And even if he did figure it out, Kevin, who worked the desk, would never tell. Not after the way she imagined Joe had treated him, to get to her. So, with luck, she had maybe a fifteen minute head start. More than enough, she thought as she reached the corner.
The fog wasn't as dense here. She stepped off the curb, peered in both directions. Hallelujah! The standard joke was that taxis never turned up when you most needed them, but there was a cab coming towards her right now.
Lucy jumped forward and waved her hand wildly. A horn blared, somebody yelled something uncomplimentary, but the taxi swerved towards her and stopped.
The cabbie--a woman-shot her an annoyed look as she opened the door and got inside.
"You feeling suicidal, or what?"
"Or what," Lucy said. She opened her purse and dug inside. Miss Robinson had insisted on reimbursing her for the things she'd bought, and on paying her for her time, before the party started. Thank goodness for small favors.
"A bonus if you get me to Pacific Heights ASAP," she said, holding up some bills.
The lady cabbie looked in the mirror. "The fog is going to be a problem."
"So is the man I'm trying to get away from."
That brought a smile to the driver's face. "They're all problems," she said. "Tell you what. I'll do the best I can. Okay?"
Lucy sat back. "That's all anybody can ever ask."
True enough. Doing your best was the most a person could hope for.
Her mouth trembled.
The trouble was that Joe Romano's best wasn't sufficient. It was bad enough that he thought she was the sort of woman who'd strip at private parties. It was worse that he didn't believe her denials, or trust her. That he really thought she could lie in his arms at night, live with him, share his life ...
Who was she kidding?
She didn't share his life. His bed, definitely. His day-to-day existence, sure. But his life? Mistresses didn't share men's lives. And that was all she was.
Yes, Joe had told her he loved her. It didn't mean anything. He'd been trying to squirm out of what he'd said when he'd come bursting into the cafe. The odds were good he'd have told her just about anything to make himself look less foolish.
Love? Love was just a word to him. But it was more than that to her. She loved him. Really loved him. And there wasn't a way in the world they could reconcile their differences.
Tears rose in Lucy's eyes. She'd been such a fool. What had become of her common sense? Her morals? Her sense of self?
The cab jerked to a stop. "We're here," the cabbie said.
Why had she stayed in Joe's house? Slept in his bed? She wasn't stupid.
"Lady? Isn't this what you wanted?"
Lucy's head came up. "No," she said shakily, "no, it's not. What I wanted was for him to love me. That was why I stayed, because I hoped-oh, I really hoped..."
She blinked, met the cabbie's sympathetic look in the mirror. "Pacific Heights," the cabbie said with surprising gentleness. "This is the address you gave me, right?"
Lucy looked out the window. "Yes," she said, and opened the door of the taxi.
"Lady?"
Lucy looked around.
The cabbie smiled. "You just remember, okay? No guy is worth the sleepless nights or the agony."
"Absolutely," Lucy answered, and told her foolish heart not to argue with such indisputable logic.
She glanced at her watch as she unlocked the front door. With luck, Joe was still driving up and down the streets near the cafe. Just in case, though, she bolted all the doors.
Five minutes, she thought as she ran up the stairs, that was all she needed to pack.
It took less than that.
A few seconds to drag her suitcase from the closet and dump it on the bed. Another few to empty the drawers, toss their contents on the carpet. Ditto for the closet; just strip things off the hangers, let them fall. Now it was easy enough to gather everything up, carry it to the bed and hurl it into the suitcase. One armload. Two. And she was-
"Going somewhere, Blondie?"
Lucy cried out, spun around-and saw a narrow-eyed, angry-as-hell Joseph Romano standing in the doorway.
"The doors were locked," she said. "Bolted. Chained. How..."
Joe's mouth curled in a tight smile. "I busted a window."
Her eyes rounded. "You broke a window?"
"That's what I said."
Joe was torn between crossing the room, grabbing Lucy and shaking her until her teeth rattled. Or kissing her until her knees buckled. Or doing both. The last half hour had been hell. He'd envisioned her trapped on a bus that had wrecked in the fog. On a cable car that was out of control, heading full-tilt for the Bay.
Even worse, he'd imagined her standing on the San Francisco side of the Golden Gate Bridge, her mouth set the way it was now, her thumb pointed straight up in the air when a maniac with knives for hands pulled over and asked her if she wanted a lift.
But she was safe, inside his very own house, which was just where he wanted her. He told himself that the thing to do was calm down, act cool, if only for a little while. So he leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms over his chest.
"What's the problem, Lucinda? Don't guys bust windows in the world you come from?"
"Not unless they're deranged."
"Deranged is a good word. It might just describe the state I'm in, having my woman run out on me that way."
Lucy drew herself up. "I am not your woman, Romano."
"I didn't know where you'd gone."
"That was the general idea."
"Or what had happened to you."
"You want a play-by-play? I took a taxi. I climbed the stairs. I packed."
"You left out the part where you locked all the doors."
"You could have rung the bell."
"Oh, sure. And you'd have come straight to the door and let me in." A cold smile tilted at the corner of Joe's mouth. "You expect me to believe that?"
Lucy looked at him. He was keeping himself in tight control but he couldn't fool her. He was angry. Furious. Well, why wouldn't he be? She was running out on him, he'd just said so. And she bet her life that no woman had ever walked out on Joe Romano before... Or ever wanted to.
She didn't want to, either. What she wanted, more than anything, was to go into his arms, tell him that she loved him, always would love him.
She swung away, grabbed the suitcase, and heard Joe's footsteps coming up, fast, behind her.
"Put that down, Blondie."
Lucy shook her head. "Just get out of my way, Joe. There's no point in making a scene. It won't change anything."
His hands settled on her shoulders. "Put it down, turn around and look at me."
"No."
"Lucinda."
Her name sounded like music on his lips. She closed her eyes and told herself she was doing the right thing. Joe wanted a toy. He was no different than her father. And she was no different than her father's mistress.
How stupid she'd been, telling herself she was more than a plaything to Joe, just because she wouldn't accept his money.
"Joe." She took a deep breath. "Joe, it's better this way."
"For who?" he said gruffly, and turned her towards him. His eyes, dark with some emotion she was afraid to believe, locked on hers. "Not for me."
"I'm not coming back to you," she said, and tried to keep her voice from quavering. "I was wrong to have stayed with you."
"I want you, Lucy." His voice was soft, almost tender. "I want you to stay with me."
"That's what you think now, Joe. But in a week. A month. A year-"
"Dammit," he said without any anger at all, "will you stop telling me what I think?"
"Joe." Lucy swept the tip of her tongue over her lips. "I'm sorry. I told you I wouldn't be your-your kept woman, but I was. I am. I was just fooling myself, saying I wasn't. And…and I can't be. I can't, because-because-"