Lucia had never believed in reading blogs because she had the notion that very little of them ought to be believed.
Still, if even a tenth of what she read was credible, Damon Walter was one of the world’s sexiest men—with an insatiable appetite for the world’s sexiest women.
There didn’t seem to be a single actress, model, or female recording artist under the age of forty that he hadn’t had a fling with. And if those were the ones worthy of being written about, how many hundred had he bedded who were not?
Heavens.
She read until far into the night. And finally, she shoved her phone onto the bedside table, she couldn't keep it in. There was, perhaps, too much punishment there even for her.
She switched off the light and rolled onto her side and told herself not to think about it—about him.
Of course, she thought about it. She went to sleep and dreamt about it. She must have awakened half a dozen times from dreams—or nightmares—in which Damon kissed, caressed, or otherwise touched some of the world’s most gorgeous women.
She woke up cranky and out of sorts. Who could blame her? She’d never had dreams like these when she’d been anyone else’s nanny!
She tried telling herself that the articles were meaningless—pure hype designed to sell the newspapers or magazines that ran them.
But even if she managed some of the time, Damon seemed determined to prove that they were true.
Certainly, over the next few days, he seemed to take great pleasure in flaunting his not-so-discreet conversations with a variety of women on the telephone.
There was, of course, Lisa till calling at all hours of the day and night. But there were others besides Lisa. Every time Lucia came into the living room he was talking or listening to some of the female persuasions.
Sometimes he was jotting notes on paper and Lucia thought he was actually talking business—though she couldn’t imagine what because according to the articles, he was an unemployed member of the idle rich.
But just when she had that notion, he said something like, ‘‘Aw, sweetheart, I love it when you say things like that,’’ or, “Oh, that pussy."
The blatantly seductive tone of his voice set her teeth right on edge. It was as if he was flaunting them in front of her.
Well, fine. Let him, she didn't care. She was his nanny after all.
It wasn’t as if she was interested in him. Not at all. As far as she was concerned, he was just a piece of evidence, living proof, as it were, that she was capable of passion.
He didn’t seem capable of anything beyond seductive phone conversations and interminable computer games. Every time he disappeared into his room, talking to Lisa or one of the other women in his life, he seemed to end up sitting on his bed with the laptop, scowling in Concentration.
‘‘What a productive and serious young man you are." She jested when she brought him lunch one afternoon.
"Huh," He looked at her, distracted, then rubbed his eyes, and gave her a bleary ironic smile. ‘‘A man’s gotta do what a man gotta do.
She rolled her eyes.
And a woman—this woman—had merely to survive, She could do that, she assured herself. He was giving her a lot of reasons to look twice at him.
And once he had gone, and she was free of the Walters, she could set to work finding the right man to focus her newly discovered passion on.
In the meantime, though, because it was what she was here for, she felt obliged to try to create some sort of relationship between Damon and his father.
“Talk to him,” she urged him. ‘‘Listen to him.”
But Damon didn't want to talk, and he didn’t want to listen—to her or his father. He turned his back, shrugged her off, and ignored her words.
"I'm not interested,’’ he said.
"You are,’’ she argued. She’d seen the look on his face whenever he looked up toward the main house and especially when he caught glimpses of his father out by the pool with his wife and little boy.
Damon might think he didn’t care, but it was pretty obvious that he did care.
"Leave me alone,” He shunned her, whenever she brought it up.
“She needs me,” he said. And he didn’t seem to mind. Sometimes Lucia heard him calling her!
But this time when the phone rang again, it was someone Damon called Briana, with a seductive teasing tone that reminded Lucia again what a two-timing bastard he was. She gnashed her teeth as she saw him cradling the receiver against his ear, Damon disappeared into the bedroom.
She should have been glad. After all, she reminded herself, there was no way she could entertain the notion that he was worthy of her interest when he was consumed with half the other women on the planet. He must have a little black book the size of the Manhattan phone directory.
"Do you ever date the same woman twice?’’ she asked him the next night. She didn’t want to pretend interest, but the question was out before she could stop it.
He leaned back in his chair and smiled one of his blatantly sexy smiles, though his eyes were still bloodshot from being up most of the night again, and the continual rubbing of his eyes and his temples indicated another headache. ‘‘If they’re worth it,’’ he said with that easy, teasing smile of his. She could almost hear the smolder in his voice.
“Is that your way of finding the perfect woman to settle down with?’’ She knew her tone was sharp, but she couldn’t seem to stop that either.
“I’m not settling down, Ever.’’ The seductiveness was gone. Now his tone was just as sharp as hers.
Surprise, surprise. "Too many women in the world to limit yourself to just one?”
“Exactly.” He bit the end of the word off, then shoved himself out of his chair. "And I have to go call one now.’’ He started to hobble toward his bedroom.
"It's quite too early for Lisa, don't you think?" She asked back.
"This is Briana." He started with a taunting smirk, "are you keeping count?"
When the phone rang at a little past three, Lucia ignored it. She knew who it was. She had no desire to hear the lovely Lisa again this morning.
She rolled over, punched her pillow, and said silently to Damon 'I hope you have the most damned headache in the world tonight'.
When it rang again, she cursed silently, refusing the temptation to pick up the call and shun whichever woman off.
And when it shrilled yet again, she yanked the pillow over her head and thought dire thoughts about him and the insomniac Lisa.
Finally, after five rings, it stopped. About time, Lucia thought. She settled on the pillow again, banishing all thoughts of Damon bare-legged and bare-chested, having sleepy nocturnal conversations with other women.
There was a tap on her door.
Disoriented, she rolled over, thinking she’d imagined it. Then it came again.
"Lucia?" A familiar manly voice came from outside.
The door opened. Damon poked his head in. ‘‘Do me a favor.” His voice sounded rough and edged with worry and anxiety.
Lucia scrambled out of bed and grabbed her robe and pulled it on in the darkness.
"Are you alright?’’ She asked, concerned.
"Yeah. Just a headache.’’
"Another one,” she growled.
“I'll be fine. But I need to read some numbers and I can’t seem to focus.”
"Numbers?" She asked, genuinely confused at his request.
"Will you help or not?" He asked impatiently.
Must they have an ego? She thought silently as she put on her robe, covering her sexy lingerie, and knotting the tie as she followed him out of the door.
He was heading back toward his bedroom as fast as his crutches could take him. By the time she got there, she could just make out his form on his bed. He was lying flat on his back, an arm over his eyes. Beside him lay the phone and the laptop computer.
Damon kept his arm across his eyes but gestured toward the computer with his other hand.
‘‘Read the figures on that screen into the phone.”
"Into the phone? Lisa wanted her to read a bunch of numbers. What were they doing, comparing body count?
"Just sit down, for God’s sake,’’ Damon muttered, and reached out for her hand, pulling her down onto the bed...
Lucia sat, but she edged away from him, then fiddled with the angle of the screen, trying to see what numbers he was talking about. There appeared to be a whole row, none of which made any sense to her.
‘‘Hello?’’ she said tentatively into the phone.
"Hello.’’ A very masculine, albeit British voice startled her in reply.
"Brian on the line, please. I gather Damon is under the weather at the moment. Don’t blame him, he’s been working flat out. So if you could just read me the specifications, please?"
Working flat out? Damon?
As far as she knew Damon, his name and work don't go along.
She shot Damon a curious hard stare, but he still had his hand over his eyes. And Brian — Briana? she wondered. No, it couldn’t be! But still
"Uh.. yeah.." she stuttered more with the screen, then slowly read down the list of numbers.
What she read made no sense to her, but it seemed to satisfy Brian.
"Excellent! Tell him I'll talk to Anderson and see if this will fly. Or sail, I suppose I should say," he said jovially.
‘‘Does he want to talk to Anderson himself?” Lucia relayed the question to Damon
“No,’’ Brian replied instead, while Damon remained quiet.
"I heard him. That's it, then. Tell him I'll call in as soon as I have spoken with Anderson." He hung up the phone.
Lucia sat with the receiver in her hand, feeling somewhat at sea herself. She looked at the computer screen, then at Damon.
"I'll call you as soon as he calls back," Damon grunted. ‘‘Thanks.’’
"How long has this been going on?’’
He ran his tongue over his top lip. ‘‘Started a few hours ago.’’ His voice was barely more than a whisper.
"I am not talking about the headache," Lucia said sternly. He winced. But he didn’t answer.
“Why do you want to know?"
"Briana?" she said sweetly.
The wince became a grimace.
He didn't say anything.
“Who's Lisa?” Still, he didn’t talk.