I slept in the park the first night I was on my own, and it was the best night I could remember having; I figured the odds of me being attacked were less than they would have been at home. I used the few dollars I managed to take from my mother’s purse to buy Tylenol. Luckily, the store also had a water fountain, and I downed four of them, hoping I wasn’t overdosing. My back was still in agony from the iron. The next day, I applied for a waitress job, and the owner Debra took pity on me and hired me. She also agreed to let me make payments to her weekly on the old Honda she had for sale. Finally, I had somewhere to sleep until school started in the fall. Debra also let me have my meals for free; I suspected it was because she knew I was homeless but never asked. Debra mentioned casually on my second day of employment that the truck stop down the street had showers for the truckers. Her boyfriend Martin owned the place, and she got me a voucher to use their facilities whenever I needed to. Between the truck stop and the laundromat, I had somewhere to spend time other than my car.
I had carefully avoided looking at my back and tried to keep water off it in the shower; a month went by and it no longer stung. On my break one day, I used the restroom at work and finally got brave enough to raise my shirt and turn my back to the mirror. “Oh, my God,” someone whispered behind me. I jerked around to find Debra standing there with murder in her eyes and her hand over her mouth. I pulled my shirt down, cursing myself for not hearing the door open. Debra walked over, pulling me against her. “Who did that to you, Lia?”
Tears started to seep down my cheeks. I wasn’t used to concern or affection, and the sorrow in Debra’s voice was enough to undo me. “It doesn’t matter,” I whispered back. “It’s over now.”
“Oh, baby girl,” Debra said. “It matters because I want to kick someone’s ass. You tell me who did this to you, and Martin and I will do the same damn thing to them.” When she pulled back, I could tell by the look on her face that Debra was deadly serious. In the time I had worked at the restaurant, I had bonded with the outspoken redhead and her boyfriend Martin. She studied my closed expression before releasing an angry breath. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?” When I shook my head, Debra raised a hand to wipe away a stray tear from my face. “Is anyone after you now, baby girl?”
“No,” I whispered. “I’m on my own.”
“All right then,” Debra answered. “If anyone bothers you, or whoever the hell did this to you shows up, you tell me or Martin, okay?” I hugged Debra in way of reply and thanked God I had met her; I finally had someone in my life that cared whether I lived or died, and I’d never forget it. As we walked back out into the restaurant and I returned to my job, I tried to block out what I had seen in the bathroom. As promised, Jim had indeed branded me, and the horribly scarred flesh on my back would always be a reminder of a Hell I had barely escaped. Only my dreams would haunt me now because I vowed to never let him close to me again.
Working and being away from Jim had also allowed me to return to my normal eating habits, and the extra weight I had gained for protection had fallen away, leaving a girl I hardly recognized staring back in the mirror. I was slowly returning to the petite size I had always been and was grateful I didn’t appear to have done long-term damage to my body. It was a sad testament to my former life that now, even homeless, I was the happiest I’d ever been. Debra had tried to convince me to move in with her and Martin, but I had refused; I didn’t want to be a burden to them, and I was getting by. I worked mostly nights, so sleeping in my car seemed much safer during daytime hours. I also caught naps in the break room at the restaurant some days.
I hoped I could save enough money by the time school started for living expenses, since my grades won me a full scholarship. God, how naive I had been. My small amount of savings was gone by the end of the first semester, and I had no idea what I was going to do.
St. Claire’s requires that all students live on campus for the first two years. Unfortunately, that wasn’t part of my scholarship; neither was transportation, the cost of books, and other fees. The small, two-bedroom apartment I shared with Megan for a year, and now with Rose, was much cheaper than most apartments, but still expensive. Money had trickled through my hands like water.
I had given up and was planning to drop out of college. Even working two part-time jobs, I couldn’t swing my expenses. Debra had offered to borrow me the money, but I couldn’t do it; it was important I make it on my own. My then-roommate Megan had told me she worked for a company called Date Night and had offered to put in a good word for me. I had been so desperate to stay in school that I jumped at the chance. Now, three years later, I was just months away from having my degree in business and owed it all to Megan and Date Night. As Rose said, there were jerks to deal with in any job, and I considered myself lucky that it was rare in mine. Working for Date Night had allowed me to quit my other part-time jobs, which had given me more time for school. I missed Debra terribly but still hung out at the restaurant whenever I had a free day.
Looking at my watch, I blow my nose once more and force myself to stand and head toward my bedroom. After a loud sneeze, I look over my shoulder at Rose and say, “This is one night I would gladly change places if I could. I don’t know if it’s possible for makeup to tone down the Rudolph nose I’m rocking right now.” Looking at my bed longingly, I grumble, “You better tip well, Lucian Quinn, because I would much rather be in my warm bed watching a chick-flick than out with a bunch of rich snobs, drinking wine I would never be able to afford on my own.”
Chapter Two
Lia
Checking my reflection in the mirror, I groan at the disaster looking back at me. The last rounds of sneezing and nose-blowing have done a number on my makeup. I pull my compact out and once again powder my nose. My eyes look glassy from the cold medicine I took before leaving home, making me look more like a crack-whore than someone’s paid escort. This is a really bad idea. I take a hairbrush from my handbag and pull it through my wavy, blonde hair. Ugh, I desperately need a trim, but with my hair so long, I mostly keep it pulled back in a ponytail. On date nights, though, my dates prefer something a little less ‘look at me, I’m a college student.’ Shit, even the brush makes my stuffy headache. If not for the expensive books I need to purchase, I would have skipped tonight and lived on Ramen Noodles and water for a while.
I step out of my old Honda Civic and look around the parking lot. It’s probably too much to hope that some lonely man is holding up a sign with my name on it. Maybe it would have been a good idea to ask what type of car Mr. Quinn would be driving. Why had I been so damn stubborn about riding in his car? Oh, yeah, I didn’t want to be locked in his trunk, taken to some deserted road and killed. I’ve watched enough Lifetime movies to know all about ‘stranger danger’. Since there still doesn’t appear to be anyone looking for me, I decide to walk to the entrance and check with the valets. I have just stepped on the sidewalk when a sleek, black Mercedes purrs to a stop at the curb and a tall, middle-aged man steps from the driver’s side and walks around the car. I am almost even with the car when the driver opens the back door. A man inside the car closes a laptop and steps out onto the sidewalk.
Holy shit, he’s beautiful. Rose would die because he has the fuck-me style of tousled hair she just loves on men. His hair is as black as the night surrounding us and looks as if he-or someone else-has run their hands through it several times. His suit is obviously expensive and drapes perfectly over his muscular body; my heartbeat escalates as I imagine what that suit must be covering. He’s tall, powerful, and looks like something straight out of a wet dream. I’ve given myself countless orgasms picturing a man like him.
I can only blame my next action on Nyquil intoxication. Thinking only of sharing the visual pleasure of this male God with my friend, I grab my cell phone and snap his picture. When he turns to speak with his driver, I giggle as I snap another of his ass. I stand oblivious as I start texting the pictures to Rose. When I finish, I look up, still smiling to find the male G
od in question standing directly in front of me, a smirk pulling at the corners of his kissable mouth. “Did you get what you needed, Miss…?”
Before I think better of it, I murmur, “Adams.”
“Lia Adams?” he asks.
Surprised, I can only stare at him for a moment. “Um…yeah. How did you know?”
He takes my arm and pulls me to the side. “I’m Lucian Quinn; I believe you are here for me?”
“No way! You’re a god!” I slap my hand over my mouth in horror. Did I actually just say that aloud?
He grins, obviously highly entertained by my slip of the tongue. “Why, thank you, Miss Adams; that is very flattering. Is there any particular reason that has led you to that conclusion?”
Mortified, I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out those sexy lips I’m sure are still smirking at me. “I…ur, sorry about that. You’re just so beautiful.” Fuck, someone shut me up! When the silence continues, I open my eyes and stick out a hand, determined to change the subject. “Hi, I’m Lia Adams, your date for the evening.”
He leaves my hand hanging in the air for a moment longer before firmly grasping it between his. Heat races through my body at his touch; I can’t remember ever having this kind of instant response to a man before. “Lucian Quinn and it is certainly a pleasure to meet you, Miss Adams.” He continues to hold onto my hand until I finally tug it away. He studies me intently for what seems like minutes, but is probably mere seconds. To be the sole focus of that kind of intensity is disarming, at best. Was it my imagination or does he almost look shocked? Crap, do I look that bad tonight? No doubt, the answer to that question is a resounding yes.
Squaring my shoulders, I ask in my most professional voice, “Is there anything I need to know before we go inside?”
He seems to shake off whatever thoughts had taken over his mind. Amusement lurks in his eyes as if he knows I’m grappling for composure. “I don’t believe so. I assume you understand that to anyone else, you are my date for the evening and not a paid escort. I would like to keep that bit of information private.”
“Of course,” I reply. “I’ll just follow your lead.” He takes my hand and settles it into the crook of his arm. He steers us effortlessly through the crowded lobby and to the hostess stand.
A perky blonde with fake breasts beams as if she has just been handed her Christmas and birthday present at once. “Mr. Quinn, how great to see you again!”
“Good evening, Mindy. How have you been?”
As Mindy and Lucian continue to converse, I fight the urge to stick my finger down my throat and gag dramatically. It’s like watching a real-life Barbie and Ken meeting play out. Lucian seems to know he is giving Mindy the thrill of a lifetime by talking to her longer than required. I wouldn’t be surprised to see phone numbers exchanging hands. I want to poke him in the ribs and whisper that he can do better, but it’s none of my business; I am just the hired help for the evening. When Lucian puts his hand in the small of my back in an attempt to move me forward, I stumble before catching myself. A face-plant right in front of Barbie and Ken would be a freaking nightmare.
He leads me toward a quiet corner of the restaurant where several other couples are seated. The men rise to their feet as Lucian pulls a chair out for me. I am happy to sit by an older couple. For some reason, everyone over the age of fifty seems to love me. Other than Rose and a few other classmates, I rarely spend time with people my own age; I learned early on that people can be petty and mean. Debra always tells me that I have an old soul.
Lucian seats himself beside me and begins making the introductions. The couple to our right is Margaret and Howard Sterling, and as I had hoped, they greet me with warm smiles. I can barely remember the rest of the names with the exception of the woman on Lucian’s other side, Monique Chandler. She has long, dark hair and is wearing a form-fitting, emerald green sleeveless dress. She is attractive, but to me, it’s all artificial…almost hard. The smile that she greets me with is calculating and cold. Lucian is polite but doesn’t seem overjoyed to be sitting next to her. I am just thankful I will likely never see these people again after tonight; I have a few regulars I have accompanied more than once, but venues change each time and, generally, so do the people.
After everyone has placed their drink orders, Monique leans around Lucian and asks, “So Lucy, how do you know Lucian?”
Before I can answer, Lucian says, “It’s Lia, and we met through mutual friends.”
I am grateful for his quick response. I am even happier when the server places the red wine Lucian ordered in front of me; liquid courage is just what I need.
It is hard to Miss Monique’s red nails trailing down Lucian’s chest and the possessive smile she shoots my way before turning back to him. If he were actually my man, I would be ready to knock her on her ass. Luckily, Margaret is indeed friendly, and I tell her honestly that I am attending St. Claire’s. Surely, that’s not something that needs to be kept secret.
When the dinner course arrives, the prime rib is big enough to cover my plate. Lucian ordered for us, but I was expecting something a little more…manageable. I have gotten even drowsier from my cold medicine and trying to cut the steak is going to be tricky. Taking a deep breath, I pick up the knife and fork and look for the easiest place to start. When Lucian speaks near my ear, I jerk around, almost stabbing his arm. “Whoa,” he mutters. “Do you need some help there?”
“Yeah, couldn’t you have ordered something easier? My Dayquil or Nyquil or whatever is making this hard.” Holding the silver knife closer, I study the elegant pattern on the handle. “It is pretty, though, isn’t it? Hey look, I can see my reflection in it.” Oh, dear Lord, did I just say that?
Lucian looks momentarily speechless before taking the knife gingerly from my hand. “Let me help you with that. I’ve never been stabbed at dinner before, and I don’t want to start now.” He pulls my plate closer to his and begins cutting the steak into small pieces.
I beam my approval at him, gushing, “You’re my hero.”
Monique notices what he’s doing and sneers. “Luc, really, if you’re going to bring a child to dinner, at least make sure she’s table-trained.”
“Monique,” Lucian responds, a clear warning in his tone.
Monique curls what I have come to think of as her talons around his arm, purring, “I guarantee you won’t have to baby me. I am fully capable of taking care of my needs…and yours.”
I roll my eyes before whispering far too loudly in Lucian’s ear, “Who invited Cruella? Oh, and her tits are totally fake. Rose and I can always spot those.” I giggle to myself at how much Monique reminds me of Cruella Deville from the 101 Dalmatians movie. I doubt Monique has ever seen the movie, so the insult is probably lost on her.
Lucian’s shoulders are shaking and Monique is gaping at me. I shrug and turn to my plate as Lucian puts it back in front of me. Margaret puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in for a side hug. “Honey, that woman will probably kill you, but you have just officially become my new best friend. I haven’t enjoyed one of these stuffy dinners this much… well, ever!”
“She’s right, you know,” Lucian says as he slides an arm around the back of my chair. “The viper will want to kill you.” A shiver runs through my body as his fingertips caress the side of my arm. “Did you really take Nyquil?”
Nodding, I say, “I’ve got a cold and I couldn’t stop sneezing. It’s kind of zoned me out, though. We were out of Dayquil, and Rose said Nyquil is the same thing. Do you think it is?”
Lucian lets loose a panty-melting laugh. “I don’t know, but you should have told me that before I poured you a glass of wine. You aren’t supposed to mix cold medicine with alcohol.”
“Whoops, my bad.” He is so warm, and the air in the restaurant has grown chilly. “Mmm, you feel nice,” I murmur against his side as I curl closer. His body heat feels better than a blanket. He smells amazing, and I fight the urge to put my nose against his skin and sniff…or even taste it.
I feel his body stiffen for a moment before he blows out a breath. “Eat your dinner, Lia.” After that, the meal goes by at a fast pace. Lucian keeps a firm arm around me, anchoring me to his side. At one point in the evening, I catch Monique’s eyes boring into me, and I childishly stick out my tongue at the other woman from behind my napkin. Take that, Cruella! When the evening is over, I say goodbye to my new friend Margaret and try to ignore the fact that Monique is giving Lucian a hug that borders on humping. God, the woman seriously lacks class.
As Lucian leads me toward his car, I jerk in surprise as he opens the door for me to precede him into the interior. Shaking my head, I say, “My car is in the parking lot, but thanks for the offer.”
Lucian tightens his grip on my arm, looking down at me. “You aren’t in any condition to drive yourself home, so I’ll drop you. Leave me your keys, and I’ll have your car delivered to your place later tonight.” I resist as he tries once more to steer me into his car. Finally, clearly losing patience with me, he snaps, “Lia, get in the damn car, now!” I am so surprised by his tone that I jump to do his bidding, never questioning his authority until the door closes firmly behind him and he settles his thigh onto the seat next to mine.
“Your address?” I rattle it off, knowing it’s useless to argue. Peeking at him from under my lashes, I wonder if he looks like a serial killer.
“I am perfectly fine, you know.” For some reason, I feel the need to point that out to him, even though we both know it’s not true; there is no way I should be driving myself home.
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