Chapter 3

“Mr. Deveraux?”

Luc looked up from his grits and ham.

Julie Richmond stood by the table. She was wearing a coat that was too short, too lightweight, too big, and the wrong style. Even he could see it had been manufactured for a summer four or five years earlier.

“Mrs. Richmond? Bon jour. Well, this is a…” He broke off as she swayed slightly. Fearing she was going to faint, he dropped his napkin onto the table and got to his feet, pushing her into the other chair. “Please, sit down.”

She fell into the chair but instead of looking at him, kept her head down. He realized she was staring at his plate.

“Could I get you some coffee? Some breakfast?” He gestured to a passing waiter.

“Please,” she whispered as the waiter stopped at the table.

“Some coffee for my guest,” Luc said. “And…?”

“Toast…just some toast.” She still didn’t look up.

“A serving of toast,” he repeated. “With butter and jam.”

The waiter nodded, returning almost immediately with a cup and saucer, filling it from a small coffee carafe.

“Would you like some sugar?” Luc asked into the silence. “Cream?”

He forced himself to sound impersonal, placing the little bowl filled with sugar and a second with artificial sweetener packets, and a small pitcher near the cup.

She didn’t answer, simply studied the steam rising from the cup. Abruptly, she selected three packets, tearing them open and dumping each into the coffee. Picking up the spoon, she stirred the black liquid. She didn’t look as if she were paying attention to what she was doing.

The toast arrived, with two pats of butter and a jam packet on the side. It was placed before her and subjected to the same downcast scrutiny as the empty place setting. Luc reseated himself, deciding to keep quiet and give her time to say whatever she had come to say, not wanting to make a fool of himself a second time.

At last, she picked up a piece of toast and set it to one side. While he watched, she opened her napkin, placed the other three triangles and the little packets on it and, with a furtive glance around, folded the cloth over the bread and slid it into her purse.

“What are you doing?”

“Merry. I’ll take the other pieces to her.”

“Mrs. Richmond…” Reaching across the table, he touched her hand, felt her slight recoil and moved his own away, trying not to look insulted. “You don’t need to do that.”

“When I got up this morning…” Her voice was still low, speaking to the plate rather than to him. “There was only some oatmeal for breakfast and it had weevils in it. Weevils!”

She spoke the word as if that particular insect was the Scourge of Mankind.

She took a bite of the remaining piece of toast, chewed slowly, and swallowed. It was dry. All the butter and jam had gone into the napkin. Picking up the coffee cup, she drained it with the determined motion of a man slugging down a shot of whiskey. When she set down the cup, it made a loud clattering against the saucer.

Taking a deep breath, she raised her eyes to Luc’s.

“Mr. Deveraux, I’ve come to talk about what you said to me yesterday.” She fell silent again.

When he didn’t answer, she looked up and frowned as though wondering why he was staring at her as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. There were toast crumbs and a smear of jam on his lower lip. Before she could stop herself, she picked up the napkin by his plate, leaned forward, and dabbed at his mouth.

Looking surprised, Luc took the square of cloth from her and brushed away the crumbs. He stood up, dropping it onto the table.

“Bien. Let’s go to my suite where we can talk.”

“Yes…let’s.” Her reply held no enthusiasm.

Talk, that’s a good euphemism. She doubted if one word would be spoken once they got there. More likely only sound-effects, moans and groans, mostly his. I certainly won’t be making any.

As she stood, he put his hand on her arm, steering her out of the room and to the elevator. Unsteadily, she leaned against him, but her body was stiff as if she hated herself for it. Once inside the elevator, he released her, saw her waver and clutch at the handrail as the lift started upward.

“Are you all right?”

“I don’t like elevators,” she informed him.

“How about planes?”

“You couldn’t pay me to get into one.”

He thought of the flight to Louisiana. Things weren’t looking too good.

* * *

As the hotel door shut, Luc didn’t have to study her face to see panic setting in. What does she think I’m going to do? Attack her?

“This is a room?” She stopped inside the little entryway.

“Suite, actually. They’re painting my apartment. I’m flying home to Louisiana tomorrow and I needed somewhere to stay until then.” He shrugged. “I like a lot of room, so I got a suite.”

Julie shook her head. There was definitely a lot of space.

Vaguely, she wondered why he needed so much of it Does he intend to work up an appetite by chasing me around a little before closing in for the kill?

“Is someone watching your daughter for you?”

“Yes. A neighbor…” Her voice was as weak as she looked. Why is he asking about Merry?

“You don’t have to hurry back?”

“No.” Is he planning on making this last all day? She felt a stab of panic.

* * *

Is someone watching Merry? Oh yes, someone was watching Merry all right, and counting the minutes until Julie was safely back in her apartment, too.

She’d asked Delaine Jackson, who lived across the hall, to stay with her daughter. Early that morning, Delaine followed Julie back to her apartment, breathing fire and smoke and prepared to do her best to talk her out of what she intended.

“Yo’ don’ need t’ do this, Julie. Yo’ don’ need his money. I’ll share my groceries witcha.”

“Delaine, you barely have enough for yourself.”

“Tha’s true, but…”

“No.”

Delaine fell silent.

“Do you think this looks all right?” Julie had put on a pale pink sheath, round neck, long sleeves, straight skirt, the most daring thing in her meager wardrobe.

“Honey, it don’ matter what you wear. You ain’t gon’ keep it on for long.” At Julie’s look of shock, she shrugged. “Yeah, it look fine.”

“I should be going.” Picking up her purse, Julie slid into the coat Delaine loaned her. It was two sizes too big and made her look smaller than ever.

As she started to the door, Delaine followed her with a barrage of instructions. “Now, ’member. Get that money in yo’ han’ while he still got his pants on.”

Julie paused and turned to look at her.

“An’ if he starts anything weird…if he pulls out a set o’ han’cuffs or wants yo’ t’ whup him…anything…yo’ jes’ grab the money an’ beat it out o’ there as fast as them li’l white legs of youahs’ll carry yo’.”

Julie didn’t answer, merely opened the door. Delaine’s hand touched her shoulder.

“Julie…”

Once again, she looked back.

“Here.” Delaine held out something.

Julie took it, turning it over in her hands. A small foil packet. She looked at the other side. It was transparent, and inside… She nearly dropped the pack.

“Make him use it, honey. I don’t want yo’ gettin’ AIDS or herpes or worse. Make him use that rubber if yo’ has to put it on him yo’self.”

“I will, Delaine. I promise.” Julie took a deep breath. “Guess I’d better get it over with.”

“Damn it, I wish yo’ wasn’t doin’ this.” Delaine hugged her.

* * *

As Julie heard Luc shut the door behind her, she wished she wasn’t doing it, too.

“Let me take your coat.” Having no idea of the wild thoughts going on inside her head, Luc was still being the polite host. Deftly, he slid the garment off her shoulders and opened the hall closet.

What’s this thing made of? Tissue paper? It’s pretty damned flimsy.

He studied the coat as he hung it next to his. If the lining had been held together with duct tape he wouldn’t have been surprised.

Certainly doesn’t look very warm.

When he looked back, she was standing near the coffee table and seemed to have shrunk several inches. Then he realized she’d kicked off her shoes. He could see them under the table, the one-inch heels peeled and scratched, the sole of one worn completely through.

“I want to apologize for what I said yesterday,” he began, coming to stand beside her.

Dieu, she’s short. Her head was barely on a level with the top button of his vest.

“It’s all right.” She had to step back in order to look up at him.

“Non, it’s not.” He took another step toward her and she backed away. “You see, I didn’t really say what I meant.”

“I think you got your meaning across.”

“Non, you don’t understand.”

“Look,” she broke in. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here, and…” She made a vague shrugging gesture and looked away.

“I need to explain.” Luc took a deep breath and made another attempt. “Mrs. Richmond…”

“Where do you want me?”

“What?”

She repeated her question.

“Oh…uh…the sofa.”

Bien. She wanted to sit down, was going to listen. Luc’s relief disappeared when she didn’t move. What the Hell’s she doing?

She was reaching behind her, tugging ineffectually at something. Apologetically, she said, “I’m sorry, I can’t seem to get this zipper open.” She turned her back. “Would you mind?”

She’d gotten it down far enough that he could see the lacy but frayed top of her slip, no bra visible. To the left of her spine, resting in the little hollow made by her shoulder blade, was a tiny brown mole.

Any other time, that was the kind of thing Luc liked to see. It looked very kissable. At this particular moment, however, it didn’t interest him because that little bit of bare skin told him how she’d misunderstood…and that he had to explain…fast.

“You don’t need to do that, Mrs. Richmond.” He caught the zipper and pulled it up. In the silence, the metal grated.

Zzziiippp.

Hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face him. “All I want you to do is…”

“Oh, of course.” Once more, she interrupted what he was attempting to say.

Merde, won’t I never get a chance to tell her how wrong she is?

“You want me to take off…” A quick blush raced through her cheeks.

Bending, she caught the hem of the pink dress, raising it above her knees. Her legs were slim and very white and he realized for the first time she wasn’t wearing any stockings. No socks, no stockings—her legs must be almost frozen. Is that why they’re so pale?

The skirt went higher. He saw white panties—granny panties, not a bikini or thong—with puckered elastic and a run in the nylon. Her fingers plucked at the waistband.

“Mrs. Richmond…” He gasped out her name, trying to get the rest said before she could interrupt again. His own hands did a frantic flurry stopping hers, pulling them away and making the skirt fall around her knees. “I don’t want you to take off anything. That’s not what I want you to do.”

There…that should settle things.

“You mean you…” Instead of looking relieved, she now appeared absolutely terrified.

He didn’t think she could get any whiter but somehow, she managed. Shaking her head, she took a step back, bumped against the coffee table and nearly lost her balance, wavering a moment before righting herself.

“Y-you want me to give you a…what’s it called? A b-blow job?”

Coming out of that pretty little mouth, the words seemed worse than obscene. Luc flushed, his face as red as hers was pale.

“I can’t.” One hand went to trembling lips. “I-I just can’t!”

“Sit down.” Hand on her arm, he steered her around the coffee table and onto the sofa, grateful as she stumbled in front of him obediently. “Just sit, don’t say anything.”

Surprisingly, she did as he asked, watching him as he filled a glass at the mini-bar and returned, holding it out to her.

“Here. Drink this.”

“What is it?” She took the glass from him, peering into it as if she suspected it contained arsenic.

“Whiskey and water. That’s all, I swear. You need something to get the blood back into your face.”

She raised the glass, took a sip, and grimaced. “It tastes awful.”

“Don’t give it a critique,” he snapped. “Just drink it.”

He was hovering over her, realized that might appear threatening and sat beside her. Other than to lift the glass and take another swallow, lower it, and shudder, she didn’t move.

“It’s terrible. I think I could be very sick.”

“Don’t. The maids around here are busy enough.”

“Will it get me drunk?”

He couldn’t tell if she was hopeful or worried.

“It shouldn’t.” There was barely any whiskey in it, probably two tablespoonfuls to the whole glass of water. He made a decision. “I think I’d better order you something to eat. That piece of toast is probably long gone.”

He was off the sofa and at the phone before she could stop him.

“Room service? This is Luc Deveraux in Room 202. I’d like to order a…” He turned to look at her, frowned, and went on, “A hamburger and fries and a large glass of milk. Rush it. Merci.”

He returned to sit beside her.

She finished the drink and held out the glass. “Could I have another?”

He took it from her. “That might not be a good idea, since you haven’t had anything to eat.”

“Give me another a-and then, I’ll be able to do whatever you want.”

That did it.

Luc slammed the glass onto the coffee table. It hit the smooth surface with a loud crack, and toppled over, rolled off and struck the floor as he turned toward Julie so violently she cowered away from him.

“Listen, damn it…”

“I’ll do it. I swear.” Once more, she kept him from finishing.

“Will you shut up and listen to me?” Catching her by the shoulders, he gave her a little shake, seeing astonishment on her face as he shouted, “Dammit! I don’t want to have sex with you.”

Then, they simply stared at each other, and the silence fell around them like leaves, growing louder and louder.

“Y-you don’t? Y-you really don’t?”

Luc didn’t answer. Instead, he shook his head. Very slowly.

“I-in that case.” Her smile was a little shaky but genuine, as she cleared her throat. “Why didn’t you say so before?”

“I’ve been trying to, for the past twenty minutes.” Luc released her and leaned back against the sofa. For some reason, he felt exhausted. “Sacré! Do you always take the bit in your teeth like that?”

“Forgive me if I’m a little confused.” The words were whispered, but the sarcasm in them was clear. “What do you want?”

At last. Now, possibly, I can explain.

“Mrs. Richmond, I need your help and I swear what I want you to do has nothing illegal about it.”

“All right.” She thought about that, recovering her composure remarkably fast though she was still breathing a little heavily. “Not illegal. You said that too quickly. Is it immoral, maybe?”

“That’s open to debate.” He laughed.

“Okay.” She managed a faint smile of her own. “So it’s legal, possibly immoral. I guess my next question would be…is it fattening?”

That made him laugh again and she joined in, passing her hand over her eyes as if brushing away the last of her fear.

“Why don’t you go wash your face…uh…freshen up a little?” he suggested, waving a hand toward the bedroom. “Then, we’ll talk. The bathroom’s through there.”

“Thank you. I will.” She got up and tottered through the open double doors, bare feet hardly making a sound on the carpet.

Luc bent and picked up the glass from under the table. There was a scant teaspoonful of liquid in it. Raising it to his mouth, he drank the last drops, then shook his head.

She’s right. It does taste awful.

A sound made him look to the bedroom. Julie had emerged from the bathroom and was looking at the bed. It was covered in a quilted satin duvet, peach-colored camellias with deep green leaves. She touched it.

There was a knock at the door.

“That must be room service,” he called.

She looked up, gave an answering nod, and came back into the living room.

He let the waiter in.

The food was quickly deposited on the little table in the dining area and the waiter left, pocketing Luc’s tip. Turning toward Julie, Luc bowed and gestured at the covered plate.

“Your petit-déjeuner, Madame.”

As she sat, he removed the cover, placing it on the table. The smell of grilled beef and deep-fried potatoes filled the air. He managed to stifle a smile at her delighted exclamation, “Ohhh…” and then, in a different tone, “Oh.”

“What’s the matter? Too well-done?”

“They forgot the catsup for the fries.”

“No prob.” He reached for the phone. “I’ll call…”

“Don’t. I’m too hungry.” She caught his arm, then released it as if she’d committed a social error. “I can eat them plain.”

“You know, in Canada, they don’t put catsup on their fries. They use malt vinegar or gravy.”

“Really?” She took a bite of the burger, chewed, and swallowed, closing her eyes briefly. “Gravy might be good, but vinegar?” She shook her head and ate a fry. “Canada? You’ve been to Canada?”

“I was there for four months building a bridge. We don’t usually take on a project like that in winter but it was kind of an emergency. Luckily there wasn’t much snow. Zut, I hate snow.”

“I’ve never seen any.”

“You’re lucky. I’m really glad to be back. Even to the current weather.”

She took another bite of the burger and set it back on the plate, chewed, swallowed, and inhaled deeply. “Okay. I’m fortified…and we’ve had enough small talk. Now explain.”

“It’s a pretty complicated story.”

“I’ll eat slowly,” she told him. “To give you plenty of time.” She selected a French fry.

“I’m going to skip all the background stuff. I can tell you that later.” He looked away, as if trying to gather his thoughts, then gave her a sheepish smile. “You know, this is more difficult than I thought. I’m not certain where to begin.”

“I’d suggest the beginning, but something tells me that isn’t the right spot.”

“Non.” He hesitated a moment longer, then took a deep breath. “Long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away…”

“Oh, puh-leeze.” She stopped eating long enough to laugh. “You did say your name is Luc Deveraux and not Skywalker, didn’t you?”

“You’re right,” he agreed. “This is serious. Okay, here it is…my brother, Michel, and I were born in Paris. We lived there until my father was killed in a racing accident.”

“Racing.” She looked interested. “Horses?”

“Automobiles. His car was struck by another one and hit a wall. He was burned to death.”

“That must have been awful for you.” Her hand went over his. He nodded his thanks. The hand moved away to hover over the fries again.

“My gran’père, Jean-Luc Deveraux, brought us to live at San Souci, his plantation in Louisiana.” His voice went very quiet. “Three months later, my mother died. Gran’père raised us.”

“I’m sorry,” Julie murmured.

“Merci, but it was a long time ago now,” His tone was flat, matter-of-fact.

As if he couldn’t sit still and tell it, he stood to pace beside the table. Julie watched him, idly eating the slice of potato.

“Gran’père spoiled me, I admit it. Let me have anything and everything I wanted. At the same time, he was very strict with my brother. As a result, there’s always been rivalité between Michel and me. When I was twenty-one, I left San Souci but Gran’père insisted Michel stay behind and help run the plantation.”

He paused to look at her. She’d picked up the sandwich and was nibbling on it while he talked, though she was listening attentively.

“Then, I got this letter. A little belatedly, Gran’père decided to let me know the contents of my father’s will. Papa, it seems, didn’t want me to commit the same sins he had. He established a Trust for me. I’m to get it on my thirtieth birthday, which is ten months from now.”

Julie set down the sandwich and reached for the glass of milk.

“There’s a stipulation on the Trust. If I’m not married, settled, and starting a family by that time, I can kiss the whole thing goodbye. It’ll all revert to Michel. No way am I going to let mon petit frère get his hands on my money. So, I told him…” He stopped and had the grace to look ashamed.

“Oh no.” Julie set down the glass. “Please tell me you didn’t.” She didn’t wait for his affirming nod. “You did.” She shook an accusing finger at him. “You told him you were married.”

“Oui, and a year later, that we had a baby. I must’ve been insane.” He pulled out the chair and sat down.

“I’ll say. Didn’t he wonder why he wasn’t invited to the wedding?”

“I told him it was spur-of-the-moment. He said that sounded like something I’d do,” he added, looking a little shamefaced. “Now, he wants me…all of us…to come home.”

“And you’re up the proverbial creek without a paddle.” She laughed. “Oh, that is good! No, it’s better than good, it’s…”

“I’m glad you find this so amusant.” His voice held insulted dignity.

“But it is.” She brushed a hand over her mouth, stifling the rest of the laugh. “Okay…you want me to pretend to be your wife so you can get your money? Is that it? Con your unsuspecting grandfather?”

“Non.”

“No? What then?”

“I want you to marry me, Mrs. Richmond. It has to be legal. There mustn’t be any question, any way I can lose that money.”

Julie’s smile faded. “Marry you? I don't know about that.”

From somewhere inside her head, a voice spoke up, Hey, you were ready to go to bed with him. How much different would marrying him be?

“It won’t be forever.” Before she could answer that little voice, Luc went on, “Only until I get the Trust. After a few months, we’ll get a quiet divorce. I’ll give you a settlement that’ll keep you comfortably, and I’ll set up an account for your daughter.”

He’d seen the doubt on her face so he stuck in that offer. He knew by her change of expression he’d hit the bull’s-eye, her most vulnerable spot. Merry.

The little girl had gotten to him, he’d admit it. Luc had no desire for fatherhood and didn’t really like kids. Nevertheless, in spite of the fact he’d said that simply to get Julie to agree, he sincerely wanted Merry to be secure. He didn’t want her mother ever to be placed in this kind of predicament again. Next time, she might not find a man who was merely a good-natured, greedy liar, but a real sociopath, someone who could do her terrible harm, and little Merry, too.

“How much money are we talking about?” Julie picked up the glass of milk.

“Ten million dollars.”

He dodged the liquid spray as she choked and began to cough.

Clearing her throat, she subsided into a couple of hiccoughs as Luc pulled out his handkerchief, and mopped the drops of milk spattering the tabletop.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “It’s just …well, it startled me a little. My God, I can’t even imagine that much money.”

“Will you help me, Mrs. Richmond?” He didn’t look at her as he said it, didn’t want to appear to be begging, though he wondered if perhaps he should.

Maybe I should seem pitiful…appeal to her sympathy. After all, it’s the truth. I am desperate.

There was a splash of milk on his sleeve, soaking into the dark navy fabric. Luc pressed the handkerchief against the stain, concentrating on that instead.

“I don’t know…a deceptive marriage.” Julie was back to his first statement. “That sounds vaguely like marrying an illegal alien so he can stay in the country.”

“I assure you my father was a US citizen,” he said mildly. “And so am I. There’s no illegality involved…but there’s the immorality I spoke of. You see, it’d hurt my grandfather greatly if he learned how I lied to get my inheritance, but it’d hurt him more to know what I’m doing to keep him from finding out I lied.”

“That’s too complicated to follow.” She shook her head.

“So…do we have a deal?”

“Do I have a choice?

“But, of course.” Refolding the handkerchief, he returned it to his breast pocket. “You can say non. I’m not holding a gun to your head.”

“Aren’t you?” The question was rueful. “I’m afraid you are, and it’s shaped like a dollar sign.”

She fell silent, ate another fry, this time not as if she were enjoying it. More like she was giving herself time to think.

“Well?” he asked impatiently.

“Mr. Deveraux, I'm going to be very frank with you.” Julie chewed and swallowed.

“Please.” He nodded. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The look she gave him said she didn’t know if he was serious or sarcastic.

“A few months ago, my husband died. A month later, there was a shake-up where I worked and six of the clerical staff were downsized. I was one of the casualties. Since then, I’ve sold my house, my car, my furniture. My unemployment checks barely covered the rent on that place we now live in, and I’ve now gotten all I can from that source and I’m still unemployed. I’ve applied for Welfare and I’m waiting for approval. That’s going to take about three weeks.”

For an instant her eyes met his and he saw anger in them…at him, not only for having been rich all his life, but also for what he was offering her, and that he was now certain she was going to agree to.

“Now you hold out to me everything I want, everything I need, and all I have to do is marry you? For ten months?” She laughed again and shook her head as if it was too amazing to consider.

“It may not be as easy as I’ve made it seem, chérie.” He spoke softly, but it still sounded like a warning, a last chance to back out. “Don’t do it if you have any doubts at all.”

“And have you blaming me for losing your fortune? And me kicking myself for letting a windfall slip through my fingers? Oh, believe me, I’ve plenty of doubts. Let me ask you something. Quite a few things, in fact.”

“All right.” Now that he was sure he was going to get his way, he was agreeable. “Whatever you wish.”

“Okay.” She leaned forward as if she were discussing some business strategy, absently picking up the last fry and biting off a piece of it. “So you show up at…what’s the name, San Souci…did I say it right?”

He nodded.

“With wife and child in tow. I take it you told your grandfather you had a daughter?”

Again, a nod.

“Lucky for you. Or me? Which, I wonder?” she said absently, then shrugged. “Anyway, how are you going to explain our names? I assume you have mentioned our names to him occasionally?”

His shrug matched her own. “I told Gran’père my daughter’s name was Mary.”

As practiced as he was with lying, he’d never been good at making up names. Mary had been a safe, commonplace choice.

“My daughter’s name is Merry.” She spelled it for him. “Short for Meredith.”

“Close enough.” Another shrug, as if he saw no problem with that. “And my wife…” He smiled. “What’s your name, chérie? I can’t keep calling you Mrs. Richmond, can I?”

“It’s Guiletta, with a G. My mother liked Italian. Julie for short. What’s the matter?”

He was looking at her strangely, a little smile on his lips. “Julie was my mother’s name. I know it’s not very original but I told Gran’père it was my wife’s name, also. Don’t you see?” He was grinning widely now. “It can’t be a coincidence. Your names, your being in that store when I was, yesterday of all days.”

“So, it’s Fate, huh?” At this point, she was willing to believe anything. “O-ka-a-ay. I won’t argue. You’ve convinced me.” She shook her head. “At least I won’t have to learn to answer to a new name. Why hasn’t he asked to see your wife and child before now?”

“I told him Julie was afraid of flying…as you are,” he added that, nodding to point out another fateful similarity.

“You are so lucky,” she muttered.

“I think I need a cigarette.” Relief demanded a nicotine outlet though Luc wished he had something a little stronger. He’d never been one for the hard stuff, however. “Do you mind?” He placed one hand inside his jacket where the pack rested in his pocket.

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Her answer was prim. “Cigarettes are bad for you.”

“I suppose you’ll be the kind of wife who’ll nag me to stop?”

“You better believe it.” She laughed, then placed a falsely gentle hand on his. He released the pack and allowed her to pull his fingers away, as she went on in a mockingly sweet voice, “Darling, don’t smoke that nasty ol’ cigarette, please?”

She fluttered her eyelashes, and snickered.

“When you ask like that, how can I do anything but agree?” Luc smiled. He couldn’t help it. “Do we have a deal?” He held out his hand.

“I guess we do.” She placed her own within it.

Briefly, they sat smiling at each other. Luke continued holding her hand “Tell me, were you named for your grandfather?” she asked it as if remembering something she should know. “For Jean-Luc?”

“No.” He looked a little irritated by her question.

“Well?”

“Well?”

“Well…” She was waiting for an explanation.

“My father had an ironic sense of humor, Julie. He named me and my brother after les archanges.”

“Archanges…” She frowned, thinking that over. “Archangels? Michel, that’d be Michael, and…who?” She stared at him, her lips forming his name, blue eyes widening as she understood. “Oh, God, you mean…”

“Oui,” Luc nodded. “My real name’s Lucifer.”

“Well, damn.” Julie swallowed loudly and looked down at the hand still tightly clasping hers. “Does this mean I’ve just made a deal with the devil?”

“I’m afraid it does,” Luc answered, and gave her his most winning smile.