“Are you all right?” He gripped her arm and steadied her.
“I’m fine. I just need to put these bags down. And maybe take off my heels.”
“Sexy shoes,” he said, glancing down at them.
Lucy felt a moment’s satisfaction knowing her beach bunny outfit wasn’t totally wasted. Being off balance seemed a small price to pay for the pleasure his appreciative gaze brought. She didn’t even mind that the elevator bucked when they got to her floor and sent her reeling. Right into his arms.
“I can’t seem to stay on my feet,” she said, allowing herself one delicious moment in the heat of his embrace.
“I’m liking those shoes better and better.”
Her throat burned with pleasure, and she was glad he couldn’t see her face. He felt safe, warm, solid, and she didn’t want to tear herself away. She had to, but she didn’t want to. He was better than the handrail any day—strong and warm, with a body designed to support her and arms that felt as if they could protect her from anything.
“It’s my floor,” she said in case he hadn’t noticed. “This is ten.”
She put a hand to his chest, but it might have been as much out of the desire to touch him as the desire to have him move. At any rate, he didn’t release her. Instead he hit the DOOR CLOSE button—and drew her tighter. “Stay with me,” he said.
“Stay with you? In the elevator?” Lucy’s heart had begun to thump, a common occurrence when she was with him. She didn’t know what to say, except, “I can’t.” But it came out so faint she could barely hear it herself.
The door closed and sealed. What was he doing? Taking her up to the roof? Her mind started to dart every which way, none of them good. Did he actually work up there or was this something much more sinister? Should she be frightened? What if he’d caused the electrical problems as a way to clear out the lobby so that he could trap her on the elevator? Had he been stalking her all this time just to catch her in a situation like this? Was she being taken by force?
“You’d better tell me what you’re doing,” she said, “and tell me now.”
“It’s a test.”
“What do you mean, a test?”
He cradled her with one arm and pushed another button. But it wasn’t the SKY HARBOR LOUNGE. It was DOOR OPEN. “Just making sure it works.”
“What, the elevator?” She gaped at him while the doors opened like clockwork. “Are you going to let me go now?”
“Do I have to?” A smile touched his lips, but she wouldn’t let herself smile back.
Dammit, heart, shut up. He’ll hear you! “Please.”
“I guess that’s a yes?”
“That’s a resounding yes. I’m very self-sufficient,” she assured him. “I can take care of myself.”
He released her and gallantly handed her over the transom. When she was safely on the other side, she turned and watched him disappear behind the closing doors. Good God, what a flight of fantasy that was. He seemed to have that effect on her. Her brain kept going off on tangents and whipping her into a frenzy instead of letting her do what she was supposed to—like return the damn briefcase.
Lucy glanced at the purple and gold sack in her hand. She’d found the owner, but she hadn’t accomplished what she wanted to, which was to return the Cavalli. You might say she’d been left holding the bag.
Chapter Three
LUCY busily juggled packages and tugged down her skirt as she approached the reception area of Sexton Mediation Services. It surprised her to see her fiancé standing dead center in the large open room as she entered.
“Frederick? Is everything okay?”
His body language stopped her from going over to give him a hug. He couldn’t have seen her encounter with the electrician; the reception area was down the hallway from the elevator bay. But something was wrong. His arms were folded, and he didn’t greet her with his usual warm smile. Tallish and lean, Frederick could best be described as dapper. He even looked a little formidable in his double-breasted banker’s suits and his perfectly trimmed graying-at-the-temples hair. Everything about him was perfectly trimmed and tidy, which was exactly what had attracted her. He was her ballast, her island of calm amid stormy seas.
He tapped his watch, as if he were dealing with a tardy teenager. “We had an appointment with the wedding planner.”
“Right, at ten, and it’s—” Lucy checked her watch, too. “Ten-thirty? Can that be right?” The receptionist wasn’t at her desk, so Lucy unloaded her packages there. She glanced around at the wall clock behind her, then pulled out her cell, which was always accurate. It was ten-thirty! She’d dawdled away more than an hour this morning.
“What are you doing?” Frederick asked.
Lucy tapped out the number for their wedding planner. “I’m calling Cheree. Maybe she can still take us. We’ll dash right over there. I’ll be a little late for my next meeting, but that’s okay.”
He walked over, took the phone from her hand, and closed it.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he handed the cell back to her. There were times when his quiet brand of superiority could be annoying, like now. But Mr. Frederick Anderson wasn’t quite so perfect today, she realized. There was dandruff on his otherwise pristine gray flannel suit. She could see at least two flakes. She didn’t tell him, but she was tempted.
“Cheree left fifteen minutes ago,” he explained. “We were supposed to meet her here. You set the appointment up yourself, remember. It was the only way you could squeeze it into your schedule.”
It all came back to Lucy in a woosh. She’d juggled everyone’s schedule including hers, but this morning’s distractions had completely thrown her off. That wasn’t like her. She was usually great with scheduling, and she would never dream of inconveniencing people this way.
“I’ll set something else up,” she said. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll coordinate with your assistant.”
She had her cell phone open, but he stayed her hand again. “Are you sure you’re okay with all of this? Maybe the wedding is too much, too soon? We could postpone.”
“Frederick! The invitations have gone out. We can’t postpone now. Everything’s in place.”
She couldn’t believe he would suggest such a thing at this late date. They’d been planning the wedding for months, and she’d known she was going to marry him within a week of meeting him at a gallery opening in town. That was four years ago, and she hadn’t wavered in her conviction since. Frederick might have, but she hadn’t.
“Do you want to postpone?” she asked.
His brows furrowed, hinting at exasperation. “Lucy, I’m not the one missing meetings. You were a no-show at your last gown fitting, too.”
“I didn’t miss it. I had to reschedule. Elsa is coming over here and bringing the gown with her. She’ll do the alterations in my office.”
The reception desk phone rang, and Lucy picked it up without thinking. When the receptionist took a break she switched on the voice mail service. No one needed to answer. Lucy jotted down a quick message for one of the paralegals, and as she hung up the phone, she saw that Frederick was watching her. His expression had softened.
“Are we okay?” she asked. Her wheedling tone seduced a smile out of him.
“Of course we are. But don’t tell me not to worry about you, Lucy. You haven’t been yourself, especially lately. You seem agitated.”
“You call it agitated. I call it sparkly.” Lydia Sexton breezed into the room, a steaming mug of Amaretto-scented coffee in her hand. She gave Frederick an obligatory nod and then focused her attention on Lucy. “Something’s up with our girl,” she said, “and she won’t tell me what it is.”
“Nothing’s up, mother of mine. Brides-to-be are supposed to sparkle and be agitated. It’s natural, pre-wedding jitters.”
Lucy wanted no further talk of her sparkliness, but her mother had already turned her critical eye on Lucy’s outfit. Lydia batted her eyelashes, as if surprised.
“Is that
a miniskirt?” she asked.
Naturally Frederick had to check Lucy out as well. Under their double-barrel scrutiny, Lucy turned the hottest shade of pink there was.
“Why are you dressed like that?” Frederick asked, visually measuring the shortness of her skirt and the length of her leg.
Lucy shrugged her shoulders. “The weather. It’s hot outside.”
“It’s hot inside, too,” her mother said with a sly wink.
Lucy pretended not to have any idea what all the fuss was about, and Frederick gallantly came to her aid. “I like the outfit. It looks—”
“Summery?” Lucy suggested.
“Very summery,” Frederick agreed. He held out his arms, as if to give her a hug, and Lucy felt a twinge of reluctance. Normally, she loved hugging Frederick, but today it didn’t feel quite right. Guilt, maybe? She really hadn’t done anything wrong. Confusion?
Thankfully, Frederick didn’t seem to notice her hesitation. He’d spotted the shopping bag on the receptionist’s desk and was craning around her for a better look at it.
“What did we buy at the Blanchard’s?” he asked.
Lucy swooped on the bag, clutching it. “Uh—a gift?”
“For anyone I know?” he teased.
“I don’t think so. But he’s one terrific guy.”
“Oh, really?”
He made a grab for the bag, and she snatched it away. Clearly he took that as a challenge because he came for her like a basketball guard trying to steal the ball. Lucy wouldn’t have thought Frederick capable of such antics, but she couldn’t let him get a look in the bag.
“Mom!” she shouted, lobbing the bag over his shoulder to her mother, who caught it with one hand—and without spilling a drop of coffee.
Frederick whirled, saw what had happened, and threw up his hands. He wasn’t going to mess with his future mother-in-law.
Lydia took a victory bow. She then snapped the bag open and looked inside. A mysterious smile dawned, and she glanced from Lucy to Frederick and back again. She said nothing, but Lucy could read her expression. She just hoped Frederick couldn’t.
All this effort to hide a briefcase? Lydia seemed to be saying. What’s the story, daughter of mine? You may be fooling Frederick, but you’re not fooling me.
“THE gift that keeps on giving.” Lucy sighed and tossed her pen down. She might as well hang the damn attaché around her neck like an albatross. After the encounter with Frederick and her mother, Lucy had hooked the shopping bag on a coat-rack in her office, turned her back on it, and thrown herself into her work. Her paralegal had joined her and they’d prepped for that day’s session with Lucy’s new clients, which had gone reasonably well, considering there was a family business involved.
But now that the session was over—and in fact, the entire day was over—Lucy could no longer avoid the obvious. She still hadn’t figured out what to do with the briefcase. She had some ideas, though.
Plan A was to reupholster the seat of her office chair in calfskin and park her fanny on it all day long. Plan B was to take it up to the roof of the building, give it back to the electrician, and if he gave her any guff, to toss it over the side, preferably with him attached.
How about that for conflict resolution? Plan B, definitely.
Moments later she was in the elevator, on her way up to the roof. She’d started the day off late, and there’d never been time to change from the sundress and heels. Such a mistake, that outfit. The weather had turned stormy and the temperature had plunged into the fifties. Now the sun was going down, and she had gooseflesh to add to her list of fashion faux pas. She was freezing! Nevertheless, she had a good feeling about her mission. She’d actually come up with a viable way to carry out Plan B. She was going to make the electrician an offer he couldn’t refuse.
Please don’t let him have left yet, she thought.
The elevator emptied directly into entry of the Sky Harbor Lounge and it surprised her that the restaurant looked ready for business. Construction had been going on for nearly a month, but with the top floor closed to the public, there wasn’t any way to see what was being done. Between Lucy’s work and her upcoming wedding, she hadn’t been paying much attention anyway.
Rustling noises to her left took her down a flight of black marble steps and into what looked like the dining area. The large room curved like a discus, spilling out onto a wraparound patio, where wrought-iron bistro tables were shaded by bright cobalt blue-and-white-striped umbrellas. Massive ebony fans spun slowly from the vaulted ceilings. But what caught Lucy’s eye were the floor-length white curtains, blowing like enormous flags. All the French doors and windows were thrown wide open, letting the wind whip through.
Lucy could see the storm gathering outside, but the man with his back to her seemed oblivious. It looked like he was packing up equipment, perhaps in preparation to leave. It was hard to see anything but his broad back and decadently lush dark hair. But as she drew closer, she noticed the initials T. H. carved into his leather tool belt, and the words, “Let there be light.”
“Who’s T. H.?” she asked.
He turned, and she forced herself to meet his gaze. Her smile was involuntary. She had absolutely no control over it. Thank God, he didn’t know what was happening inside her, the riot of excitement.
“Now I know you’re following me,” he said, stepping back to look her over. “Did I mention those were great shoes?”
She glanced down, still smiling. “You did.”
All her mind could see were his eyes, sapphire depths, deep seas. He was the sea, not the island, and the kind of storm he could create was already swirling around her. She had done her best to avoid storms of all kinds. It was too much like the chaos her father had created in her childhood.
“You didn’t tell me who T. H. was,” she said.
“My uncle, Thomas Hightower.”
“He gave you the belt?”
He rubbed the worn leather with his thumb, smoothing a deep scratch. “I went to live with him and my aunt when my mother passed. He was a journeyman electrician, and a genius at lighting interiors. He taught me his trade and gave me his tool belt to get me started. It’s been good luck.”
Lucy could hear the genuine affection in his voice. She didn’t ask what had happened to his mother. She’d already intruded enough.
“Do you still want me to spend that hour with you?” she asked him.
He hesitated and her heart wavered. Everything depended on his wanting that.
“Of course I do.”
Good. “Then I have two things for you. The first is a question. The second is an offer.”
“And the question is?”
The draft from the French doors was brisk. It sent the billowy white curtains flying. Lucy rubbed her arms in an effort to keep warm. “I don’t understand your interest,” she said. “Why do you want to spend time with me?—and don’t tell me life is short.”
“Life is short, but that’s only part of the reason.” He cocked his head, thoughtful for a moment. “The truth? You remind me of someone.”
“Who?”
“Me, at a time when I was about to marry a woman I didn’t really want to marry, only I didn’t know it.”
“And what did you do?”
“I married her and made her very unhappy. I haven’t forgiven myself yet.”
“So now you go around trying to stop people from making bad marriages? That’s your atonement?”
He thought about that a minute. “Yeah.”
“And that’s why you want an hour of my time? To talk me out of my wedding?”
His blue eyes were unblinking. “I just want an hour of your time. Does there have to be a reason?”
His voice had dropped low, and the question took on a resonance that Lucy couldn’t dismiss.
“No, I guess not,” she said. Odd, though, for her there did have to be a reason, for everything. Her practical nature demanded that. Still, there was something about this man that elicited things sh
e didn’t expect to say, or feel. She wasn’t sure anyone had ever spoken to her the way he just did, certainly not Frederick.
Across the room, an empty carton fell off a table, blown by the wind. She and Noah hurried to close the doors and windows. The sky was rapidly darkening outside, and by the time they had everything locked up, Lucy realized the dining room was glimmering with light. The walls glowed with amber fire, and silvery beams streamed from the ceiling, catching the room’s rich teak furnishings in their spotlight. The lighting system must be computerized, and he must have done it.
“I think you’re the genius,” she said.
He didn’t answer, and finally she got around to the point of her trip. “I still need to make that offer.”
“I wish you would.”
She held up the Blanchard’s bag. “If I give you the hour will you take back this briefcase?”
“Absolutely.”
“Great, let’s do it.”
He breathed out low laughter. “My thoughts exactly. When?”
“You choose the time and place,” she said. “I’ll be there with the merchandise.” She waggled the bag and took a step back toward the elevator. She took another and another, waiting for him to name the date. Maybe he was thinking it through. But he was also watching her every move, and she was much too wobbly to walk backward on high heels.
She turned around and headed for the bay, delighted she was able to do it without dancing all over the place. Just as she got there, he said, “Tomorrow, the pier, nine o’clock.”
“It’s a date.” The car doors closed on her secret smile. He was the sea. He was the storm and she was a girl who could barely swim. Why did she want to go there?
NOAH watched the elevator doors close and allowed himself a moment. The word “yesss” hissed softly through his lips. He’d just been propositioned by a leggy brunette, wearing stilts and sporting goose bumps. He wanted to savor this. She’d left him with a pleasant buzz in his head and a tight sensation in his groin.
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