The Man From her Wayward Past. Susan StephensЧитать онлайн книгу.
bed-linen. There were just bobbly grey sheets, and she had been slithering about on top of one of her magazines. Luke hadn’t been feeding her chocolate sauce and fruit. And there certainly wasn’t any champagne. There were just some dregs of hot chocolate left in the flask on a shelf by the bed.
She was still shaking as the nightmare faded. Climbing out of bed, she realised the dream was the closest she’d come to sex with Luke—was ever likely to come to sex with Luke—and even in her dreams she couldn’t get it right.
Because the concierge had taken over.
Perhaps it would always be like that from now on. Perhaps her dream of becoming a strong, independent woman was just a pipe dream. Perhaps she would never be able to make love properly, because the concierge would always be waiting in the wings to spoil things for her.
And after a dream like that, how could she ever face Luke again?
It was eleven o’ clock on a Friday night and the club was heaving. A whole seven Luke-free days had passed. And that was good.
Was it?
Yes, of course it was. She could do without any more of those dreams seeing Luke seemed to provoke. He had probably returned to the States by now, after taking the same trip down memory lane in Cornwall that she had. She could only hope for Luke’s sake he had had a better result. She was currently putting in a second shift as another cocktail waitress had gone off sick, and she was so tired she was seriously considering nabbing a couple of cocktail sticks from the bar to prop her eyes open. There must be a convention on at the Grand, Lucia guessed, as more people poured in through the door.
‘Anita.’
Van was approaching. There had been a distinct improvement in Van’s mood since Luke’s visit. He couldn’t take the risk that Lucia had friends in high places, she supposed, though that had been wearing a bit thin this evening, as if Van suspected her influential friend might have deserted her finally.
The holiday had definitely ended, Lucia concluded, as Van snapped, ‘There’s been a spillage on the dance floor. Do something about it, will you?’ Van’s piggy eyes continued darting back and forth as he spoke, counting money as it walked through the door. ‘Now,’ he spelled out, turning to glare at her. ‘We have some important patrons stopping by tonight.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Lucia murmured, hurrying away to get her mop and bucket.
‘And, Anita?’
‘Yes?’ She stopped and turned around.
‘You need to lose weight.’
She nodded agreement. Van was always right. That was the mindset you had to have if you wanted a quiet life at the club. But in this instance Van was right. She felt humiliated in the too-tight boob tube and hot pants ensemble, over which she overflowed with all the glorious abundance of a chocolate fountain. But since Van had made her revert back to the original cocktail waitress uniform so she ‘blended in’, as he put it, she would just have to suck it up.
Emerging from the stockroom with her cleaning tackle, she grabbed a clean apron from a hook by the door. She would have preferred a tent, but that might have looked a bit obvious, and at least the apron partially concealed her body.
She had to put out cones to keep the area clear so no one would slip on the dance floor while she was working. She’d done plenty of clean-ups at the club, but this one was particularly revolting. Suffice it to say unmentionable substances, still with the distinct tang of brandy and cola about them, had spread widely across the black glass tiles. She was making good progress while customers gyrated around her unconcerned. She was invisible. Wasn’t that great?
Not so great when she got stomped on a couple of times. But she was nearly finished.
Lucia’s heart bounced once and then stopped. There was only one man who would have the balls to wear cowboy boots with a sharp Italian suit. She stiffened as a pair of very large feet halted within inches of her nose.
Important patron? Van had got that right. Conscious that her XXL silver-clad backside was poking up in the air, she quickly drew it down and remained quite still, as if she might somehow become invisible again.
But sadly no.
‘Lucia?’
How could her life get any worse?
Luke Forster, Lucia’s childhood crush, and more recently her erotic dream buddy, was back.
CHAPTER THREE
Where in my list does it say that one of the bad boys of polo can crack his whip over my head while I’m on my hands and knees in front of him?
Blech! That does not sound good.
Did that possibility even cross my mind when I was a fourteen-year-old dreamer with only gallant knights in shining armour ahead of me?
No. It did not.
‘Up.’
People turned to stare. Luke’s voice sounded like a pistol crack, blotting out the music as well as the overheated chatter in the club.
‘Hello, Luke,’ Lucia said mildly, determined there wouldn’t be a scene. Van would sack her on the spot. And wouldn’t Luke relish ammunition like that when he made his report to her brothers? ‘How nice to see you again.’ With clothes on, she amended silently, trying hard not to blink.
‘Imagine my surprise to see you here working,’ Luke countered with bite. He returned her upturned gaze with an expressionless stare.
Attack was the only form of defence in this situation. Why was she still down on her knees? Standing, she said coolly, ‘You didn’t think to say goodbye last time you were in the club. Oh, no—I forgot,’ she added. ‘You had better things to do.’ A spear of inconvenient jealousy hit her as she looked in vain for the blonde.
‘She’s not here,’ Luke said, reading her with ease. ‘And you’re leaving.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Now she was upset. One of the upsides of seeing Luke again was that it had restored some of her old fire. She hadn’t broken free of her brothers only to be ordered about by Luke!
‘You heard me,’ Luke said stonily.
Breaking eye contact, she reached for her bucket.
‘You’re leaving that where it is,’ he rapped.
‘No!’ Luke’s big tanned hand seized hold of her arm, and it was bad enough seeing those sensitive fingers sinking into pale, plump flesh without remembering the magic those hands had wrought in her dream …
This was reality, Lucia reminded herself sharply.
But wasn’t this what she had waited for all her life? Luke riding to her rescue. Luke holding her. Luke …
‘Get off me,’ she fired out furiously, shaking herself free. ‘I’m not a horse you can grab hold of and lead where you like. I make my own plans, Luke. And I’m working. Do you want me to lose my job?’
Luke’s arrogant head dipped so he could glare straight into her eyes. ‘I would love you to lose your job,’ he assured her grimly.
‘I come off shift at three a.m. I can talk to you then, but not before,’ she said, aware that Van the Terrible was lurking in the shadows, watching them.
Picking up her mop and bucket, she stalked off the dance floor before Luke had the chance to say a word.
There was only one small consolation in all of this. Her body might be trembling like a leaf, but she was earning a living, and however small that living might be when compared to Luke’s vast income she was living independently. Two small consolations, Lucia conceded with surprise. Confronting Luke hadn’t frightened her. She hadn’t backed down and slithered away to do his bidding. She had felt as if she’d been