How to Trap a Tycoon(80)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

* * *

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."