Deeply, Desperately (8 page)

Inside the Porcupine, Maggie was straightening tablecloths as I walked by. She looked up and I waved. From experience I knew Raphael would find a parking spot, then double back to share a cup of coffee with Maggie and help her around the restaurant.

How long before it became a full-time job? How long before he walked away from my father for Maggie?

I couldn't imagine that day would come.

And didn't know what I'd do if it did.

I dragged myself up the stairs to Sean's office. Better just to get the questions over with and get on with the day. There was probably a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why a woman was answering Sean's phone. Perfectly. Reasonable.

"Hello," a young man said as I walked into SD Investigations. "Do you have an appointment?"

He sat behind an antique table that doubled as a desk. His black-and-white Pumas stretched out far beyond the wonderful turned legs of the table, his jeans torn in the latest teen style. The hood of a
UMASS
sweatshirt covered his head, the strings pulled tight around his jaw.

The table was an original from the early nineteenth century. Dovie had a similar one at Aerie and I coveted that as much as I did this one--found by the interior designer Sam had hired to spiff up the place. But Federal-style tables simply weren't in my meager budget.

There were some days, like today, when I questioned why I ignored my trust fund.

"Do you have an appointment?" the young man
asked again. A worn, dog-eared Dennis Lehane novel lay facedown on the desk. He loosened the strings around his face, pushed his hood back an inch or two. Thick hair tumbled forward onto his forehead.

The hood, I noted, wasn't a fashion statement. It was self-preservation. The room was freezing, and the feeble warmth of a humming space heater lacked the power to fight off the chill in the air.

"Why is it so cold?" I asked.

A voice came from my left. "The freaking furnace is on the blink." Sam wore a thick corduroy barn coat. "It's being worked on right now. I'm thinking about taking the rest of the day off, just to defrost."

Defrosting sounded good. I was suddenly missing the seat warmers in my father's car.

"I see you've met Andrew." Sam nodded to the new receptionist.

"Not quite. I'm Lucy Valentine. I work downstairs. Sean and I ... work together."

"Closely," Sam added, completely straight-faced.

The boy's eyebrows shot up, disappearing behind drooping tawny bangs.

I threw Sam an outraged look. I supposed this was payback for steaming up his hallway yesterday.

"It's nice to meet you, Andrew," I said. "I hope, ah, that I'll be seeing you again."

He shot a look at Sam, who was giving me his own outraged look.

"Is Sean in?" I asked.

Sam said, "Um, yeah, I think so. With a"--he coughed--"client. Coffee? You look like you need some coffee."

Coffee sounded amazing. My toes had gone numb. I followed Sam to the kitchen.

"Does Andrew know about the curse?" I asked as Sam pulled a mug from the cabinet.

Sam glanced nervously over his shoulder. "There's no such thing, Lucy."

"Oh, is that right? Should we start the pool now to see how long he lasts?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Sean and I already did."

I laughed. "I'll take two hours."

"Generous," he said sarcastically, looking again over his shoulder. "I'll, um, be right back. You know where everything is, right?"

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you acting so strangely?"

"Strange? Me? No." He laughed. "Must be the cold air. Not enough oxygen getting to my brain."

I stared at him. He stared back.

"Right," he said. "Be back in a minute."

I poured coffee to the rim of my mug, enjoyed the warmth as it slid down my throat as I took my first sip.

The mirror in the hallway beckoned. I looked like something dragged in the ferry's undertow. My hair was a mess, windblown and frizzy. Nothing much I could do about it. Giving up, I turned ... and found a woman staring at me with hard eyes. She was beautiful with an olive complexion, high cheekbones, and shimmering dark hair. Before I could say hello, she rushed forward, bumped into me, and kept on going. Coffee dripped down my hand, soaked into
my trousers, puddled around my feet, leached into the thick throw rug.

"Cara!" Sean yelled, flying around the corner. One look at me and he drew up short, nearly knocking into me too.

Sam stood behind him. "I'm going to, ah, see about the furnace." He edged around us and hurried away.

I blinked. Cara? Cara Franklin? Sean's ex-fiancee Cara?

"Shit," Sean mumbled.

I couldn't find my voice. I hadn't known he'd been speaking with her, let alone seeing her.

He brushed past me, turning into the kitchen. A roll of paper towels in hand, he tore a few off, handed them to me. He knelt down, dabbed at my leg. My calf smoldered beneath his touch.

20 - 4 is ...

"Do you need to go after her?" I finally said.

16.

He tapped my foot so I'd lift it. Carefully, he slid a paper towel over my boot. "The dry cleaner should be able to get the coffee out of your pants. Send me the bill." He sponged the carpet.

"Do you need to go after her?" I repeated. I didn't know much about Cara other than her name, she was a nurse, and she'd been unable to deal with Sean's health troubles. And now I knew she was absolutely beautiful.

I could have done without that knowledge.

Whoever said knowledge was power had to have been crazy. Denial ... now that was a sentiment I could get behind.

"No." Paper towels dripped as he stood. He carried them into the kitchen. He came back out, dragging a hand over his face. "This isn't how I wanted this to go."

My voice cracked as I asked, "Wanted what? Wait. You were with her last night, weren't you? I called. She answered."

"She showed up on Sam's doorstep last night, sobbing."

Sean and his dog Thoreau had been staying with Sam since moving out of the place he'd shared with Cara last month.

Stressed, I jumped right into division problems, which said a lot, because I hated division.

24/4 is 6.

"Lucy?"

I tried to breathe. "Are you going back to her?"

"What? No."

My stomach was starting to ache. "Then why was she here?"

"Come into my office."

I tried to move, but my feet wouldn't budge. It took the searing heat of Sean's hand at the small of my back to get me moving.

"Lucy?"

"Yeah?" I sank into a chair.

"Look at me."

I really didn't want to. "No, thank you."

"Please?"

I looked. His eyes, those alluring, sexy milky-gray eyes, held such tenderness that my breath caught.

"Sorry about the coffee," he said, his breath sweet against my lips.

"Why was she here?" My voice hardly shook at all, but it was a good thing I was sitting because my knees would have probably buckled.

My mind, bracing for something disastrous, started reeling with everything but thoughts of Sean. Of my Christmas list, of Preston and the mysterious Cutter, of my stressed-out father, of what Raphael didn't tell me, of Leo, of Aiden and Em, of Sarah Loehman, and of needing to tell Aiden about the latest Handmaiden letter.

Sean pulled me out of my seat and into a tight embrace. My skin sizzled. I nuzzled my face into the crook of his neck and drank in the scent of him. The soap, the cologne, coffee.

Finally my mind ran out of distractions and I had to repeat my question. "Why was she here?"

He pulled back, cupped my face with his hands, and kept looking at me with that same tenderness. His hands slid down to my shoulders, slipping down my arms. He took my hands in his.

A wave of dizziness nearly knocked me over. Visions came in snippets, a piece here, a piece there. Christmas lights glowing on bare skin, his mouth on my thigh ...

I yanked my hands away. I couldn't take such sweet torture right now. "Why, Sean?"

"She needs me right now."

So much for Cupid's Curse having been zapped right out of me.

I drew in a breath and sank back into my chair. "What's that mean?"

"She's sick. Maybe." He shook his head, raked his
hand through his hair, sending floppy spikes upward.

"Maybe?"

He sat on the edge of his desk. "She called yesterday--when we were in the hallway."

Ah. So it had been her number that had caused his frown.

"The doctors need to run tests. Spinal taps and MRIs and all kinds of things. She doesn't really have anyone else, Lucy, to be with her right now. And she shouldn't have to do this alone."

"No family?" I hated the pettiness in my voice, but it couldn't be helped.

"No siblings. Her dad left when she was little and her mom remarried and is in Arizona. Cara doesn't want to bother her until she finds out what's wrong."

Cara, however, didn't mind bothering Sean.

Pettiness was ugly. I closed my eyes and tried to find a little compassion. "What's wrong with her?"

"Don't know for sure. Some dizziness, some numbness in her hand, some tingling in her leg. She fainted the other day."

I supposed I should thank my lucky stars that she wasn't pregnant. After all, she and Sean only broke it off six weeks ago. Though, according to him, they hadn't had a physical relationship for months before that.

I wanted to believe him, so I did. I was a Valentine. I was allowed.

"This doesn't change us," he said.

Something rattled and clanged. A burst of heat shot through the radiator. I guessed the furnace was fixed. "Okay."

"It doesn't."

I flashed to that image I'd just had of us. Our naked bodies, his lips on my thigh ... It was destined to come true (
when
was another issue), so maybe he was right.

"It's just," he began.

"What?" I prompted.

"She sat by me when I went through all my testing. Never left my bedside."

She'd also resented him for it. According to Sean, she hadn't been able to deal with the scope of his illness, with his life changing so drastically. As soon as Sean was out of danger, she opted out of the relationship.

He'd almost died, and still lived with the possibility on a day-to-day basis. If not for the defibrillator implanted in his chest, he could go at any minute. She didn't want to deal with it.

At the thought of losing him, chills swept down my spine and the ache in my stomach intensified. This was where Cara and I differed the most. She ran while I wanted to hold on for dear life.

"It's the least I can do for her," he said. "Then I can cut all ties. No looking back."

I wanted to hate his loyalty, his empathy, but I couldn't. In truth, it made him all that more attractive. "Sean?"

"Yeah?"

"What if they find something seriously wrong? Are you going to be able to walk away?"

Essentially, do to her what she'd done to him? Her rejection had hurt him, and I couldn't see him walking
away--if only to prove that he was, in fact, the better person.

I glanced into his eyes. The tenderness had turned to anguish.

My stomach churned.

"Yes," he said.

I wanted to believe him, but I didn't. I was a Valentine. It was my birthright.

"She has a spinal tap scheduled at noon. I told her I'd be there."

"But Falmouth is at least a ninety-min--oh." I stood. "That's okay. I can go it alone."

"Lucy, this won't be for long."

"No, no. It's all right. Really." I was lying through my teeth. But at this point I just wanted to leave.

"You're lying through your teeth, Ms. Valentine."

Oh, just twist that knife a little bit more. My name on his lips was too sexy to endure.

"But I promise I'll make it up to you," he said, pulling me into an embrace.

"Oh?" I asked, slightly (okay, highly) intrigued.

He let me go and picked up a duffel bag on the floor. "All the toys you asked for. And there may be one or two I left at home. To show you in private. Sometime. Perhaps soon?"

A blush climbed my neck, settled into my cheeks. I was definitely intrigued, though I couldn't keep that little knot of doom and gloom from sitting heavily in my stomach.

I took the duffel from him and headed for the door. "Perhaps."

"Dinner tonight?" he asked.

"My place, eight?"

"I'll be there."

"I'll hold you to that."

He grinned. "I hope that's not the only thing you'll be holding."

"Mr. Donahue! I'm shocked." And giddy, but I didn't mention that. I had my pride, after all.

His laugh followed me down the hall. In the reception area, I found Andrew doubled over, writhing in pain.

I rushed over to him. "Andrew! What's wrong?"

"Don't. Know. My stomach. Hurting." He gasped for breath as sweat beaded along his hairline. "Sam's taking me. To the hospital."

Sam rushed through the door, saying, "I'm double-parked, can you make it downstairs?"

Andrew nodded and hunchbacked his way to the door. Sam helped him down the steps, a sturdy arm around his shoulders.

I was about to say something about the office pool, but Sam looked back at me with a grim expression. "Not one word, Lucy Valentine. Not one word."

The door leading into Valentine, Inc., tended to stick. I gave it a good shove. As it opened, two heads turned my way.

"You look like death," Suzannah Ruggieri said. "Are you okay?"

Tall and curvy, she had the look of a model, right down to incredible cheekbones and amazing blue eyes. Her hair was pulled back today, held in place with a chopstick. She'd worked for Valentine, Inc., for years and was such a trusted employee that she even knew about the auras.

"Yeah," Preston said, frowning. "Food poisoning?"

"No," I snapped, determined to look into other brands of concealer. "I'm fine. What are you two looking at?"

Both stood by the windows overlooking Beacon Street and the Public Garden. "Looks like some sort of protest is about to start on the Common," Suz said.

I ran over to the window. The Public Garden stretched far and wide, bathed in the beauty of the Christmas season, with lights and garlands and wreaths. I looked to the left, toward the Common. A
large group had gathered. I squinted. No sign of Dovie or Mum. Yet.