An Act of Love

by Brooke Hastings

  At first he didn't pay any attention to Miranda's companion, but then the resemblance between the two of them hit him with almost physical force, and he realized that he was looking at Linda Franck. The two were very much alike, so much so that if Miranda hadn't just changed her hairstyle, a casual acquaintance who met one of them in the street might have wondered which sister he was seeing. Luke began to feel a little less stupid about the mistake he'd made.

  He grimaced as he watched them talking and laughing, wondering if the two of them were cooking up another diabolical scheme to drive him crazy with. Probably not, he supposed. Miranda could easily have manufactured some excuse to come to his office if she'd wanted to see him, but she hadn't. Up till now she'd done most of the chasing, but things had obviously changed. Or maybe it was her feelings that had changed. He couldn't help but notice that she'd finished almost an entire chef's salad.

  Totally disgusted with how much that frightened him, Luke had gone back to his office and thrown himself into his work. And the next day, as Bill Dunne wrapped up a meeting with Luke and a group of senior executives, he firmly dismissed the temptation to ask for an extra five minutes alone with the boss. He was a rational man, after all, and as such, he understood that he'd have to be a fool to jeopardize his career for a woman he'd met less than six weeks ago and thus couldn't possibly love. Not only did they barely know each other, but he wasn't about to get trapped into any commitments just yet. It made no difference that he couldn't get her off his mind, and had absolutely no desire to see anyone else.

  Logic, however, failed to explain why his heart started pounding double-time when Bill said casually, "Luke, stick around for a while, will you?"

  Everyone else filed out of the room, leaving the two of them alone, facing each other across Bill's desk. "Today is my thirty-first anniversary," he said.

  Luke realized that Bill looked almost as uneasy as he himself felt. When Bill didn't come to the point, he made the obvious comment. "Congratulations. I envy you and your wife—she's a very special lady."

  Bill picked up his pipe, stared at it and then put it back in the ashtray. "Damn it, Luke, at the rate I'm going there won't be a thirty-second. Emily never yells, but she's made it clear that she thinks I was wrong about you and Randy. Okay, I know I was wrong about you and Randy. Your relationship with my daughter has nothing to do with your performance as an executive, and I never should have tied the two together. I'm sorry."

  "Apology accepted." Luke was far too cautious to say anything more. Obviously Bill wasn't through with him yet, and he wanted to judge the lay of the land before he responded.

  "But that doesn't mean that my feelings as a father are any different from what they were two weeks ago," Bill went on. "It's just that if I keep interfering the women in my family are going to openly revolt. It was bad enough when it was just Emily and Randy I had to contend with, but now that Linda's in town…" He ran a hand through his hair in a defeated gesture and then winced at his own words. "Uh… does that present any problem for you? The fact that Linda's around?"

  "No," Luke said. He might have explained that his opinion of Linda Franck had undergone substantial revisions, but he didn't bother. "As a matter of fact, I saw Miranda and Linda in the restaurant yesterday."

  "Did you?" Bill shook his head. "I only hope Randy was eating for a change. I know she's unhappy—Linda and Roger are the only people who seem to be able to get a smile out of her lately. That's Roger Bennett, by the way. He and my older daughter are what I think you'd call a 'hot item'."

  She doesn't eat? Luke thought. She doesn't smile? He felt as euphoric as a kid who'd just stolen home. Naturally he didn't admit that, but calmly remarked that Miranda had once mentioned that her sister was dating Roger Bennett, and that he hoped that whatever was troubling Randy would work itself out.

  In the past Bill Dunne and Luke had laughed over the latter's talent for playing it close to the vest, but on this occasion it seemed to seriously annoy Bill. "You know bloody well what's troubling her!" he said. "Do I have to spell it out for you, Luke?"

  "It would be nice," Luke answered evenly.

  But instead of spelling out anything, Bill smiled sheepishly and admitted that part of the reason he'd hired Luke was for his ability to outflank the competition. "But I don't much care to have you use that poker-faced routine on me," he told him. "I'll make it easy for both of us. Emily and I are going out for our anniversary tonight, to Windows on the World. The two girls and Roger are coming along also. Why don't you join us? Our reservation is at seven-thirty."

  Luke wasn't taking any chances—not when victory was so close. "Does that constitute an official blessing?" he asked.

  "More or less. I'll trust that your intentions are what we used to call honorable, Luke. Why don't you go downstairs and talk to Randy? She's selling shoes today."

  Luke got up and started to leave, then turned around and held out his hand. The handshake was more than an empty formality. It signified that they'd reached an understanding, and Luke didn't know which of them was more relieved.

  "Why is it," Randy complained to her co-worker in the shoe department as she headed toward the stockroom, "that I always get the ones with the weird feet? Do we even have anything in 11AAA?"

  "If you'd read our ads you wouldn't have to ask," the woman informed her with a laugh. "We're the ones who like to boast that we're the best department store in the city for narrow sizes, remember? But you'd better grab the ladder, Randy. We keep the narrowest widths together, all the way in the back on the top few shelves."

  At least I'm not afraid of heights, Randy thought as she climbed to the top of the ladder. A bulb was missing from one of the overhead fixtures, making it a little hard to read the writing on the boxes. She reached up for one, only to nearly drop it when a male voice called out, "Miranda?"

  Luke, of course. Everyone else called her Randy. "All the way in the back," she called to him. The only reason she hadn't dropped the box was that his appearance wasn't a total surprise. One of the saleswomen in housewares had mentioned that he'd stopped by yesterday when she was at lunch, and the news had made her day. She knew it had to be personal—if it had been business he would have sent her another one of his blasted memos.

  He walked over and looked up at her, commenting that he didn't understand how she could see what she was doing.

  "I manage," she told him. "You've come at a very good time." She threw down the box of shoes, saying, "Here, catch!"

  Two more boxes containing the only pumps in the store even vaguely resembling the customer's request quickly followed. "I have an 11AAA out there," she explained as she started to back down the ladder.

  She was pleased with herself for appearing so calm when actually she was fast becoming a nervous wreck, wondering what Luke wanted to say to her. Her pulse rate jumped when he set the shoes on the floor and placed a hand on either side of her waist, gently lifting her the rest of the way down.

  He didn't release her once her feet touched the ground, however, but took a few steps forward until the front of his lean body was pressed against her back. "The 11AAA can wait," he murmured into her ear. Randy stiffened when his mouth moved lower, nipping at the spot he'd first discovered in Maine, and then made a helpless, guttural little noise.

  After a week of not seeing or touching him his lips were even more effective than usual, arousing her to pliant cooperation even more quickly than before. "Unfair," she moaned. "Illegal offense."

  Luke turned her around in his arms, twining a hand through her hair to firmly tilt her head back. His lips brushed across her mouth, then lifted a fraction. "I always play dirty when I'm desperate," he said.

  The next instant their lips were clinging, their tongues hungrily tasting and exploring. As Randy arched against him her hands slipped around his waist to hold him close. It feels so right, she thought to herself. Like being home again.

  She pulled away to break the kiss, but their fore-heads were still touching, their lips pl
ayfully meeting every few seconds for a gentle kiss. "The 11AAA," she murmured.

  "Such dedication." Luke traced the line of her jaw with his lips, then turned his attention to her earlobe. "There's one thing you don't know about me, Miranda. I go wild over shoes. Any other department and all I would have done is kiss you a few times and then tell you that I'm coming to dinner with you tonight. But shoes…"

  "Are you?" Randy twisted away to free her earlobe from his teeth, acutely interested in the conversation all of a sudden. "You mean you talked to Dad?"

  "Umm. I think I have his seal of approval as long as I behave with reasonable propriety. But you should have stayed out of the stockroom, Miranda." Without warning Luke picked her up and started toward the darkest corner of the room.

  "Luke, where are you going?" Randy asked with a giggle.

  He nodded straight ahead. "Over there. I'm going to throw you down on the floor. I told you, shoes drive me wild, especially size 11AAA pumps. I can't control myself around them."

  When he put her down, pulled her roughly into his arms and sweetly ravaged her mouth, a bemused Randy began to wonder if he were serious. She was clinging to him with a kind of confused abandon when he finally decided to release her.

  "The 11AAA," he groaned.

  "She's probably gone by now," Randy murmured, her lips exploring the curve of his neck.

  He put his hands on her upper arms to hold her a safe distance away from him, then took a few steps backward for insurance. "Don't you know you could get into trouble for messing around in the stockroom during working hours?" he demanded.

  "With the boss?" Randy asked.

  "I'm not the boss in Manhattan." Luke put an arm around her shoulders and nudged her toward the waiting trio of shoe boxes. "I'll see you tonight, okay? I have some work to finish up, so I'll meet you at the restaurant."

  "Windows on the World at seven-thirty?"

  "Right, angel." Luke pecked her on the lips and picked up the three boxes of shoes.

  Randy's first problem was to placate her irate customer, but Luke solemnly apologized, explaining that he was a vice president taking a special inventory of the shoe department that had required Miss Dunne's cooperation for a few minutes, and the customer nodded in bewilderment and allowed Randy to show her the shoes.

  Randy was so happy with the thought of having Luke at dinner that night that it was hours before she realized that Linda would be there also. She wondered if Luke knew.

  Her conversation with her father as they walked home that evening reassured her that Luke not only knew but didn't mind, and that Bill Dunne had indeed decided to remove himself from her personal life. She wasn't naive enough to believe that he could really accept a love affair between herself and Luke, but realized that he simply preferred to look the other way and pretend it wasn't happening. Randy had no intention of doing anything that would remind him.

  Like Luke, Linda and Roger were meeting Randy and her parents at the restaurant, which was located on the 107th story of the North Tower of New York's World Trade Center. Randy had never been there, so the first thing she did when she walked out of the elevator and into the lounge was to look out the window. She could make out the Statue of Liberty guarding New York Harbor. She was so wrapped up in the view that when she felt a man's lips on her bare shoulder she started violently and whirled around. The gown she wore, a one-shouldered dress of silk chiffon in shades ranging from royal blue to deep violet, almost invited such liberties.

  Luke smiled and kissed her cheek, telling her that she looked beautiful. "You look beautiful, too," she answered, running a hand down the lapel of his dark suit. "But I like you better naked," she whispered mischievously.

  "Patience, woman." He smiled and led her back to her family. Roger and Linda had just arrived, and Randy felt as though her own smile were plastered to her face as she made the introductions. To her great relief both Luke and Linda smiled and shook hands as though delighted to know each other.

  It was left to Emily Dunne to finally bring up what was on everybody's mind. Dinner had gone perfectly, from the champagne and sushi to the special anniversary cake that Bill had ordered delivered to the restaurant. Perhaps they'd had a trifle too much wine, but it certainly hadn't hurt any of them. And then Emily smiled at Luke and blithely asked him how his sister and her husband were getting along.

  To his credit, the stunned look on his face passed almost at once, and he answered that they were doing much better. "They're seeing a very good woman therapist," he added. "Tom was having problems with his job and Annie was frazzled from being at home all day with two small children. Neither was very sympathetic to the other's problems, but I think that they now understand each other better. They'll work things out."

  Emily said she was pleased to hear it and announced that it was time to open the presents. The celebration picked up without missing a beat. Emily adored the Persian carpet, saying that even though a client was looking for one exactly like it she intended to hang it in the bedroom. Roger handed them an IOU for house seats to a couple of plays set to open in the fall, and Luke had brought along two bottles of a very expensive French wine that was almost impossible to find outside of someone's private cellar. Eventually all six people wedged themselves into the Dunnes' limousine and drove uptown to finish off the evening in the apartment.

  Randy fixed the coffee while everyone else made themselves comfortable in the living room. After an evening filled with passionate little looks and subtle caresses she was glowing with happiness. But the smile on her face abruptly disappeared when she walked into the living room to hear Linda giggle and say, "Who would have thought that things would turn out so well?"

  Randy almost dropped her mother's sterling silver tray. "Have some coffee, Linda," she said, setting it down on the cocktail table.

  But Linda didn't seem to hear her. "I mean, after all that business with you and Luke in Maine…" She winked at Randy and giggled again.

  "Roger, did you happen to notice how much wine she had tonight?" Randy asked with a sigh.

  "Obviously too much," he answered. "Come on, darling, have a cup of coffee."

  "Maine?" Bill Dunne repeated, looking totally bewildered. "What is everyone talking about? What business in Maine?"

  "Oh, nothing," Linda said. When she picked up the silver coffeepot and a delicate china cup Randy held her breath until she'd safely finished pouring.

  Bill Dunne's gaze slowly traveled around the room. Randy was watching Linda sip her coffee, her face rather pale. Roger looked as though he were dying to laugh but understood that such an act would be an unpardonable breach of good taste. Luke seemed tense and angry and Emily was smiling beatifically, as though Linda hadn't just dropped a potential bombshell into the conversation.

  "Emily," Bill said at last, "do you know what Linda was talking about?"

  Emily nodded.

  "And?" he demanded.

  Emily gave an apologetic little shrug at Randy, then repeated the process with Luke. "Actually, it's rather a complicated story, darling, but to give you just the basics, when Luke went up to Cambridge to talk to Linda about Tom—that's his brother-in-law, you remember—he decided that perhaps it would be more —effective—to take her some place out of the way for a while. I'm afraid his motives are rather a mystery to Randy, and since she's the one who told me the story in the first place I suppose you'll have to ask Luke to enlighten you. Because with men, who knows? Isn't that true, Linda? Do you remember your friend Buffy Cabot, the one who got involved with that ghastly dentist who seduced her when she—"

  "Emily," Bill interrupted with a heavy sigh, "don't pull that number on me. Not after thirty-one years. I'm not going to forget what I asked you in the first place, so just get on with it."

  "I can't understand it," Emily observed blandly. "It works perfectly with most of my clients."

  "Emily…"

  "Yes, darling." Emily settled back in her chair, looking a little chastened. "It's just that Luke got Randy instea
d of Linda, and somehow he never realized it, so when she came back to New York she pretended they'd never met, and—"

  "What?" The question was bellowed out with all the ferocity of a wounded rhinoceros. "What in hell were you doing in Cambridge?" he said to Randy. "You were supposed to be in New Hampshire!"

  The whole conversation had taken on the inevitable air of a Greek tragedy—or perhaps a Roman farce. Randy knew that sooner or later the whole story would have had to come out, but later—much later—would have been better than sooner. Preferably, she thought to herself, after she and Luke had been married for ten years and had produced a pair of adorable children. Ugly ones wouldn't have served half as well.

  Having told this tale first to Linda and Roger and then to her mother, it was understandable that she'd lost a little of her enthusiasm for it. Nonetheless, she obediently repeated to her father just why Luke had mistaken her for Linda and what had happened afterwards. It wasn't so much that she purposely left anything out as that she simply forgot to mention that Luke had touched her a time or two when they were in Maine.

  She didn't really suppose that Bill Dunne would be gullible enough to swallow her version of events without asking a few pointed questions—and she was right.

  "First of all," he said to Luke, "you can explain just what made you think I would approve of your drugging one of my daughters, flying her up to some remote part of Maine and keeping her there against her will for three solid days. Second, you can tell me how someone to whom I pay a six-figure salary, who's widely acknowledged to be one of the smartest men in our business, can possibly have been stupid enough to have mistaken my younger daughter for my elder one. And third"—his voice rose by a good twenty decibels—"you can tell me what the hell you were trying to accomplish!"

  Luke reached for his cigarettes. Randy had already noticed that he tended to light up a cigarette whenever he was angry or upset, but in this instance there was already a cigarette burning in the ashtray. He stared at the pack, as if suddenly aware of that fact, and threw it onto the table.