Читать книгу The Man From her Wayward Past - Susan Stephens, Susan Stephens - Страница 10

I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats o’er vales and hill …

I’m the only twenty-four-year-old I know who doesn’t need to take her pill.

Anon.

Are all poets destined to end up on the (remainder) shelf?

Pull yourself together, Lucia!

RESTING her cheek against the cold wet glass the next morning, Lucia stopped scribbling in her journal and stared out of the caravan window at the windswept shore. If she had wanted distance from her brothers she had certainly got it here. She missed them, but no way was she going to ask them for the money to help Margaret. If she did she’d be right back to square one. Yes, she loved her brothers, but Nacho especially made no distinction between caring and smothering, which had left her gasping for freedom in the shadow of four powerful men and their saintly friend Luke.

Luke …

Did her body have to respond with such unbridled delight to the idea of so much stern, glowering disapproval locked inside one hot man?

Maybe she liked Luke’s steely self-control too much, Lucia reflected, glancing at his poster image. It was certainly enough to overrule her fear of men.

Most men. Picking up her bag, she made a mental note to get the strap repaired. It had suffered a few injuries when she had used it to beat off the concierge. Teeth, nails, handbag, heel of her shoe … A frantic struggle which seemed so feeble now she looked back. But at least she had got away. Eventually.

The concierge had made her feel dirty, calling her names as she ran from the room, clutching her ripped shirt together. He’d said she was asking for it, when nothing could be further from the truth. She did like parties, and she liked flirting with hot guys, but now she could see that her fun-filled reputation had done her no favours. She could just imagine Luke’s scorn if he ever found out what had happened. Getting changed in the staffroom without remembering to put the lock on the door? It was such a stupid thing to do. But she had to try to put it behind her or she would never get on with her life.

Tilting her chin, Lucia gave Luke’s image one last confident stare, but the ache still remained. Where was he now? With the blonde? Perhaps Luke had sensed she was tainted—that the concierge had had his hands all over her. Everywhere. It made her stomach heave just thinking about it. She could still remember his fingers intimately feeling … squeezing … probing, and his sour breath choking her as she struggled to escape. If Luke knew that he would just think, Party girl. What do you expect?

She jumped as her phone rang, and then frowned as she checked the number. She had to take a moment before she could answer. Talk of the devil—though Luke would have no truck with hell. What? No air-con? Luke would be more likely to hold a season ticket to cloud extreme, where he could strum his whip beneath the glow of an oat-fed halo. No way would he waste his time on an aerodynamically inefficient tail and a totally useless pitchfork unless he could use it to strike a polo ball.

‘Luke,’ she said finally, when she had calmed down a little. ‘What a nice surprise. Did you leave something at the club?’

‘In the unlikely event I had left something at the club I would go back to pick it up. I wouldn’t call you.’

Well. That told her. Luke couldn’t have sounded less enthusiastic had he tried. Crouched on the bench seat, with her legs drawn up, she hugged the phone. ‘Of course not,’ she said, injecting energy into her voice. ‘So, what can I do for you?’

‘I didn’t see you when I left the club. You were working, I expect.’

‘I’m sorry. I—’

‘Strange,’ he rapped over her. ‘The first time I saw you at the club you assured me you weren’t working there often. But the manager says you are. And he knows you as Anita. What’s going on, Lucia? Why are you lying to me?’

‘What I do or don’t do is none of your business, Luke.’

‘Nacho made it my business.’

‘So you’re my brother’s deputy now?’

‘I’m your brother’s friend,’ Luke argued quietly.

Luke couldn’t have disarmed her faster. There was no point starting a feud with someone Nacho loved when the very last thing she wanted was a total break with her family. ‘So why are you calling me?’

‘I’m concerned about you, Lucia.’

‘Well, don’t be. And if my brothers are so worried, why don’t they call? Or are they too busy playing polo?’

‘Why are you always so suspicious, Lucia?’

‘Because you’re all joined at the hip,’ she flashed. ‘And because my brothers never like me to have too long a leash. Isn’t that right, Luke?’

There was silence at the other end of the line.

Damn him! Luke had made her feel homesick, reminding her of all the warmth and support she received in Argentina. It made everything here seem bleaker—the wind rattling round the caravan, the freezing cold water, the hideous episode with the concierge which she was doing her best to block out, and then her subsequent high-speed drive through the night, reckless …

And her lousy job at the club.

A dead-end job to end all dead-end jobs.

Her heart sank like a stone. She couldn’t bear for gorgeous, glorious, successful Luke to know her life was a complete and utter mess. And she certainly couldn’t bear for him to share that little nugget of information with her brothers. If they knew what had happened … How they would blame her for her frivolous, careless party-girl lifestyle. She deserved this, didn’t she?

Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, she said briskly, ‘Is this a courtesy call, or does it have some purpose, Luke?’ She needed him to get off the line fast, before her voice broke.

‘I’ve never heard you in this mood before,’ he said suspiciously.

‘Independent, do you mean?’ Her fingers had turned white on the phone. It was one thing acting tough, but when she really wanted to cling to Luke’s disembodied presence like a brainless limpet until all the bad things went away it was far better to end the call as soon as she could.

‘Are you still there, Lucia?’

‘I’m here.’

Luke checking up on her was nothing new. She had been an object of amusement for Luke and her brothers for as long as Lucia could remember. They thought she was a fancy, frilly little joke—a novelty, a pet they would like to keep locked up in a box until they decided to bring her out and coo over her on those rare occasions when they weren’t trying to murder each other on the polo field.

‘Just tell my brothers everything’s fine.’