stroke. I couldn’t believe it. You’d think he’d be embarrassed—but, no … He came closer while I stood frozen to the spot. My feet wouldn’t work. He stood in front of me and asked in a really normal, conversational tone of voice if I would like to touch him. When I said no and shrank back, he said, “What? A hot-blooded South American like you doesn’t want to touch me?” And I could tell he had taken offence.’

  She swallowed and turned away from Luke as she remembered the violence the concierge had unleashed.

  ‘He undid his zip and exposed himself. He asked if there was something wrong with him when I shrank away. His voice turned ugly.’ The calm beam of Luke’s stare remained on her face, willing her to go on. ‘He was angry when I wouldn’t take hold of him. Sorry—’

  Spinning around, she gagged. Clamping her hand over her mouth as her stomach heaved, she moved away, her hand up to ward him off when Luke reached for her.

  ‘Dry gagging’s no fun,’ she said, trying to make light of what had happened when her stomach settled.

  Luke wasn’t smiling.

  She steadied her voice. ‘He rubbed against me. I slapped him away. I fought him with everything I had. He turned rough. He was touching me everywhere. He felt my breasts. He hurt me. He bit me. He grabbed me here. He ripped my briefs off. He poked his—’

  She couldn’t go on. How could she, when she saw that look in Luke’s eyes?

  ‘Go on,’ he encouraged steadily.

  Heaving a deep breath, she made herself go back. ‘I kicked him in the knee as hard as I could. While he was howling and lurching about I somehow managed to get away. I ran back to my room, grabbed my car keys and a few things. I didn’t stop to wash.’

  Her eyes when they met his were wounded, tortured.

  ‘My skin was hot. I was sure he’d put something on it—acid or something. Of course it was nothing. Just the imprint of his hands. I got down to my car—they let us park under the hotel—and I drove out of London. I didn’t even know where I was going until I reached Exeter, and then I knew I was heading back to the guest house where I’d always been happy.’ She swallowed on a dry throat. ‘I couldn’t go to the family penthouse in London. My brothers could have turned up at any time and they were the last people I wanted to see.’

  ‘Thank goodness Margaret was home.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, finally focusing on his face. ‘But I must have frightened Margaret half to death. She opened the door to a madwoman with her hair sticking out at all angles, make-up smeared with tears, ripped clothes hanging off a body covered in bite marks and scratches. I can’t even imagine how she must have felt when she saw me.’

  He could.

  There was a long pause as she remembered that first blissful, purging shower, and how she had examined her skin in minute detail under the spray, certain the concierge had put something horrible on it—something she would never be able to wash off. She had stood beneath that cleansing stream, scrubbing herself with the roughest cloth she could find until the water ran cold.

  ‘Lucia …’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She lifted her hands and let them drop again, by which time some warmth was creeping back into her body. ‘That’s all there is,’ she said.

  ‘It’s enough,’ Luke said gently.

  ‘Sleeping with that concierge would have really opened my eyes, apparently.’ She tried to laugh, but even to her it didn’t sound right. ‘And my legs, presumably, which was the bit that really freaked me out.’

  This time when Luke gathered her into his arms she made no attempt to fight him off. ‘Why didn’t you call me?’ he said, nuzzling his face against the top of her head. ‘I would have come for you right away.’

  ‘I felt so ashamed, so dirty. It wasn’t something I wanted anyone to know. And it was my problem.’

  ‘Not this time, Lucia,’ he said, pressing her against his chest, where she could feel Luke’s heart beating, regular and strong.

  ‘It was better you didn’t know,’ she argued. ‘You might have killed someone.’

  ‘Quite possibly,’ Luke confirmed, staring grimly away. Then, slowly and very deliberately, he dipped his head and kissed her. She couldn’t say whether that kiss was soothing or loving, long or short, firm or light. She only knew that she was in a place where people were kind to each other and only meant well.

  ‘Forgive me, Lucia,’ he said, pulling back. ‘That’s the last thing you need.’

  ‘It’s everything I need,’ she argued. ‘I should have known you wouldn’t rest until you found out what had happened in London. I think you and my brothers are throwbacks to some warrior race, where honour is a badge worth fighting to the death for.’

  ‘And where those warriors believe that little girls never grow up?’ he suggested gently.

  ‘You’re all guilty of that,’ she agreed. ‘But I can assure you this girl’s all grown up.’ She gave Luke’s chest a half-hearted thump as she pulled away.

  ‘Come back here.’

  ‘Let me go, Luke,’ she said, trying to be firm with him. ‘I’m warning you.’

  ‘No, you’re not,’ he argued gently. ‘You’re resting on me, because that’s what you’ve always done when you’re upset. You know you can tell me anything. You always could.’

  ‘In the absence of anyone else to confide in,’ she admitted ruefully.

  ‘You always did know how to make me feel valued,’ he teased her gently.

  ‘You are valued,’ she said, staring up into his eyes. ‘You have no idea.’

  He was all out of words.

  Her mind crashed as Luke’s mouth covered hers. She gave a whimper and, hearing his responding growl, shivered with the relief of a wounded animal being rescued by its mate. Luke cupped her head in one big hand as he moved his lips against hers, and kissing him back was like coming home. She had never been frightened of Luke. He might look like a barbarian—he might even act like one on the polo field—but Luke was her lodestone, her rock. She just hadn’t ever risked thinking of him as a man who might want her after what had happened. And if he’d leave it at kisses …

  Luke sensed the change in her immediately and pulled back.

  ‘Why?’ she whispered.

  ‘Because you’re not ready,’ he said, staring deep into her eyes. ‘And this is not the time.’

  He left her to go and get his jacket, which he’d hung on the coat stand in the hall. He was smiling as he brought a small package back with him. ‘I almost forgot this.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I bought you something.’

&nbs
p; ‘Something else?’ she said wryly, her lips pressed in a questioning line.

  ‘I don’t like buying gifts from hotels,’ Luke explained. ‘It always feels like the easy option to me. And, okay, it was the easy option,’ he admitted. ‘Nacho asked me to buy you something. So this is from me. I found it in London. I hope you like it. Happy birthday, Lucia.’

  She smiled when she saw what the elegantly packaged giftbox contained. ‘Are you telling me I need to brush my hair?’ she said as she examined the exquisitely crafted hairbrush.

  ‘I rather thought I might do it,’ he murmured.

  ‘Luke, it’s beautiful. I love it.’

  The back of the brush was enamelled in turquoise lacquer decorated with intricate whorls in soft gold and rose-pink. The craftsmanship was so fine it took her breath away. That and the prospect of Luke brushing her hair, which was a fantasy yet to be explored and far more erotic than anything she might have dreamed up.

  ‘You shouldn’t do this,’ she said, shaking herself round. ‘It must have cost you a fortune.’

  Luke shrugged. ‘I can always take it back.

  She hugged it close. ‘Not a chance.’

  ‘Well, I’d better be going.’

  Luke tugged on his jacket as if nothing unusual had happened between them, while she felt as if everything had changed. ‘Goodnight, Luke.’

  His hand warmed her arm briefly as she opened the door, and then he walked past without another word.

  Oh, well. Closing the door behind him, she leaned back against the polished wood, trying to fathom out whether all her painful revelations had brought them closer together or pushed them further apart.

  Luke didn’t trust himself to stay a moment longer. He had wanted to grab hold of Lucia and hold her tight and safe for ever. It had taken all the will power he possessed to leave her at the door. Whatever she thought of him, he respected her bid for freedom and her need for time to put what had happened in London behind her. But she had smelled so good—so fresh and innocent. She had aroused every protective instinct in him. And, on the dark side, he wasn’t nearly done with kissing her yet.