Frederick was nothing like her father, and if he wasn’t spot-on the man of her dreams, he was close enough.
“Are you all right, Lucy?”
“Yes, why?”
“You have that secretive look about you again, the one I saw when you walked through the door. What’s going on?”
“I probably need to visit the john. You’ll excuse me.” Lucy was tucking the list back in her wallet when her mother tweaked it out of her hand.
“Not so fast, child of mine.” Lydia settled back in her chair. She looked over the ten traits with an air of perplexity. “It’s a fine list, but everything on it is designed to make you feel safe.”
“And what’s wrong with safe?”
Her mother tapped a finger against her lips, thinking. “Nothing, as long as it doesn’t smother the life right out of you. Did you catch the way you reacted when you read this last one—‘Great kisser’?”
“Kissing isn’t such a big deal.”
“It is when his kisses make you shiver. A man like that doesn’t make you feel safe, Lucy. He makes you feel alive.”
Lucy tweaked the list from her mother’s hand, plucked up her bags and her purse, and without another word, made her escape. Some people didn’t know when to stop.
“Any chance I’m right, Luce? Hey, Luce Caboose? Think about it!”
Lucy was already out the coffee lounge door, but her mother’s words followed her down the hall as she headed for her office.
You might be. You just might be. I met a man today who made me sparkle, and I didn’t hate it. She was just grateful her mother couldn’t see her smiling now.
Chapter Two
LUCY glanced over at the passenger seat of her Chevy Blazer, where the attaché sat, looking as superior as a piece of luggage could possibly look. She’d had a crisis of conscience this morning when she woke up. She couldn’t give the case to Frederick as a gift. What was she supposed to do, pretend it was from her? She had to return it, but to whom?
Hopefully the clerk at Blanchard’s would be able to hunt down the man who gave it to her and make arrangements to return it to him. Then Lucy could get on with her life. As it was, she hadn’t thought about much else since the incident happened—and she had plenty of other things to think about. Maybe her period was due. She’d been feeling a little puffy, and that would explain why she was so flighty and distracted. If anything about her was sparkling at this point, it was her overstimulated nervous system. She just wanted to give the briefcase back and be done with it.
The digital clock on the dash said nine A.M. as she let herself out of the car and grabbed the attaché, along with the bag it came in. The mall had just opened, and the lot was nearly empty so things looked good for getting in and out quickly.
She had meetings stacked up with staff, as well as clients, plus an appointment with the wedding planner this morning.
She tugged down the skirt of her summery cotton sheath. Mid-September was a little late in the year to be wearing a blue and white plaid sleeveless dress, but the Indian summer weather called for it. The news that morning had forecasted mideighties, which sent Lucy straight to her closet, looking for something that said California girl and endless summer. Her shoulder-length auburn tresses and milky skin didn’t exactly scream beach bunny—and the white T-strap high heel sandals she’d chosen were definitely not her usual work shoes, but they did amazing things for her calves.
Okay, confession time. It had occurred to her that she might run into him again. Actually, it would make things easier if she did. She could thank him politely, return the briefcase in person, and be on her way. No explanations necessary beyond that. The extra care with her outfit and her makeup was a little harder to rationalize, so she didn’t try. It might even have given her some satisfaction to rivet that man’s attention, even for an eyeblink. He’d certainly riveted hers.
The heels slowed her down. They weren’t stilettos, but she wasn’t used to the height or the clicking sound they made when she tried to hurry. Awkward going, to say the least. Once she got herself to the store, she explained her situation to the young male clerk at the counter, who called out the store manager. But neither could help her. Blanchard’s didn’t give out personal information on customers, the manager told her, and that particular customer had paid cash, so he couldn’t be contacted. Lucy had been afraid of that.
Okay, she’d tried. She told herself that all the way back to her car. She’d done everything she could. Yesterday had happened. It had been one of those crazy days that you couldn’t explain. She’d run into a kook, and for some reason, he’d given her an expensive briefcase. The rest of it was her imagination, and she had to let it go. There was no special significance to her meeting with this man, no special significance to anything he said. And it made no sense clinging to his every word as if there were.
She did not want to sparkle. Jewelry sparkled. Dishes did. Lucy Sexton didn’t.
At least now she could check one thing off her To Do list and get busy on the rest of it. That would lighten her load, but as she drove back to the office, the sigh she let out had more to do with frustration than relief. Every stoplight on her trip seemed to turn red just as she got there, and the sky above was gray, which guaranteed she was going to freeze and be out of style today. She almost wished Cassandra, the radio psychic she often listened to in the car, wasn’t so annoyingly upbeat. Lucy wasn’t in the mood to hear romantic bliss predicted for caller after caller when she was feeling this low. Blue, actually, if she had to pick a color. She’d been working a lot of hours for a long time to get the mediation service going. Maybe she was just pooped.
She spotted a coffee shop and glanced at her watch, wondering if she had time to pick up a cup of chai tea. She hoped the spicy hot brew would lift her spirits and warm her up. Her endless summer outfit was a little chilly. A parking spot opened up right in front of the shop, which made the decision for her. She pulled in and let herself out, preparing to dash inside. But before she got to the coffee shop door, she noticed a man down the street who looked familiar. Blue jeans encased his long legs and a tool belt hung on his hips, clanking softly as he walked.
Was that him? The attaché guy?
He was a half-block away and headed in the other direction, but when he glanced across the street, Lucy got a glimpse of his profile.
“Wait!” she called, starting after him. If she got his attention, she could return the case and free herself. She broke into a run, hobbled by the heels and sheath.
“Hey, wait!” she called again, pulling up her skirt.
He didn’t seem to hear her, but he stopped to look in a store window, and she poured on the speed. This was her chance. By the time she caught up with him, she was too breathless to speak, but apparently he heard her gasps. He turned and looked at her as if he’d never seen her before.
He hadn’t. It was the wrong man.
“S-sorry!” She gulped air. “I thought it was someone else.”
“Lady, you scared the hell out of me.”
If she hadn’t already felt ridiculous, his indignation would have fixed that. His eyes were close-set, his mouth thin. He didn’t even resemble the attaché guy, except for his height and clothing. How could she have made such a mistake? She apologized again and headed back to her car, the chai tea forgotten.
This was it. The beginning and end of her fascination with tool belts and the men who wore them. Her twenty-four-hour detour into fantasyland was over. She needed to get back to business. She had a wedding to think about, a company, a future.
She kicked off her heels as she got into the car. The damn things were dangerous. With three inches of heel, you could floor the gas pedal and not even know it. No more short skirts, either. She was switching back to gray blazers and slacks.
“OUCH!” Lucy felt something cold thunk against her forehead and looked up to see an aluminum ladder looming before her. It looked like a giant silver letter of the alphabet shooting toward the lobby ceiling. Sh
e’d run smack into the spreader that braced the legs open, but hadn’t even noticed the ladder when she walked into the building.
“Hello!” Lucy called up to the man balanced like a gymnast on scaffolding attached to the top rungs. He’d removed several ceiling panels and appeared to be working on the wiring. It didn’t surprise her that he didn’t look down.
“I work upstairs,” she said. “No one mentioned anything about construction in the lobby. Shouldn’t you have the area cordoned off?”
“It is cordoned off,” he said, without bothering to stop what he was doing. “And there’s a sign on the door as you’re coming in. Take a look.”
Lucy set down the shopping bag and her briefcase, then pushed open the entrance door, which was right behind her, and saw the handwritten sign taped to the glass. No question about what it said: MEN AT WORK. USE OTHER ENTRANCE, PLEASE. The cordage he’d mentioned was an orange ribbon, now draped around her waist and floating behind her. Apparently she’d taken it with her on her way in, like a runner crossing the finish line.
She went back inside and looked around the lobby, deeply chagrined. Luckily it wasn’t the elevator that was under construction. She would have fallen down the shaft. Maybe she did have her powers of concentration back. She’d forced herself to think about an upcoming case—and nothing else—on the drive here. Obviously she’d locked in her target with such intensity she’d pushed everything else away, which was the point. But still.
A soft ping told her the elevator was operational. The workman was engrossed in his task and seemed to have forgotten she existed, so she grabbed both bags and carefully picked her way around the ladder. She didn’t see any other construction going on anywhere, but the small lobby was empty of people. It was an older building with just the one car, so perhaps they were using the stairs. Even Burt, the burly security guard who made it his business to greet everyone in the morning, was nowhere in sight. With the lobby closed, he may have taken the day off.
Burt liked to operate the elevator, too. It wasn’t strictly in his job description, but none of the women complained when he escorted them inside and gallantly delivered them to their floor. Now, the elevator sat open, as if waiting for Lucy. She actually felt some relief when she went inside and pressed the button. She was on her way to the tenth floor, just like every other weekday morning for the last several years. Life was back to normal. She would fix herself a cup of blueberry vanilla tea, water her philodendron, settle down at her desk to check her voice and e-mail, meet with her assistant, and prioritize the workload for that day. Yes, life was back—
“When do I get that hour of your time?”
Lucy’s senses pricked at the sound of a man’s voice. The question slipped through the closing doors of the elevator, and she craned to see who’d said it. There didn’t seem to be anyone out there. The attaché for an hour of your time. Wasn’t that what the alarmingly tall stranger had said to her?
Open the door, Lucy! She thumbed the button repeatedly, but it was too late. The doors sealed with a woosh. The elevator lurched and whirred, already on its way up.
Lucy gripped the safety rail with her shopping bag hand. High heels and a rocky elevator had made her unsteady on her feet. She watched the floors go by, her gaze frozen on the panel above the door. She had heard a man’s voice. Maybe he hadn’t been talking to her, but she’d definitely heard it. Crazy how her heart was pounding. It was probably nothing, a comment made to someone else. She had to get to work. She didn’t have time to go in search of disembodied voices. She shouldn’t even be thinking about things like that.
Two weeks, Luce. You’re going to be Mrs. Frederick Anderson in two weeks. This is your dream come true. He’s the perfect man, honest, solid as Gibraltar, and good to you. Good to you—and probably too good for you. You could spend the rest of your life and never find a guy like him. Don’t blow this.
She hit 10, then immediately hit LOBBY. She was going back down.
“Lucy, shit!” It was a reflex! She hadn’t meant to do that.
The elevator shuddered—and so did her heart. She was going to get stuck. As elevators went, this one was an antique. Burt seemed to know its quirks, but no one else did, and Lucy may have jammed the works. Just watch her get trapped between floors.
She kept her eye on the panel as the car continued up. Maybe it was going to ten before it went back down to the lobby. If she was that lucky, she would get out on ten, drop to her knees, and kiss the carpet.
But it didn’t go all the way to ten. It went to the next floor and stopped. The doors opened, and Lucy stood there, torn. She could get out and take the stairs, or let the door shut and hope the car continued up. But why had it stopped?
The doors closed while she deliberated. The elevator lurched, and Lucy braced herself against the handrail. She was going down. She watched the floors slip by and realized she was headed back to the lobby. She didn’t dare punch another button, so there was no stopping this ride. She was captive to whatever awaited her.
By the time the car reached the bottom floor, her heart was thumping. She chided herself for being a drama queen. No one would be down there, certainly not him, if that’s what she was thinking. But as the doors parted, she found herself staring at eyes blue enough to dive into from a cliff. Crystalline waters, those eyes. It was a moment before she could tear her gaze away to verify that it was actually him.
She took in the jeans, tool belt, and enigmatic smile. “You,” she said softly. “What are you doing here?”
He cocked his head. “I could ask you the same question.”
“This is my building. I work here. Lucy Sexton. Sexton Mediation. You aren’t following me, are you?”
She hadn’t meant it to come out like that—accusatory, but she was flustered. He had no way of knowing that she’d been chasing down men who looked like him. At any rate, he didn’t seem to mind her tone. He answered with a shrug.
“I was just going up to the roof,” he explained. “I have a job up there.”
“You do not.”
“I do, too.”
“You’re working here? In this building?” She let go of the safety rail and steadied herself on her feet. “Your being here has nothing to do with me?”
He handed her a card that said HIGHTOWER ELECTRIC with his name inscribed at the bottom: NOAH HIGHTOWER. But she wasn’t able to take it until she’d tucked her briefcase under her arm. “I’m doing the wiring for the restaurant on the roof,” he explained. “I was the guy on the ladder you ran into.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“I didn’t see you until you walked away.”
Lucy couldn’t get over it. “It doesn’t seem possible that you were in the store yesterday and here today, unless—”
The elevator door tried to close, and he caught it with his arm. “Unless I’m following you? Maybe you’re following me.”
Well, she had been, actually. “But you did say you wanted an hour of my time, didn’t you? Please tell me I’m not hearing voices.”
He grinned, still battling the door. “I want much more than that, but I’ll settle for an hour, and not a minute less.”
Lucy had begun to wonder which of them needed a padded cell. “Why? Why should you want any of my time?”
“Why not? Life is short,” He joined her in the elevator, apologizing as he reached in front of her. He hit a button that said SKY HARBOR LOUNGE and asked her what floor she wanted.
“Ten.” Lucy pressed against the railing behind her, but the elevator didn’t move. Nothing happened. No lurching, no shuddering. The doors didn’t even close.
He tried again. Still nothing.
She could hardly contain the moan that welled up. “It’s stalled. Burt is the only one who can fix it. There’s a stairway,” she suggested.
But he already had his tools out and the floor selector panel off the wall. She watched him work with multicolored wires and switches, wondering if he might be electrocuted at any second. It
was a delicate process, and his fine motor skills were pretty impressive, but Lucy was particularly struck by the caramel tones in his complexion, and the way his skin glowed against the blue chambray of his work shirt. He spent time in the sun. That was evident from the amber highlights in his dark waves and the golden dusting of hair on his forearms. His hands looked powerful, yet sensitive.
She was reminded of a safecracker, listening to the clicks and caressing the locking mechanism, every sense pricked to the task. The image played and replayed in her mind, provoking an odd little thrill. But her fantasy was over too quickly. Within moments he had the panel in place and stood back to view his handiwork.
“Try your floor now,” he said as he put his tools away.
Juggling all her burdens, Lucy reached around him to press the button. Somehow she brushed his arm with her breasts and felt a sizzling snap of heat. Already off balance, she bumped him again, and the sensation zinged through her like electrical current. It was hot enough to make her suck in a gasp. Fiery sharp and sweet, it sizzled and crackled all the way to her toes.
He’d given her a shock, she realized. Not one of those dry, prickly biting shocks. This was the real thing.
“Sorry,” he said, “I tend to carry a charge.”
“I noticed.” Her fingertips were still tingling. The current had shot to her extremities as if it were searching for a way out of her body.
“Is that an occupational hazard?” she asked.
“It wasn’t before today.”
Was he kidding? Her eyes locked with his for a moment, and she felt another jolt, this one to her equilibrium. All she needed.
He pressed the buttons, and the doors closed. She braced herself as the elevator lurched, trying not to bump him again, but she wasn’t anchored against anything, and he stood between her and the railing. The car lifted, and she swayed forward, just barely able to catch herself.
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