He finally let out a weary exhalation of air, "My secretary."
"That records your night escapades?."
‘‘No.” 'What did I expect you to say?' she thought.
"Who’s Brian?’’ Lucia said.
“A friend."
“And business partner,’’ Lucia prompted him.
Damon sighed wearily.
"That, too.’’
“So this playboy thing is an act.’’ It wasn’t even a question.
He moved his arm and opened his eyes. ‘‘It’s not an act,’’ he protested.
"No, I suppose some of it wasn’t.’’ She would allow him that much. “You couldn’t have possibly conned the world’s freest press into reporting a hundred sightings of you and the world’s most gorgeous women if there was no kernel of truth. But there’s more to you than what I already know. Am I right?’’
"I never said there wasn’t.”
"You did your best to give that impression.” She mused.
"It’s none of your business what I do.’’
"Nor your father’s?’’
“Especially not his!’’ Damon propped himself up on his elbows and glared at her. “He never gave a damn about me. He only wants me to do what he tells me to."
"And what do you really do?’’
There was a pause. “Design boats. And ships.”
Lucia's eyes grew wide as saucers.
"That’s what I was reading to Brian?’’
"You were reading conversions for some tankage we had to adjust. Brian is the on-site coordinator. In Cornwall. That’s where we’re based."
"The three a.m. phone calls?"
Damon grimaced. ‘‘It’s eight in Cornwall. He works on his time— and when he needs me, I do, too.’’
“This is a... big business?’’
“Yes.” And somehow that wasn’t a surprise, either. "Have you been doing it for long?’’
‘‘Why the question, Lucia? Do you want references? Want me to design you a ship?’ he snapped. “I’m out of your price range.’’
"No doubt. But I’m still curious. Why would you bother to keep a perfectly respectable career hidden?’’ She asked, refusing to think about the hurtful words.
His jaw tightened. “Because I choose to.’’
"You want to be thought of as a playboy.’’
"I never said I was a playboy.’’
“But—’’
"And you’re not telling the old man about this.”
“But he’d ..."
‘‘No!’’ His fingers tightened so hard around her wrist that she thought he would cut off the circulation. Experimentally she wiggled her fingers. It seemed to make him aware of the pressure he was exerting. He dropped her hand.
‘‘Sorry. But I don’t want you to tell him.”
Dark, pain-filled eyes bored into hers.
Lucia nodded slowly. ‘‘I won’t.’’
He sank back and shut his eyes again. His chest heaved slightly, then he breathed more easily.
"You’re a naval architect?’’ Lucia asked after a moment. ‘‘How did that happen?’’ It wasn’t something a person just fell into.
"I always messed about in boats. Goes with the genes, I suppose.’’ His mouth twisted bitterly. "My father has been involved with boats in one way or another as long as anyone can remember. I had a boat when I was a kid. Sailing was my… salvation.’’ His face relaxed a little in reflection. ‘‘I liked drawing them, designing them too— as well as sailing them.’’ He shrugged.
‘‘Nobody tried to tell me how to do that.’’
"Nobody? like your father?"
‘‘He was very good at trying to tell me what to do. Wanted me to do things his way. Work in his business. Study what he told me to.’’
And he wouldn’t have gone along with any of it, she could see that. A boy like Damon whose father had left him would never respect that father enough to do what he wanted.
"Go to Greece,’ he said. ‘Or go to Harvard,’’ Damon went on. ‘‘Learn the old family way. Learn the new Harvard business school way, but I wasn’t interested. I didn’t want Greece or Harvard, so I went to Glasgow.”
"Scotland?’’ She stared wide at the rebellious son in front of her.
"They taught what I wanted to learn.”
Silence
"Naval architecture.”
"Yes. But he didn’t know that. He never asked. He just said that if I didn’t do what he wanted, he wouldn’t pay the bills. I could waste my life as far as he was concerned.’’ He opened his eyes and looked at her again. “So as far as he is concerned, I have.”
She sighed softly, too. "Now I know."
He’d blown his cover.
He remembered that the minute he opened his eyes and saw the computer back on the desk where it belonged and not in the bed where he seemed to have had it most of the time over the past few days.
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. They were what had finally betrayed him. All the hours squinting at the screen had done exactly what the doctor had told him they would do.
‘Strain and stress will cause you headaches. Head injuries take time to heal,’ he’d said the last time he went in, complaining. "Give it a rest.’’
But he couldn’t give it a rest when work needed to be done.
Finally, though, he couldn’t even focus on the work he’d done. When Brian had called, needing the answers, he’d needed them right then. There was no time for Damon to say he’d call back in a few hours when the lines sorted themselves out and the numbers made sense he'd had to get Lucia to read them. And of course, Lucia knew she wasn’t reading the scores of some computer game.
Now what?
He didn’t know. He dared hope she wouldn’t tell his father, though he supposed it wouldn’t matter much if she did. The pleasure he’d got out of convincing the old man that his oldest son was a worthless, lazy ladies’ man had waned some time ago.
Now keeping up the facade was just a matter of principle.
The phone rang, and he noticed that it was out of reach as well. He sighed and started to haul himself up to get it, but it stopped ringing almost at once. If he was very quiet, he could hear Lucia talking in the living room.
To his father?
Maybe. He didn’t care.
To her aunts? Possibly. He wondered about them. Were they like her? She’d told him a few days ago that they raised her after her parents had died. That explained a lot of her more nun-like tendencies. He’d said that and just watched her blush, and he’d been gratified when she did.
“I had other influences in my life, too," she’d told him seriously. “My uncle Arthur was a dance instructor. He had quite a way with the ladies. Though he was not,” she’d added, ‘‘quite as proficient as you.’’
He wondered what she thought about his proficiency now that she knew who Lisa was. She knew that all those Phone calls from ‘‘Briana’’ were actually from Brian with business problems. There had been women who had called him over the past few days though.