How to Trap a Tycoon (41 page)

"There," he concluded. "The Lucas Conaway Story, all nice and neat. Not the greatest Movie of the Week ever made, but, save the absence of a lingering illness or two, not bad. How about yours?"

Edie studied him with much consideration before beginning her own sentimental journey. Finally, she observed, "Interestingly, we seem to have a few things in common. Only it was my father who had the addiction—cocaine, in his case—and walked out on the family. Not that my mother was any prize herself, but she was sober most of the time and had no excuse for her behavior. Then one day, when I was sixteen, she wrapped her Mercedes around a concrete pylon on the expressway, and that was the end of that. It was also the end of the family fortune. After her funeral, I learned that everything was just … gone. Most of it, I'm sure, went right up my father's nose. He died of an overdose not long after that."

"So, uh … so then what happened?" Lucas asked stupidly.

Edie inhaled deeply and avoided his gaze. "I was supposed to go live with an aunt and uncle who were remarkably like my parents, so I took off," she told him. "It's a long story, but I'll be charitable and give you the condensed version, too. By the time I ran away, I was already a mess. I'd started drinking heavily when I was thirteen or fourteen and was using some pretty serious stuff by the time I turned sixteen. My father's stash was always easy to find. Once I hit the streets, my habit only got worse—and more low class. I pretty much became your garden variety, pathetic little junkie whose sole reason for living was to make that next score."

She paused to take another, less calming, breath. "I, uh … I did some things back then, Lucas, that I shouldn't have done. That I wouldn't have done, had I been clean."

Feeling a bit sick to his stomach at hearing such a dark tale about Little Edie Sunshine, Lucas told her, "Edie, if you don't want to talk about this, you don't have—"

"No, I want you to know," she said, snapping her head back up to meet his eyes. "I think it's important that you know." But her gaze wandered from his once more as she continued, "I, um … I made a few bucks as a prostitute from time to time. I, uh … I broke into people's houses and stole from them. Worse than that, though, as messed up as I was, there are memories of that time that I'll have to carry with me for the rest of my life. And that's a hell of a lot worse than jail. I know. Trust me."

"Edie…" he tried again to interject.

But she would have none of it. "You have to understand that people in that kind of situation … they aren't thinking straight. They're not thinking at all. They're like animals, driven by instinct—or, at least, driven by their addiction. But I'm not like that anymore," she hastened to add—as if Lucas needed the reassurance. "I haven't been like that for a long time."

He opened his mouth to speak, realized he had no idea what to say, and closed it once again.

"A couple of weeks before my eighteenth birthday," she said softly, still not looking at him, "I got beaten up really bad by a, uh … by a
client
," she euphemized. "The cops responding to the call took me to the hospital, and I met a social worker named Alice Donohue there who, God knows why, took a liking to me. She helped me out a lot, Lucas. Got me into some good programs, helped me get straightened out. It wasn't easy for me or her. But
Alice
stuck with me, so I stuck with me, too."

"Where is she now?" he asked quietly, a bit roughly, still trying to digest all this unpalatable information.

"She, uh … she died," Edie said. "A few years ago. She had breast cancer, and they didn't catch it until it was too late. It wasn't fair," she said a little more softly. "She saved my life, but nobody could save hers." She swallowed with obvious difficulty before adding, "I promised her before she died that I'd—"

When her voice broke off, Lucas encouraged her, "That you'd what?"

"That I'd, um … that I'd live a good life for her," Edie concluded quietly. "So that's what I've been trying to do. What I'm going to keep doing. I'm going to live a good life. For
Alice
. And for me."

Lucas shook his head slowly and wondered what on earth he could possibly say that might brighten her dark memories or lighten her burden. But there were no words that could possibly convey the tumult of emotions tumbling around inside him. He could only imagine the ones that must be tumbling around inside her. The thought that Edie, who was so decent and good and kind, had lived through that kind of hell… The knowledge that she had descended to such immeasurable depths, only to rise so high above them… The realization that she had witnessed so much badness and darkness and could still cloak herself in so much goodness and light…

It took a remarkable person to do that.

And all along, Lucas had been thinking what an easy life she must have had. He'd been convinced she'd never seen the rank underbelly of the beast. He'd been so sure he knew more about the bitterness of life and the grimness of reality than she did. But life didn't have to be bitter, and reality didn't have to be grim. Oh, certainly, it could be and had been for both of them. But Edie had put hers behind her, had risen above it, had gotten on with her life.

Edie, he thought, had dealt with it.

Lucas, however, clearly had not. Oh, he had almost convinced himself that he had. He had been so sure that by winning scholarships to college and achieving academic honors, by writing celebrated stories for a celebrated magazine like
Man's Life
, by geographically distancing himself from the place where he had grown up, by emotionally distancing himself from his sister and what few friends he'd ever had… By doing all those things, Lucas had been so sure he was dealing with it. But he still pulled out the distasteful memories of his past and relished their bitterness. He nurtured the wounds and savored the hopelessness, relived the torment and revived the pain.

Hell, he wasn't dealing with it, he thought now. He was succumbing to it. Little by little, a bit more with every passing day. By reliving his past, he prevented himself from enjoying his present. And he certainly kept himself from ever planning for a decent future. He had a long way to go before he could finally say he'd dealt with it. Of course, it would help if he had someone there with him who might show him the way, a person who had traveled the path already and knew what to watch out for. A person who might not mind if, eventually, he took her hand and helped her, too.

Right now, however, he had no idea what to say to that person. So he just remained silent and waited for a cue from her.

"After
Alice
died," Edie finally went on, "I got it into my head that I wanted to find out where I came from. Where I
really
came from. So I started looking for my biological mother."

"And how's that going?" Lucas asked, grateful for the change of subject, fully aware, however, that what he and Edie had just shared was in no way finished.

"It's going," she told him. "The laws are kind of tricky, and it takes time, but…" She shrugged. "I'm hopeful."

So what else is new?
he thought.

As grateful as he had been for the change of subject, he was surprised to hear himself pipe up suddenly, "That's why you don't want men touching you, isn't it, Edie? Because you were mistreated so often by your … clients."

She seemed as surprised as he—and certainly no more thrilled—by the return to their earlier conversation, but she nodded in agreement. "Among others, yes."

Lucas decided not to ask about those others. Not just because he could, unfortunately, imagine all too well, and not because he didn't want her to relive memories she was clearly unwilling to revisit. But because there was another question he wanted to ask her so much more.

"Edie, will you let me touch you?"

Her eyes flew open wide, darkened by her obvious panic at hearing the question. "No," she told him immediately, adamantly.

He didn't make a move toward her, but he opened his hand, palm up, and began to slowly extend it forward. "Just let me come over there and put my hand in yours, that's all."

She shook her head vehemently enough to send her blond curls flying. "No, Lucas."

"Then let me put my palm over yours."

"No."

"Then fingertip to fingertip."

"No."

"Then—"

"No."

This time he was the one to sigh. "Then will you come over here and touch me?" he asked.

Her eyes seemed to brighten some then, but he saw quickly that it wasn't due to any lightening of her spirit. It was due to the tears that had sprung up out of nowhere. She didn't answer him right away, only continued to gaze at him in silence, her eyes filling deeper and deeper. Then, very slowly, she shook her head again. The motion caused one fat tear to spill over and glide down her cheek, and something inside Lucas twisted tight at seeing it.

"Edie, just touch me," he said softly. "You know I won't hurt you. You
know
that."

"Rationally, I suppose I do know that," she conceded softly. "But it's not my rational mind you have to convince, Lucas. It's the scared, strung-out seventeen-year-old girl who's still living inside me."

"Then bring her out," he said eagerly, "and let me talk to her. Let me touch
her
."

Edie uttered a soft, strangled sound at that. "I wish I could. But she's buried way too deep inside me. You'll never get to her. You'll never convince her."

"The hell she's down deep," Lucas countered. "Edie, she's right there, just below the surface. She's the one who panics every time a man gets near you."

He stood up then, not sure what he planned to do, but unable to sit still any longer. And when he did, the scared seventeen-year-old in Edie reacted, bolting out of her chair, too. Even though Lucas didn't make a single move forward, she strode backward until her fanny made contact with the windowsill. Then she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, as if trying to keep herself from falling apart.

"I won't hurt you, Edie," Lucas said again. "I will never, ever hurt you."

He braved a small step forward and took some comfort in the fact that she didn't retreat further—not that she had anyplace to go except into the corner, but at least she didn't do that. So he chanced another small step toward her, again with no reaction on Edie's part. She didn't move forward to meet him halfway—or even quarterway—but she didn't withdraw, either.

The third step he took did seem to concern her, though, because as he completed it, her eyes widened a bit in … something. He couldn't quite say what. Concerned that she would flee to her room and lock the door, and knowing he was probably pushing his luck, Lucas stole a few more steps toward her, positioning himself between her and escape, until he was close enough to reach out and touch her.

He didn't reach out, though. Because she hastened sideways and crowded herself into the corner created by the window and the wall, cowering in very apparent and very heartbreaking fear.

"I won't take another step forward," Lucas promised her. "But I'm not going to go backward, either."

"Lucas," she said, her voice level and strong, something that heartened him greatly. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but … don't. Okay? Just … don't."

"Edie, all you have to do is give me your hand. That's all. Just give me your hand."

She shook her head. "You're asking for too much, Lucas. You might as well be asking for the moon."

"It's next on my wish list," he told her with a tentative smile. "Right after Edie Mulholland's heart."

Edie gazed at Lucas in disbelief, certain she had misunderstood, or, worse, that he was lying to her. But there was something in his eyes as he said what he did, something wistful, something hopeful, something she'd never seen there before. And she had to force herself not to blurt out that he already had her heart. That he'd had it for a long time now, maybe even before that first night, when she'd had to drive him home from Drake's. That he would always have it, because he was the only man she'd ever come close to caring about. The only man she had ever wished she
could
touch. The only man she regretted knowing would never be a part of her life.

She still wasn't sure why she had told him everything she had about her past. For some reason, it had just seemed important that he know. She had no idea why. Really, it wasn't like her history was any of his business. And there was certainly nothing between them that warranted this kind of total, unvarnished honesty. But she had wanted him to know. Maybe because she was tired of him seeing her as Mulholland of Sunnybrook Farm. Or maybe because she was tired of seeing herself that way. Whatever. As difficult and uncomfortable as it had been to revisit all that, she felt strangely good for doing it. Cleaner, somehow. Less tarnished. More human.

And now he told her he wanted her heart. And, oh, how she wished she could give it to him. Totally, freely, without shadows, without pain. She gazed at his outstretched hand, steady, strong, and inviting. Maybe, she thought, just maybe…

Before she even realized what she was thinking of doing, Edie found herself lifting her own hand and extending it slowly toward him. Lucas fixed his gaze on the motion, but he didn't move in any way. He didn't reach for her, didn't take a step forward, didn't so much as shift his weight in her direction. So, feeling a little more confident, Edie opened her palm and held it out a bit farther. Her fingers trembled, but she didn't pull back, only focused all her concentration on what she was trying to do, what she
wanted
to do. She forced her feet to join in the overture, shuffling them forward, but still Lucas remained pinned to the spot. When she glanced up at his face, she found him gazing not at her hand anymore, but at her face, her eyes, her mouth. Another step forward brought her body within inches of his, yet still he made no move to intercept her.