How to Trap a Tycoon (42 page)

So Edie lifted her hand a bit more, not toward his hand, but toward his face, toward his mouth. Very, very carefully, she moved her fingers to his lips. For a moment, she couldn't quite bring herself to make that final contact, couldn't quite cover that last, infinitesimal bit of space. Lucas's lips parted fractionally, his warm breath dancing over her fingers, stirring a desire deep inside her unlike anything she'd felt before.

"Touch me, Edie," he said softly, and the words seemed to wrap themselves around her fingertips, drawing them closer, closer, closer still.

And then suddenly she was touching him, brushing those same fingertips over the velvety warmth of his mouth, grazing first his lower lip and then his upper lip, over and over and over again, because she'd never felt anything so soft, so warm, so vital in her life. His eyes fluttered closed as her caresses multiplied, and he sighed softly, the sound nuzzling her palm and purling through her body like a languid summer breeze.

Oh… Oh, that felt so good …

Her heart hammering hard in her chest, Edie dragged her fingers slowly, gently, from his smooth lower lip to his rough jaw, over the hollow of his cheek, along the high ridge of his cheekbone. Gingerly, she threaded her fingers through the silky hair at his temple, skimmed them across his forehead, over his eyebrow, then traced the elegant line of his nose. But always her fingers returned to his mouth, as if captivated by that feature more than any other.

And Lucas, dear Lucas, stood motionless through it all, save the quick rise and fall of his chest as his respiration grew almost frantic. He let Edie move at her own pace, in her own time, to whatever she wanted to explore next. And Edie realized quickly that she did indeed want to explore more. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Maybe not even next week. But she did want to know more of Lucas. She wanted to know all of him. She just hoped he could be patient with her. She hoped he would think she was worth the wait.

"I'll wait as long as it takes, Edie," he said softly, clearly reading her thoughts from her expression. "We'll do this your way. However you want. For however long it takes. Just promise me you'll give it a chance."

She nodded as she ran a finger gently over his chin, then down the strong column of his throat. "I promise, Lucas," she told him softly. "I promise."

* * *

By the time Lucas left Edie's apartment, he was feeling bewitched, bothered and bewildered, dazed, dazzled and delighted. Not just because of the way she'd touched him, but because of the way she'd opened up to him, too. Because of the way he'd opened up to her. They'd talked for a long time—he sitting on the futon, she perched in the rocker—about everything they had in common and everything they didn't, everything they wanted for the future and everything they didn't.

Then, just before they'd said good-bye, Edie had let Lucas touch her, too. And as he'd slowly, carefully, skimmed his thumb over her warm palm, as he'd felt her pulse beneath his fingertips leap and dance, he'd been stunned to discover that he would wait forever for Edie Mulholland, if that was how long it took. Judging by the look on her face when he'd told her good night, however, it wasn't going to take forever.

He smiled as he exited her building and headed to his car, parked across the street. And it was only by sheer accident that he glanced toward the corner and saw a figure lurking in the shadows. In the quick glimpse he managed to complete before the figure dissolved into darkness, Lucas formed a hasty impression of a man—a man who was gazing up at Edie Mulholland's windows. With a brief glance over his shoulder, he saw her silhouetted behind the lace curtains, and somehow, he knew—he just
knew
—that whoever was lurking across the street was there because of Edie.

Whistling under his breath, Lucas did his best to look like he was just moseying on over to his car to head home and had no idea that some sleazy sonofabitch stalker was creeping around not fifteen feet away from where it was parked. But instead of reaching for the driver's side door handle, he bolted for the shadow into which he'd last seen the figure merge. And then, suddenly, almost as if he had fallen into a dream, he was chasing a man down the street.

A surprisingly well-dressed man, he realized when he caught up with him and grabbed a fistful of very fine gabardine wool. A man he recognized, he realized further, as he jerked viciously on that fine wool and pulled the man backward, then slammed him maliciously up against a brick wall. A man he shouldn't be at all surprised to see here, he realized even further, as he thrust his forearm against the guy's throat. Hard.

"
Davenport
," he muttered scornfully. It figured he'd be the sleazy sonofabitch who was stalking Edie. Unable to keep that particular observation to himself, Lucas added, "You sleazy, sonofabitch stalker. Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I'm not a stalker,"
Davenport
denied as he tried to free himself from Lucas's brutal grip. Just to show him what for, however, Lucas shoved him more sternly up against the wall. The other man grimaced when his head made contact with the brick.

"You were the one following Edie after Adam's party that night, weren't you?" Lucas demanded, the memory still much too fresh in his brain for his comfort.

Davenport
tried to wrench free the forearm pressed to his throat, but Lucas had rage on his side and barely felt the gesture. "Yes," the other man finally gasped. "That was me."

"And now here you are, hanging around her place," Lucas charged, pushing his arm even more firmly against the other man's throat.

"Conaway, please,"
Davenport
ground out. "Let me explain. I'm not stalking her."

"You follow her around in the middle of the night," Lucas pointed out, "and you stand outside her apartment, looking up at her windows. What does that make you, if not a sleazy"—he shoved
Davenport
back against the wall—"sonofabitch"—he shoved again, harder—"stalker?" He punctuated the question with a few more shoves.

But
Davenport
regrouped pretty well. "It makes me somebody who wants to be sure she's safe," he said through gritted teeth. "She wasn't at work today. I wanted to make sure she was all right."

"You wanna take care of the girl, right?" Lucas spat sarcastically.

Davenport
nodded.

"You wanna be Edie's sugar daddy, you sonofabitch?" Lucas taunted.

This time,
Davenport
shook his head. "No. Just … just her daddy."

Lucas narrowed his eyes at the man. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm not a stalker,"
Davenport
said for a third time. "I'm Edie's father. Her biological father."

* * *

"I was twenty-two when I met your mother, Edie. And she was eighteen."

Lucas listened grudgingly as
Davenport
spoke, and watched even more grudgingly as Edie pressed a cup of freshly brewed coffee into the other man's hand—without quite making physical contact. Then she retreated to the rocking chair she had occupied before. She was still wearing her robe, her hair still tumbled freely about her shoulders, and she still wore the expression of utter bewilderment that had appeared on her face when she'd opened her front door fifteen minutes ago to find Lucas holding
Davenport
by the scruff of his neck.

In spite of all that, she seemed like a stranger somehow. There was a desperation about her that Lucas had never seen before, a yearning that went way beyond wishfulness. She'd barely looked at him since he'd come in with Davenport, so fixed had her attention been on the other man after Lucas had shoved him inside and recounted what had happened on the street below, echoing the words that Davenport had uttered. She wanted those words to be true with all her heart, he could see. She wanted more than anything for this man to be her link to the past, her hope for the future. But something inside her wouldn't quite allow that leap just yet.

Her father, Lucas marveled yet again. Unbelievable.

"Go on," Edie murmured from the other side of the room, her voice so soft, so weary, Lucas almost didn't hear her.

Davenport
obviously did, however, because he glanced up when she spoke, even if he didn't follow her instruction. Instead of speaking, he curled his fingers more resolutely around his coffee cup and studied her carefully from his place on the futon. Lucas stood midway between the two of them, his shoulders braced against the wall, the rest of his body poised for attack, though why he should feel something like that might be necessary, he couldn't imagine. Not that he didn't trust
Davenport
, but… He really didn't trust
Davenport
. Not yet, anyway. And he sure as hell didn't want to see Edie get hurt again.

Edie, too, seemed unwilling to surrender her misgivings just yet. Because she didn't smile as she spurred him, "Mr. Davenport?"

He closed his eyes at the formal address, as if he were in no way comfortable with it. Still, what was she supposed to call him, "Daddy"? Even if it were true, that somehow seemed even less appropriate than "Mr. Davenport."

The other man opened his eyes, met her gaze, inhaled a deep breath, and began to recount his story once again. "As I said, we were both young. I'd just graduated from Stanford and was spending the summer with my parents in
Chicago
before returning to
California
for graduate school. Your mother was working in one of the department stores downtown. She'd come up from her hometown in
Kentucky
to look for work, because her family was large and poor and she wanted to help out." He smiled briefly. "I was enchanted from the moment she said, 'May I help you?' She had a charming voice, a beautiful smile… She was just a lovely girl all around."

"What was her name?" Edie asked a bit roughly.

"Melody," he said with a sad smile. His blue eyes, too, took on a melancholy cast. "Melody Chance. I loved her name. I loved her smile. I loved everything about her."

"So what happened?" This time, it was Lucas who voiced the question.

Davenport
sighed heavily again as he set his untasted coffee on the steamer trunk and dragged a hand through his black hair. "I wasn't exactly engaged when I met your mother," he said to Edie, "but there was an understanding between my family and my wife's family that Lucinda and I would be married after we finished college. And she and I wanted to be married," he added readily. "We'd known each other since childhood, and we were very much in love. But Lucinda was in
Europe
that summer, touring with her grandmother and great-aunt, and I just … I don't know. I suppose I didn't see the harm in spending the time with someone else. I thought Melody would be a nice summer diversion. I had no idea I would fall in love with her, too. I know that sounds terrible, but I truly was just a boy. A selfish boy, to be sure, but…"

"And you got her pregnant," Edie said, stating the obvious.

Davenport
nodded. "Yes. But I didn't know about it. Melody never told me she was expecting. Apparently, she didn't know it herself until after she returned home. But as summer came to an end, as it came closer to time for me to return to Stanford, she told me she wanted to return to
Kentucky
. That she missed her family, that
Chicago
was much too big a place for her to live, that she would rather look for work closer to home. I objected, told her I'd take care of her if she stayed, but she was adamant."

He expelled another ragged breath. "I was young," he repeated. "Torn between my obligation to and love for Lucinda, and my love for Melody. I knew my family would never forgive me if I didn't go back to school. And I knew I'd be a social pariah if I didn't marry Lucinda, as had always been assumed. But had I known Melody was pregnant…"

He stood suddenly, and Lucas jerked away from the wall, ready to… Something. But all
Davenport
did was pace restlessly to the opposite side of the room, so Lucas relaxed and went back to merely being suspicious. Interestingly, though, his suspicion wasn't quite as overwhelming as it had been fifteen minutes ago. Maybe it was just his imagination, but when he gazed at Edie and
Davenport
in profile, he did detect a certain resemblance between the two. And the other man seemed so genuinely earnest in his explanation. It was hard to stay distrustful of someone who seemed so utterly distraught.

"So where is my mother now?" Edie asked. Her voice was a little stronger now, her doubt, like Lucas's clearly wavering toward belief.

Her question brought
Davenport
around in a quick pivot, his lips parted as if he intended to speak. But no words emerged.

"Mr. Davenport?" she asked again.

"Look, I know it's inappropriate to ask you to call me 'Dad,' but this 'Mr. Davenport' business really does have to go." He threw her a halfhearted smile. "My first name is Russell. You could call me that, if nothing else."

But instead of addressing him thus, Edie repeated, "Where's my mother?"

Russell Davenport's smile fell. "She died last year, Edie. I'm sorry."