And yet he knew, despite their separation, that his mother had always loved her husband. She would never let Damon speak badly of him. She never said a bad thing herself.
She just looked sad, and lonely. And she’d been alone—except for her son—when she’d died of a heart attack six years ago.
The death of his mother was the most painful loss Damon had ever experienced. He’d been grief-stricken, missing her terribly, devastated by her loss, even though intellectually he should have been prepared.
For over a year he’d known she had a bad heart. She hadn’t wanted to tell him, but eventually, she couldn’t hide it anymore. She was too pale, too weak to pretend. For some time after he’d settled in Britain, he didn’t see her as often as he would have liked.
She hadn’t minded.
“You have your life,’’ she’d said. "You must do what you must do.”
She’d never made the demands his father had. It had been a shock, then, to come flying in for a visit and find her much paler than he remembered her.
During their visit, she’d tired easily, too. He’d asked what was wrong, but she’d dismissed it. He’d let her get away with it then.
Perhaps, he thought, it was only the result of the bronchitis she’d had in the winter. But he came back a month later and she’d been no better. She had gotten worse.
That was when she’d had to tell him. He had believed it. He’d done everything he could to get her to find two cardiologists who could help her.
"I’ve done all I can,’’ she assured him. "There is nothing left.’’
Nothing but coming back as often as he could. He flew in nearly every weekend that year. He spent the last month of her life with her.
He’d never seen Starvos there.
So his father claimed to be grieving—the old man had wept beside her grave, for heaven’s sake—it had seemed like just so much false emotion to Damon, it was all a pretense.
"Where were you when she was alive?’’ he’d demanded harshly before they even left the cemetery.
And if his father had still looked ashen, Damon didn’t care. The old man was a good actor! He couldn’t fool the young man who’d been by his mother’s side for twenty-six years while his father had been everywhere else but home.
And as far as Damon was concerned, his father had proved it a year later when he’d married Julietta, a woman young enough to be his daughter!
All Damon could say about that was that his old man had good taste. Hell, yes, Julietta was lovely! So lovely that Damon himself had actually doted on her a few times.
But she’d been too prim and proper and too ‘old like Greek’ for him. She was controlled by her family much the same way his mother had been controlled.
He supposed she had her family to thank for her ridiculous marriage to his father too!
Though he had to admit, you wouldn’t know it by looking at them. What a devoted little family they’d become Mr. S. Walter, Julietta, and their own little Alexander. Smiling, happy. Hugging and talking and laughing together. A perfect little threesome. And now they had a new baby on the way.
Damon gritted his teeth whenever he stopped to think about his father’s new happy little life. If only he could crush it and make him suffer.
He knew he shouldn’t kill his father because of his second marriage, however insane it might be.
A year after your first wife dies you get married again? Who does that? And when he was feeling sane and sober and sensible, Damon wished them all well. They were his family anyways.
He even occasionally found himself hoping that the old man did to him half of what he did to his younger brother.
Because it would be good for Alexander to know his father cared about him, not because it would be good for the old man.
He didn’t give a flying fuck about his old man or his company.
And he wasn’t about to shape up because a pretty little nanny told him to!
She was a pretty little nanny though, Damon thought. And she had taken his part this morning. Not to mention the way she tasted.
Going for a drive with her might be the best thing that had happened to him in a long while!
Going out for a drive with him was not the brightest idea she'd ever had. The confines of a car were bound to make her even more aware of him. As if she weren’t aware enough already!
But she didn’t see that she had any choice. If she wanted to make an effort to do her job, to help foster a real reconciliation between Damon and his father, she was going to have to keep his father at arm’s length.
That she could and would do.
The trouble would be keeping Damon at arm’s length as well.
It was interesting how aware she was of him. Her reactions were nothing like the ones she’d had towards Ward and every other man she’d ever dated—not that she'd dated a vast number, of course.
Maybe she'd only dated dummies or guys that aren't worth her.
Damon wasn’t a dummy, he was even far more than she was trained to handle.
"Just say no, darling." She remembered Aunt Freya advising her on the subject of boys and temptation.
That had been no problem, up until yesterday when she kissed Damon.
It was like playing with fire. Attractive. Tempting. Fun. Dangerous. It felt so right and wrong at the same time.
Children shouldn’t do it. But Lucia was an adult. She needed to know how to deal with the fire—how to test it, fan it, encourage it, control it, and probably, resist it.
With Damon Walter?
She was out of her freaking mind!
She was waiting by the pool with Julietta and Alex when he finished showering, got dressed, and was ready to go. He had made an effort and put on a pair of bleached canvas, trousers, and a red T-shirt in honor of the occasion. It was the first time since he’d returned from the hospital that he’d bothered to put on more than a pair of ragged cut-offs or faded shorts.
Or a towel. He remembered yesterday with a smile.
His father always looked like he’d just stepped off Savile Row—even when he was ‘relaxing.'
"You must convey a responsible image,’’ he had said more times than Damon wanted to count.
But, a 'responsible image' was the last thing Damon wanted to convey. Especially when the old man was around. He had made a habit of dressing down for years.
But today, for the lovely nanny, who kissed like a dream and had stuck up for him, he made a small effort. After all, it was his father he was annoyed at, not her. Whether Lucia appreciated his sartorial elegance, was not immediately apparent.
She was talking to Julietta. He stopped, realizing that he’d have to weather Julietta’s knowing smiles and insane remarks if he made his way up there. She would undoubtedly think his father saddling him with a nanny was just ‘too funny for words.'
To someone else it probably was. Damon set his teeth prepared to endure it.
After all, he’d endured far worse than that
But he didn’t need to, because as soon as Lucia saw him coming, she said goodbye to Julietta and hurried towards him.
Another point for the nanny. Damon leaned on his crutches and waited for her, breathing a sigh of relief.
"I'm sorry,” she said a little breathlessly. ‘‘I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. I just wanted to see how Julietta was doing."
She had dressed for the occasion too, in a pair of chambray slacks and a scoop-necked bright turquoise shirt. It wasn’t quite the librarian garb she’d had on yesterday, but it was hardly a sexy outfit. So why was he so damned aware of her?
Because she looked as eager and well-scrubbed as a schoolgirl? Because he made it a habit to toy with the innocents? Or because he wanted a ride up the coast and nothing more.
No, no, and no again. Why was he studying her discreetly?
He studied her hair, which she had clamped in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. It was anchored down as she was, and yet it loosened a little and blew in the wind.
Was she loosened? Or would she loosen? Would she let her hair down for him? She didn't look like she would, but, God!! The way she kissed was just so perfect, even though he made her feel otherwise.
"What's wrong?" She asked at his frown of concentration.
"Why don't you wear it down?"
She blinked in confusion. "Wear what down?"
"Your hair. It hates being confined like that." He said as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.
She smiled. "You can tell, can you?’’
"Yes. Absolutely. Here.’’ He reached out a hand and loosened the ponytail she must have spent time packing.
‘‘Damon!’’ She reached back and grabbed it out of his hand.
He let her have the band, much more interested in running a hand over her hair. It glinted in the sunlight, and the deep honey color shot through with gold. It was as soft and heavy as he’d imagined it would be. He smiled.
She caught his hand and pulled it away
from her hair.
"No,’’ she said.
‘“No?’’ He tried turning her hand in his, but
she held on. "No,” she repeated. “You can’t do that.’’
"I just did,’’ he reminded her.
"But I didn’t want you to.’’ she countered.
His gaze narrowed. ‘‘You did, too.’’
A hint of red touched her cheeks. She shook her head and denied the obvious. "I didn’t.”
He just looked at her.
Her gaze slid away. ‘‘I shouldn’t,’’ she qualified gruffly after a moment.
A corner of Damon's mouth quirked at her honesty. "A nanny never lies?’’
Her cheek deepened in red. ‘‘I try not to.’’ She refused to look at him, keeping her eyes cast down. She reminded him for all the world of Maria, the misbehaving postulant in 'The Sound of Music' that his mother had taken him to see when he was a child.
He wanted to argue with her. He wanted to tell her he was teasing, that it was no more than a play between men and women, and that it would lead them exactly where they wanted to go.
It wasn’t like he was grabbing her and throwing her down on the grass and having sex with her, for heaven’s sake! It wasn’t as if he’d taken her in broad daylight and kissed her senselessly! It wasn’t
He stopped. He remembered.
He remembered yesterday. Julietta and all her friends had been up by the pool and Damon had come out the door, wearing only a towel. And he’d taken Lucia into his arms and kissed her. Deeply. Hungrily. Possessively.
Senselessly.
He shut his eyes. When he opened them again, she was still standing there, eyes downcast, unmoving.
He sighed. "Turn around.”
She flicked a quick glance up at him.
"What?’’
He took hold of her shoulder gently and turned her.
"Turn around.” He repeated
She must have realized what he was doing then, for she turned. She stood with her back to him. And Damon, leaning heavily against his crutches, took hold of that golden honeyed shank of hair and pulled it back into his hand.
Then, because he couldn’t quite behave perfectly, he combed his fingers through it for just a moment. Finally, though, reluctantly, but firmly, he fastened the ponytail into place once more.
"There.’’ He let his hands drop.
Lucia turned back to face him and the smile she gave him was almost worth it. “Thank you, Damon.’’ She looked like Lucia -the-nun again.
He shut his eyes. Ah, Lucia, what am I going to do with you? Or what are you doing with me?
Chapter 15.
Lucia didn’t know what she would have done if he hadn’t packed her hair back in a ponytail.
It was one thing to draw the line with a four-year-old. It was something else entirely to have to put down limits with a man the tabloids called Damon Walter.
There was no real way she could count on them being honored—except by an appeal to respect.
And she feared it was much too early for that. Besides, according to Mr. Walter, Damon knew nothing about respect.
If he doesn't know anything about respect, why did he pack her hair for her?
Of course, he’d taken his own sweet time about it, turning her and touching her and combing his fingers through her hair and sending shivers through her spines. But he’d done what she asked.
She had felt the shivers and she had control. She did a happy dance...
She could do this. She could! She could resist him.
Damon pressed a remote garage door Opener as they approached the building, and by the time they arrived, the door had rolled up to reveal four gleaming cars.
“Take your pick,” he said, “since you’re going to be driving.”
Lucia looked them over and swallowed hard. Like Damon, they were all out of her league. Big, shiny, and dangerous, or small and sleek, and lethal. And everyone is worth far more than she would make in a year.
“How about taking mine? I know how to drive it.” She suggested.
Damon grinned widely. ‘‘The principles are the same no matter What the car.’’
"I don’t think..."
“You want me to be brave and grow up willing to try new things, don’t you?’’ Damon asked, his dark eyes glinting with wicked humor and challenge.
Lucia groaned, rubbing her forehead in frustration.
‘‘That is different."
Damon laughed delightedly.
‘‘I bet you don’t say that to all your charges.’’
She shook her head, sighing, but still smiling. ‘‘Just the ones old enough to understand.”
‘‘Right. Then, how about this?’’ The smile on his face vanished, ‘‘I respect your ability to do it.’’ The humor had faded from his eyes, but the challenge didn’t. He regarded her intently.
It was called being hoisted by your own petard, and she knew it. ‘‘Damn,’’ she murmured.
Damon made a disapproving sound.
Lucia swallowed a smile. ‘‘Uhh...,’’ she tried to amend.
Seeing the large grin on his face, she sucked in her breath and nodded. She would try it. She could call it another exercise in control.
Damon beamed. ‘‘So, what’s your choice? New and stuffy? New and stodgy? New and fast or—’’ and here he drew her around to see a low, sleek hunter green Jaguar convertible ‘‘—or old and fast and not to forget, classy as hell.’’
It was clear which one he wanted her to pick.
Lucia had never driven a car like the Jaguar in her life. She had a seven-year-old compact car with a dented front right fender. Her aunts favored large American sedans of a certain vintage that resembled a cross between? gunboats and land barges.
“Safety first,” Aunt Em always said.
This car was anything near the normal cars she was used to, but Lucia gave a last longing thought toward her small serviceable car, her staid predictable cold fish life, and drew a deep breath.
"Old and fast and classy as hell,’’ she said.
**
She didn’t drive like what he thought.
Oh, granted, she’d taken it slow at first, moving up the drive with the speed of a sailboat caught in a calm. But then she’d got through town and hit the open road, slowly but surely, her foot went down on the accelerator and the car speeded up. In a matter of minutes, it was like the wind had risen, and far from being calmed now, they were moving swiftly.
Damon felt as if he’d been let out of prison.
His eyes opened wider and his heart beat more easily. For the first time since the accident, he could breathe.
Since he’d been confined at the cottage, he hadn’t made any effort to hobble up to the pool or over to the beach. Any venture out ran the risk of another confrontation with his father.
His head already ached enough without that. So he’d stayed in. He had enough to keep him busy, though his father would never believe it. He'd even assured himself it was alright, that he would be fine until he got the damned cast off and finished the medication. He hadn’t realized until now just how badly he’d needed to get out.
At midweek the traffic was less than on the weekends, and as they drove further out on the coast toward Mainland, it got even thinner. He breathed deeper, then glanced over to see how Lucia was doing.
She was smiling, her earlier white-knuckled grip had relaxed,
“How are you doing?” Damon asked in between smiles.
She laughed. ‘‘I feel like I’ve got a hundred wild horses at the end of a very thin rein.”
"More like two hundred and sixty-five.”
"Yikes.’’ She shot him a horrified look.
"You’ll feel better if you’re part of the elements,” he told her. ‘‘Pullover.’’
"What?’’
"Stop on the poster up there.’’ He directed her to the gravel alongside the roadway. When she stopped, Damon moved to get out. It wasn’t easy. He cursed his inability to negotiate cramped spaces with his cast and ribs, but finally, he got out of the car, then started to put the top down.
‘‘What are you doing?’’ Lucia screamed in terror.
"Putting you in the elements,’’ Damon said.
"I don’t ..."
"You’ll love it," he said firmly and gave her an encouraging grin.
She got out and put her hands on her hips. ‘‘If I argue, you'll tell me I should be setting an example for you so that you’re willing to try new experiences.’’
His grin widened. “You’re catching on. Here. Help me with this.”
If she hadn’t, he didn’t know if he’d have been able to manage by himself. But after a moment’s hesitation, she did, and within moments they had the top down.
"Now, ” he said, ‘‘you’ll get the feel of things.’’
"Literally,’’ Lucia said dryly. But she didn’t look unhappy.
They got underway slowly again, but as the breeze caught her hair and lifted it, tugging it from the confines of the barrette and doing what he’d wanted to do, she flexed her fingers on the steering wheel and they didn’t look so white-knuckled any longer.
A few more miles per hour and she lifted her chin, letting the wind caress her face. She smiled.
"Terrible, isn’t it?’’ he shouted at her over the wind.
“Awful.” But she flashed him a brilliant smile.
He lay his arm along the back of the seat just behind her. Her honey-colored hair blew across his hand. He let his fingers tangle in it.
‘‘Amazing what those new experiences will do.”
She stuck out her tongue at him.