Lucifer's Lover (30 page)

For a moment she could not speak. Then, she whispered, “Are there any other lies I should know about?”

“Grander than that one?” He shook his head. “I think you know them all now.” His gaze faltered and he glanced away for a moment. “I’m sorry about each and every one of them. I’m sorry for any hurt and confusion they caused you but you have to know. I don’t think I could have coped with loving you in any other way. And I do love you. It just took me forever to learn how to deal with it.”

“Oh, Luke—the trouble you’ve borrowed…”

He grimaced. “Yeah, well.”

She brushed back the unruly lock of hair that fell across his brow. “Kiss me again. I have some catching up to do, thanks to you.”

“At once, boss.” And he did.

Epilogue

Excerpt from the
Deerfoot Falls Gazette
, October 19 issue,

DEERFOOT FALLS, TUESDAY.
Two of the town’s up-and-coming businesspeople, Luke and Lindsay Pierse, today celebrated the completion of construction on the first ten family homes built by their building company, Lucifer Homes. The new company will specialize in affordable, sensible homes for families of all sizes and incomes. At the press conference, Luke Pierse, who controls the promotion and sales for the company, announced that the company has just been awarded a lucrative contract to build medium density townhouses in the new
Garden
Heights
area.

Later, the private family celebration took place at the hospital bedside of Lindsay Eden Pierse, company manager, who delivered a son, Adam Edward, a scant two hours before the press conference.

If you enjoyed
Lucifer’s Lover
turn the page for an excerpt
from
Eyes of a Stranger

Another
 
award-wining contemporary
romance from Tracy Cooper-Posey

Eyes Of A Stranger

Chapter One

It looked like the girl was being attacked.

Hot thick adrenaline leapt through him, and David nudged the prow of his boat towards the bridge pylon where she stood struggling.
 
He opened the throttles on the engines, making the clean-lined boat lift its nose and surge forward through the night-still waters.
 

He kept his eyes on the slight figure, willing her not to succumb to whatever force was assaulting her until he could reach her.

Then he saw what had first caught his notice.
 
From either side of the girl came a white flash.
 
Long, extended wings.
 
He saw her lunge forward, and her movement made her dress glitter and sparkle under the harsh glare of the neon tubes that illuminated the underside of the bridge.
 
Again, the flash of wings.
 
Then the boat drew close enough so that he could see past the girl.

Her supposed attacker was an albatross.

David sagged a little against the wheel, as a weak relief lifted some of the weight from him.
 
Then he straightened, and juggled the controls of the boat so that he could let it sidle up to the platform.
 
He cut the speed, ducked out of the wheel house, and tied the boat up at one of the mooring rings thoughtfully embedded in the concrete. His attention was free to deal with the little drama playing out on the platform.

She had a heavy garment in her hands—her coat, he assumed.
 
It was a raw night, cold for late summer, and the black dress she wore had little straps over her white shoulders, and that was all.
 
She was trying to drop the coat over the bird.

But the albatross was having none of it.
 
Every time she moved forward, the albatross reared back with a back-raking of his wings, gave an alarming hiss and tried to peck her.
 
As David watched, holding his breath, she tried again.
 
This time the bird shied back, and almost overbalanced.
 
It flapped its enormous wings a few times, trying to maintain balance.
 
The rush of air lifted his hair where he stood on the prow of the boat, sizing up the situation.

He could see now what the problem was.
 
Someone had left their bait and tackle on the platform—the bridge pylons were favorite spots for fishermen.
 
The albatross had been drawn to the bait, and had caught his feet and legs up into a helpless snarl of fishing line.
 
Now he was anchored to the iron pylon mounts.

“Throw your coat to me, and I’ll drop it on him from behind.”
 
David spoke quietly to avoid alarming the bird any further, or startling her, either, although she couldn’t have failed to notice the arrival of the boat.

She didn’t show any alarm or surprise.
 
She merely spared a single glance at him, and sea-green eyes raked him from head to foot in one all-encompassing glance.
 
It was like being stripped bare, but he barely noticed the thoroughness of examination because he was too busy dealing with the impact of her appearance.
 
It was the first time he had looked at her face.

She was beautiful.
 
Under the unforgiving glare of the neon, her face was alabaster white, clear, and the features were balanced with perfect symmetry.
 
Her eyes!
 
Her eyes were enormous jewels framed with thick, assertive brows.
 
Her eyes were simply glorious.
 

He remembered to start breathing again.
 
His heart, which had been slowing after the subsidence of his first alarm, began to beat with an unusual agony.
 
He couldn’t pin down why she was so beautiful and perfect, but he wanted her to look at him again, so he could examine her face longer, more closely.
 
She had only glanced at him, and he felt deprived.

“What’s wrong with using your coat?”
 
Although her attention was fully on the bird, he could hear a touch of dry amusement mixed with exasperation in her tone.
 
He dragged his eyes away from a visual tour of the sweet lines of her profile, and looked down at his leather jacket.
 

“I’d be happy to play Sir Walter Raleigh, but your coat has more material in it, and that albatross is a big bird.”

She considered the matter for another short second, then conceded with a business-like nod of her head.
 
“Here, then.”
 
She bundled up the coat and threw it to him, with slow movements designed not to alarm the bird.
 
“Hurry,” she said shortly.
 
“That line is cutting into his legs every time he pulls back.”

“I’m hurrying.”
 
He unrolled the coat and shook out the folds so he could hold it like a matador’s cloak.
 
It really was a cloak, he noticed.
 
“Move towards him so his attention is on you.”

She didn’t have to move much.
 
With each movement she made the swirls of silver beading on her dress glittered with eye-watering intensity, and the bird’s attention hadn’t shifted from her.

David stepped forward, straddling the boat and the pylon, lifting the cloak high, waiting for the best moment to drop it over the bird.

The woman seemed to sense his readiness, for she crouched, bringing her head down level with the bird’s.
 
The non-threatening motion kept the bird occupied, and didn’t alarm it, which would have caused the bird to spread its wings again.

He dropped the cloak over the bird and lunged forward to tuck his arms around the bundle before the bird could spread his wings.
 
He was surprised at the strength of the bird’s struggles, but after a few seconds it stopped, perhaps recognizing its cause was lost.

“Where do you keep your knife?” the woman asked, pre-empting his suggestion that she climb aboard and get something to cut the line.

“In the wheel house there’s a Swiss army knife hanging on a hook next to the wheel.”

She nodded, and turned towards the boat, then hesitated, looking down at her shoes.
 
He’d noticed them before; strappy black stilettos, the heels thin and elegant, complimenting the fine ankles rising up from them.
 
They would be murder on the soft wood of the deck.
 
He almost winced at the thought of the damage they would do.

She bent, unbuckled the shoes and stepped out of them, then climbed over to the boat and swung herself up to the wheel house with a flash of calves and knees from beneath the long hem of the extraordinary dress, and was gone.

He admired her thoughtfulness, especially in the face of such driving need to hurry.
 
Where had she come from?
 
The dress was unusual, the sort of thing you saw at formal evenings, or the theatre or opera.

She was back quickly, and the one glance he got of her face before she crouched back down in front of him showed him a closed expression.
 
She was absorbed in the problem of freeing the bird, and her focus was so tight that nothing would distract her from that goal.
 
The fierceness of her concentration intrigued him.
 
It was as if she was fighting off more than the awkwardness of having to work with a total stranger.

He tucked the ends of the cloak beneath the bird and lifted it so she could reach the line tangled around its legs.
 
She unfolded the little scissors from the knife, and used them to snip at the knots, gently tugging the line away and dropping it to the ground in bundles.
 

From his angle, he could only see the top of her head.
 
He enjoyed the way the light bounced off the mahogany curls and waves of her hair, which fell almost to her waist.
 
There was a rich, clean scent rising from her, and a hint of an exotic, dark perfume which caused his nostrils to flare and something to roll over slowly at the base of his stomach, that weakened his muscles and sapped his mind.

He lost the passing of time.

She lifted her head to look at him.
 
“It’s finished.
 
You can let it go now.”
 
Her enormous eyes were grave.
 
She straightened, folding the scissors back into the knife case with precise, neat movements.

There was some blood on her hands.

He stood awkwardly, keeping the bird tucked under his arms, eyeing the blood.
 
“The bird’s hurt.
 
I’ll take it to a vet.
 
There’s one just down the marina—”

“No.”
 

There wasn’t any compromise in her voice.
 
There wasn’t room for any.
 
He frowned a little, and tried to reason it out for her.
 
“It’s hurt.
 
The vet will just check it over, make sure it’s okay.”
 
Suddenly, he thought he understood.
 
“It’s all right.
 
They’ll let it go again.”

Her eyes narrowed.
 
“No,” she repeated.
 
Her whole expression had changed.
 
Was it anger he could see?
 
“Let the bird go.
 
It’s only a small cut.
 
The bird will heal by itself.
 
Let it go.”

“Are you willing to take that chance after all the effort you’ve been through to free the bird in the first place?”
 
He tried to keep his tone reasonable.

His reasonableness seemed to infuriate her.
 
Suddenly real, unmistakable anger flooded her face.
 
The glittering, towering rage made her seem taller and astonishingly more beautiful, in an earthy, far less surreal way than how her beauty had first struck him.
 

“You let the bird go!
 
Do you hear me?
 
You let it go!
 
Who are you to decide its fate?
 
It was born free, and it should be left free.”

“Hey, I’m concerned for the thing, too, you know.
 
I didn’t have to stop—”

“I didn’t ask you too,” she raged back.
 
She was holding her hands stiffly at her sides, clenched, her knuckles white.
 
“And now you can leave.
 
But first let the bird go.”

David stared at her, astonished.
 
It wasn’t just her anger that had stolen his tongue.
 
It was the sudden eclipsing of the ethereal, still beauty with this raging, hot…passion.
 
Was this what she had been holding back, a while ago?
 
Who was she?

An answer rose.
 
It was prompted, he knew, from the association of the operatic drama of her dress, and the passing notion he’d had about tackling the bird matador-style with the cloak.
 
The name leapt into his mind:
 
Carmen
.

She was like Carmen; driven by her passionate, sensual nature to behavior that went against sense.