Love, Come to Me(115)

“Why do you seem so convinced of that?”

Damon appeared to choose his next words with great care. “He’s changed since he met you. When I knew him before, Heath was a different man.”

“Different in what way?”

“He lived very . . . loosely. He drank hard, all the time. And . . .” Damon paused and looked at her with dark, unfathomable eyes. “He used and discarded women with no more thought than if he were going through a box of King Bee cigarettes.”

Lucy’s cheeks colored. “King Bees—”

“Twenty for a nickel. Preferred by men who choose quantity over quality. One after another. I see I’ve embarrassed you. But you understand what I’m saying . . . have you ever seen him even look at another woman?”

“Not while I’m around, but—”

“He doesn’t when you’re not around, either. I’d stake my life on the fact that he’s completely faithful to you. I’ve been with him when beautiful women have passed by, and he’s never spared any of them a glance. You’re the reason why.”

“You’re trying to pacify me, but—”

“I’m not trying to pacify you. I’m trying to tell you that I’ve never seen a man so in . . . well, I’ll let him tell you that. I’ve already overstepped the boundaries too far. Tell me . . . what’s your decision going to be? Are you going in there or heading home?”

“I’m not sure.”

“If you go home, I’ll talk to him when he gets back to the Examiner. I’ll tell him that you know Raine is in town. You should be able to handle things from then on.”

She nodded and raised her eyes to his, seeing nothing but quiet friendliness in his gaze, never suspecting what lay beneath it. “Damon . . . I’m sorry for the things I’ve said to you today. I held our friendship over your head like a whip—”

“Whatever works,” he replied, and shrugged.

“Well, if nothing else, today has accomplished one thing . . .”

“What’s that?”

“We’re finally on a first-name basis.”

Her innocent smile brought him both pleasure and pain. For her sake, he would never treat her with anything but brotherly affection. And, in love with Heath as she was, she would never recognize Damon’s real feelings for her. He was relieved that she didn’t suspect, despite the deeply buried desire to unburden his heart.

“Aren’t we, Damon?” she prompted, and his mouth curled with a self-mocking smile.

“That we are, Lucy.” He opened the door of the carriage and gave her a brief salute before swinging lightly onto the pavement.

The hour was late, and still Heath had not returned home. Lucy ate dinner in dispirited silence and went upstairs to take a bath. Sinking into the hot water until she was immersed up to her shoulders, she half-closed her eyes and let her mind drift from one thought to another. No matter what condition Heath arrived in or what hour he walked in the front door, she was determined to talk to him. They would have to come to an understanding; she couldn’t live with this uncertainly any longer. If she had to force his hand, then she would, but after tonight she would know the truth about his feelings, and he would know the truth about hers.

She washed her hair and wrapped a towel around it, stepping carefully out of the bathtub. Unable to find her robe, she secured another towel around her chest, tucking the corner of it between the firm swells of her bosom. Walking into the bedroom, Lucy found that it was comfortably warm, and she knelt before the fireplace to dry her hair. The heat of the fire felt good on her face, enticing her to inch closer to the fireguard. She worked at the damp tangles of her hair with light strokes of a brush, pausing often to pry fine strands apart with her fingers.

Dropping one smooth lock and reaching for another, Lucy discovered that some of her hair was caught in the fancy wrought-iron edges of the fireguard. With an impatient exclamation, she tugged at the entire screen to move it further away from the fire, and then she pulled again at the obstinate lock of hair. It was firmly caught. She was effectively trapped, kneeling on the floor. Yanking harder, she accidentally pulled a few hairs right out of her scalp, and the sharp sting of it caused her to swear. It was so infuriating that after a few minutes she almost found it funny, and a frustrated giggle escaped her. Rubbing her sore scalp and tilting her head to the side, she called for help.

“Bess! Bess, can you hear me? Is anyone . . . oh, I don’t believe this . . . Bess!”

“Cin? What in the hell are you doing?”

Lucy twisted around in response to the low masculine voice and sighed in resignation. Heath was home. She had planned to have a dignified conversation with him about their differences. She had pictured herself, regal, calm, and forgiving as she talked to him, and instead, she was on the floor, half-naked and sitting in a wet heap of towels.

“I was drying my hair. It got caught,” she said, feeling so foolish and wry that she started to giggle helplessly. Heath did not seem to share her amusement in the situation. His face was hard and expressionless as he closed the door and walked over to her in three strides. Swiftly he dropped to his haunches and brushed her hands away from the fireguard.

“Let go. I’ll do it.”

“I think it’s beyond saving,” Lucy informed him, her voice trembling with laughter. “It’s really not that much hair . . . if you have something to cut it with—”