Oh, very good. Way to go. There’s a good example you're setting, Lucia stones she chastised herself. Just stick your tongue out and get right down to his level. But she couldn’t keep a stern demeanor, not even when she knew she ought to. She was enjoying this too much.
Starvos would be appalled. He would think she’d been taken over by the enemy!
It wasn’t true, Lucia told herself.
She was in control. She had never had so much speed and power under her command before. It was a little terrifying. And exhilarating as all get out!
And if Mr. Walter asked, she could say she was simply trying to understand the world the way Damon saw it. It helped to try to put herself in the shoes of the child. If she saw life the way the child saw it, she usually had a better idea of how to help them deal with matters.
She didn’t know, of course, if the same thing applied, but she assured herself that it must.
The ride was marvelous.
She was glad he'd virtually dared her to drive it. It was so different from driving any car she'd driven before, just as he was so different from any man she'd kissed before.
She had thought she would just go to the park and turn around, but when they got there, she didn’t want to stop. So she kept right on, heading toward Mandel.
There she basically ran out of the road, and that was when she finally slowed down.
‘‘Do you want to go back yet or would you like to stop and get something to eat?”
‘‘Lunch sounds good,’’ Damon said. He was smiling too. It was a heady experience just looking at him. Even with his fading bruises and battered face, he looked vibrant, alive—and even more dangerous than the car.
But the danger wasn’t scary, even though perhaps it ought to have been. On the contrary, Lucia found herself intrigued by it, enticed, eager to know it—to know him—better.
Purely professional, of course.
Oh, yes. Sure. That, but she wished she were better at lying to herself.
Damon directed her to a small café near the beach. He wanted a local restaurant, not some stupid exquisite restaurant. It was off the beaten track and clearly wasn’t frequented by tourists. But when Damon opened the door, he got a profuse welcome.
"Hey, Damon honey! How are you? We heard about your accident!" The waitress, a lady in her late thirties hurried over, gushing motherly concern. ‘‘What happened?’’
"Just a little run-in with a tree,’’ Damon said casually.
"You sure?" The woman looked worried. ‘‘There was a picture in the paper. It looked mighty bad. You sit down here. Katty, Damon is here!’’ she hollered toward the kitchen.
A stout man in jeans and a white shirt poked his head out. ‘‘Hey, Damon! How ya doin’?"
Damon shrugged. ‘‘Better. Fine now.”
The man called Katty looked him up and down. "Don’t look fine.” Then he eyed Lucia with a knowing smirk on his face.
"I see you're already getting busy, aren't you?" He waggled his eyebrows at Damon.
"She’s a friend of my father’s.” The man laughed. ‘‘Yeah, sure. You’re just saying that 'cause you don’t want katty to be jealous.”
Katty was the waitress. She was a good twenty years older than Damon, but she clearly found him as intriguing as Lucia did, which should not have surprised her.
Damon Walter was the sort of man all women would notice. Would his kisses make them all shiver? Lucia wondered.
“Sit down, a friend of Damon's father,’’ Mr. Fredrick said now.
"What’ll you have?’’ Lucia glanced around. There didn’t appear to be any menus, just a blackboard with the daily specials written on it.
"What’s good?’’ she asked Damon.
“All the fries you can gather." He said.
‘‘Cheese and some pepperoni, with some lemonades."
“Same for me,’’ Damon told the waitress. ‘‘But I'd like a bottle of alcohol."
“Sure thing, sweetheart,’ she replied. "You gonna sit in here or out there?’’ There was a patio with half a dozen tables alongside the café, sheltered from the offshore breeze. Damon looked at Lucia.
“Outside, please,’’ she said.
They went outside, and Lucia took a seat at a table Overlooking the beach. There were two other couples and a large family already out there, talking and laughing and eating. A couple of children were squabbling
Some French fries. A golden retriever sat on the other side of the patio railing, looking hopeful as sandwiches were consumed.
Damon settled carefully into the chair opposite her and propped his crutches against the railing. "What a wonderful place,’’ Lucia mused.
“It is,’’ he agreed.
‘‘There’s a place a little bit like it near where my aunts live on Orient Point.’’
Damon's brows went up. ‘‘Were you raised around here?’’
“On the north shore.”
"I was too. Part of the time anyway,” he said. "My mother lived near Greenport."
Lucia knew that quite a lot of Greek-American families had homes or summer homes in that area of Long Island. She hadn’t expected that Damon's family would have, though. She’d have imagined they would go back to Greece when they weren’t in New York City.
"Was your mother from the Los Angeles CA then?’’
He shook his head. ‘‘No. From Italy."
“Then why ...?”
"Because my father was from here. And even after he never came around anymore, she wouldn’t leave him. God knows why,’’ he added harshly.
There were half a lot of meanings, in those few words, and she knew.
She picked her words carefully. "Your parents weren’t...together?’’
“A week. I have places to go, and people to see. And no interest in staying here at all.’’
Another waitress appeared just then with their orders.
"Cassandra was asking about you just the other day, Damon," she told him as she set his plate down.
"How is she? Tell her hi." He popped some fries in his mouth. "Tell her I miss her.’’ Lucia gave him a disapproving look.
"And Amelia. You know Amelia. She’d follow you to the moon.”
Damon's smile widened. ‘‘Amelia, too.’’
When the waiter left, Lucia looked at him speculatively. “So many women, so little time?’’
Now his grin flashed her way. ‘‘Something like that.”
Lucia couldn’t believe the stab of annoyance she felt. Was this possessiveness? Jealousy?
Surely not. She doesn't feel possessive over her ward.
She didn’t even know the man! She certainly had no claim on him. Just because she’d kissed him or been kissed by him rather.
She tried to shove the feeling away. Tried to remind herself how inappropriate it was—how inappropriate he was!
Just because she’d reacted to him sexually, she had no right to be jealous of his interest in other women.
He certainly wouldn’t be interested in her!
And if the memory of that folder His father had pressed on her, and the waiters passing references to other women didn’t convince her, ten minutes later the aforementioned Amelia showed up in person.
Of course, Lucia didn’t know it was Amelia when a woman in her very early twenties, a dark-haired vivacious beauty, shouted,
"Damon!" when she spied him on the patio and practically leaped the railing to get to him.
“Hey, Lia! How’s it going?” He didn’t rise, just held out a hand to her.
She swooped down, kissing him on the mouth, then stepped back and said,
“Oh, Dam, darling! Your poor face. And your leg! Are you alright?’’
He gave the same dismissive answer to her that he had given the waitress. And Amelia had to give him grudging credit for not taking advantage of all the sympathy he could have elicited from them.
‘‘No big deal. "I'm fine,’’ he assured Amelia when she continued to gush and fret.
"But ...."
‘‘Don’t worry about me,’’ he told her firmly.
"I can’t help it.’’ Amelia pouted. "You matter to me.’’ The look she gave him was equal parts, possessiveness, and adoration. The one she gave Lucia was meant in no uncertain terms to tell her that Damon was taken.
‘‘Who’s she?’’ Amelia asked Damon, jerking her head in Lucia's direction.
"A friend,’’ Damon said.
Lucia noticed that he didn’t add 'my father’s this time. Was he using her as a buffer, then? Interesting thought.
‘‘Lucia, ’ he said, introducing them. ‘‘
"Hello,’’ Lucia gave a loop side grin, holding out a hand.
Amelia nodded.
"Hi.’’ Then she turned right back to Damon ‘‘Why didn’t you call me? I’d have come to visit you.”
"They wouldn’t let me have visitors at the hospital.”
"After then?’’
"I'm staying at my father’s.’’
"I would have gone there.”
Damon didn’t reply to that. He changed the subject, and asked Amelia about her brothers, what each one was doing this summer, then about her parents. Amelia answered, at every pass she tried to turn the conversation back to coming to visit Damon
He didn’t take her up on it, but he didn’t rebuff either. He was a master when it came to dealing with women, Lucia concluded.
By the time Amelia left ten minutes later, prompted the honking of a horn that belonged, she said, to her brother’s Jeep.
"It would wear you out, I know,’’ she said, Patting his arm. ‘‘You’ll see me later, you'll come pleading." She gave him a seductive smile.
"Of course.”
“See you soon?’’ her hand lingered on his shoulder.
Damon slanted a grin up at her. "Very soon," he promised.
“Nice to have met you,” Lucia said, though she was quite sure Amelia didn’t even remember she was there.
“Oh. Yeah, you, too,’’ Amelia said. ‘‘Take good of yourself, Damon." She ruffled Damon's hair and, after another impatient beep, took off on a run.
A corner of Damon's mouth tipped up.
"We go back a long way.”
"I didn't ask."
"Jealous?”
She felt her face flame and she scowled at him.
“Hardly.’’ He grinned knowingly, but he didn’t comment, and Lucia was oddly relieved when he kept his gaze on Amelia and said, “She’s a good kid.”
“I'm sure she wouldn’t appreciate hearing you say so. She wants to matter.’’
He shrugged. ‘‘She does matter.’’
"Not the way she’d like to.’’
He settled back in his chair and looked at her. "Should I tell her to get lost, then?’’
“I didn’t mean that,’’ Lucia said quickly.
Damon laughed hard. He laughed at her nervousness.
"Fine!" she admitted after a moment, ‘‘I think you handled it very well.”
“What’s this? Lucia's approval. I’ve finally done something right?’’
“I'm sure you do a lot right,’’ Lucia said. ‘‘I’m sure you aren’t all those things the papers....’’ Her voice trailed off, embarrassed to the core.
“You’ve been doing a little research, have you?" Damon asked. ‘‘Did you do it on your own or did the old man provide the reading material?’’
Lucia hesitated. ‘‘Your father gave me them,” she said finally. ‘‘I haven’t read them.’’
“Go ahead,” he said gruffly. ‘‘Read to your fill.”
“I don’t want to.’’
He stared at her, his dark eyes hard, angry, and disbelieving. Then he shoved his chair back, got awkwardly to his feet, and tossed some bills on the table. “Let’s go.”
Silently she followed him, wondering what she should have done, what she should have said.
He was standing by the car, waiting for her because she had the keys. She moved to unlock the door and he didn’t step back. Instead, he caught her arm and drew her hard against him.
Her eyes jerked open wide as their bodies came in contact.
"Damon "
"You want this," he told her. "You’ve been asking for it!"
And he lowered his mouth to hers. So much for control.
**
What on earth had she been thinking? How could she have for one minute allowed herself to be kissed by Damon?
She couldn’t. It was as plain and simple as that.
One touch, one taste, and all the good sense and best intentions in the world went right out of her head. She was shaky in his hands.
As if she hadn’t had one flickering instant’s memory of Lisa, Amelia and heaven knew how many other women. There was no telling what a fool she might have made of herself.
They’d driven back to the cottage in silence. She put the car in the garage and handed him back the keys without a word. She didn’t look him in the eye. She couldn’t.
She would see mockery and amusement. And, a playboy’s knowing leer.
She hurried back to the house and shut herself in her bedroom.
How was she going to survive this? Nanny to a thirty-two-year-old ladies' man? Oh, Lucia, you are a signed fool.
The first thing she saw was the folder Mr. Walter had given her.
She shouldn’t read it. She shouldn’t look at anything that might color her view of his older son. It wasn't professional.
And kissing him was?
She glanced sideways at the folder, then curled her finger into a fist.
The phone rang. She picked it up.
But so had Damon. It was Lisa again.
"Didn't get you up this time, did I?" She said with a voice soft with laughter.
Lucia hung up and reached for the folder. The articles told her what she knew already: Damon Walter was a shallow, irresponsible playboy. It was one thing the whole world seemed to agree upon.
"The old man didn’t tell you he ditched my mother?"
“She had died?’’
"Seven years ago. But he left her long before that.”
Long before? ‘‘How old were you?’’
‘‘Eight.”
Old enough to miss his father dreadfully. Her own father had died when she was only a few years older, and it had been terrible. How much worse it would be, she thought, to lose a father and know he was still alive—just not with you. She began to understand a bit of the estrangement between Mr. S . Walter and his son.
"You stayed with your mother?”
"Yes.” A muscle in his jaw ticked and he looked away deliberately, turning his attention to the golden retriever. He snapped his fingers and, when the dog came over, scratched him behind the ears. He didn’t look at Lucia again. ‘‘What about you?’’ he asked her after a moment. ‘‘How did you end up working for my old man?"
"He saw an article in a magazine,’’ Lucia said. She felt a little self-conscious about ringing it up. It had been mostly hype, but there had been a core of truth to it. "It made me sound like the answer to the troubled parent’s prayer."
‘‘Are you?” Now he was looking at her. And the steadiness of his gaze was even more unnerving than the question.
“I will try. Mostly I succeed.”
"You think you’re going to succeed with me?”
“I’m going to try,’’ she said, honestly.
He shook his head, "Waste of time.”
“You don’t know.”
“I do know, sweetheart. The old man and I have spent many years at odds to patch things up now.”
"But—’’
“We have. It’s hopeless. And in a week I’ll have the cast and I’ll be gone.’’
A week ?! What the heck! Lucia thought.
"A week?" How on earth was she going to do anything in a week?