Three Reckless Wishes

by Lila DiPasqua

  “Tell me, Luc,” she pressed.

  He lifted his head and stared back at her. She couldn’t read his eyes or the expression on his face.

  “We’ve already discussed this. I enjoy it. I enjoy fucking a woman who is willing to indulge in it.”

  “There’s more to it than you’re saying.”

  He blew out an exasperated breath. “Merde. Juliette, perhaps I do like a certain level of detachment during sex. Is that any different from you not allowing a man to kiss you?”

  She didn’t so much as flinch when she responded firmly, “Yes. There is a difference. You don’t have my…vocation. My time, body, passion are all for sale.” Except with you. “I’ve chosen to withhold one thing that is not for purchase—that’s permitted only when I choose and with whom I choose.”

  An utterly beguiling smile slowly formed on his lips, and he tilted his head, a lock of dark blond hair falling against his brow.

  “I’d like to be chosen,” he said with far too much devilish charm.

  Damn him. How does he do that? How did he combine the most perfect smile with the most alluring timbre in his voice? She felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, a little exasperated at how easily he disarmed her.

  Focus, Isabelle. You might as well continue what you’ve just started. Even if at the moment she wanted to run into his arms and forget their pasts.

  “We’re not talking about kisses now. We’re talking about you.” She tried admonishing him, but she was having a difficult time not reacting to that infectious smile.

  “I prefer to talk about kissing you.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “What are you afraid of? That if I tie you to that bed, I’ll fuck and kiss you mindless?”

  God…yes. There was definitely that.

  He’d already more than proved he knew how to drive her to sexual delirium.

  “Because if that is what you’re worried about,” he continued, “you have good cause for concern. I’ve already planned how I’m going to bind you, take you, and the first thousand deep kisses—when you give me leave, of course.”

  A feral need slammed into her senses, practically shifting the ground beneath her feet. Without a doubt, Lord Seductive was in top form, at his finest, and he was causing her to melt. Soon she’d be a helpless puddle on the floor.

  She took a step back, needing more space and cleared her throat. “You and I live by a different standard of rules. Your gender and your class give you superiority. You can do practically anything you want to whomever you want with impunity. My rules are there for my safety and that of my son. I avoid vulnerability at all cost whenever I can.”

  He gave a nod. “I understand. Gabriel is at the center of all your decisions. And I admire how you love and care for your son. But I wish you to understand this: the rules I live by, I’ve broken for no one—but you. I don’t engage in sex with a woman who doesn’t share the same sexual proclivity I do. I don’t dance, but that first night, I danced—just to meet you. I wouldn’t normally come to a sojourn like this. I prefer to limit the time I spend with many of those in attendance here. And again, I came here to spend time with you.” He raked a hand through his hair, then softly laughed and shook his head. “Believe it or not, I’m much more aloof than this. And if you want honesty, and if you think erotic bondage makes you uncomfortable, know that this—whatever this is between us—is making me uncomfortable because I’m so bloody well drawn to you. Fascinated by you. Attracted to you—if this vastly uncomfortable erection doesn’t make it obvious. And if that weren’t enough, today at the salon in front of Vannod, Prost, and Meslon, I admitted to something I’ve never admitted before.”

  “What is that?” Her words slipped past her lips on a soft breath. She was a little unbalanced anew. He was chipping away at her safeguards with his every utterance.

  “That I have emotions—though I think I’m safe in assuming they’re still very much skeptical about that,” he said, still sporting one of his knee-weakening smiles. “Ma belle, we have a bed and the desire between us that’s intense enough to burn this château to the ground. You don’t want me to tie you up. You’re not ready for that—fine. To hell with it. Forget it. But don’t stop. Don’t pull away.”

  She glanced over at the bed, then back to him. That was the crux of the matter. There was actually a part of her that didn’t want to simply forget it. That wanted to give in to his request and surrender to him completely. “I want to trust you, Luc…”

  For so many reasons.

  He studied her silently for a moment. “What did those two men do to you? What did they do to make you so leery of men in my class?”

  Normally, she wouldn’t answer that. And though it shouldn’t matter what he thought, she wanted him to understand she had good reason to fear. “One of them tried to…kill me. He was someone I’d known a long time.” Nightmares of being in a burning building with Gabriel and Virginie still plagued her.

  “Merde!” The word exploded from his mouth in shock and anger. He walked up to her and grasped her shoulders. “Jésus-Christ, Juliette, tell me who he is, and I’ll make sure—”

  Isabelle shook her head and cut off his words. “He’s dead. And so is my late husband, who also pretended to possess decency but harbored none.”

  “Husband,” he said. “You were once married, then?”

  It was just easier to call Roch “husband” than to delve into the details of his grand ugly ruse and what a fool she’d been ever to believe a word he’d uttered. She was about to lie about her “marriage,” but then, “Yes and no,” left her lips. And again, she’d no idea why she wanted to tell him anything about her past at all.

  His fingers captured her chin so she couldn’t look away. Those light green eyes held her gaze, as though he were trying to read all the thoughts in her mind. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I was once a great fool. I was led to believe we were properly wed. It was all a sham. An unlawful union. And a living hell. The man who wed us was no real priest at all.” She could feel her insides beginning to quake with fury. At Roch.

  And herself.

  “Was this in Venice?”

  Mentally, she flinched. She’d told many lies about her fictitious past. But lying to Luc felt different. Each time it felt…harder. Wrong.

  And so she said, “No.” Giving him the truth without negating her tale about her Venetian roots.

  “And this man wasn’t Gabriel’s father?”

  “No.” That was all she was prepared to say on the subject of her son’s sire, because she guarded everything about her precious little boy—fiercely.

  Luc drew her into his arms and pressed his cheek against her hair. “I’m sorry someone tried to harm you. That they put you through any misery at all.”

  His arms around her felt warm and strong enough to stave off the rest of the world. So good. Too good. The sort of feeling a woman could easily grow used to. Crave, even. And for the very first time since leaving home all those years ago, she felt almost…safe. Her arms wound around him of their own volition.

  He pulled back, breaking their embrace, and curled his fingers under her chin once more. “I understand why you would be cautious. Those men should have been trustworthy. They violated that trust profoundly and perversely. Your trust matters to me, Juliette. Tell me, what about me frightens you into not bestowing it?”

  How to begin to answer that?

  “I don’t have the luxury of placing my complete trust in any aristo. I have Gabriel to think about… You are also bigger, stronger, and with a self-admitted temper.” And thus far, you’ve been too incredible to be true…

  Too close to the girlhood dreams I’ve had of you to be believed.

  “You think my temper might flare when I have you bound and could hurt you.” It was a statement. Not a question.

  “It has crossed my mind.”

  He raked a hand through his hair, then returned his hands to his hips. “I’m certain the
rumors don’t help. The duels I used to fight. My killing my cousin.”

  Isabelle’s heart lurched. “You…you…w-what?”

  “Oh, you haven’t heard about that? That’s surprising. I would have thought Vannod and the others would have delighted in telling you all about it. Or at least their twisted version of the truth.”

  A slow cold fear began to congeal in her blood.

  FOOL!

  This was the reason she shouldn’t—couldn’t—lower her guard with this man. Or any other. He almost had her convinced.

  She took another step back.

  He looked down and softly swore again. When he met her gaze again, it appeared to be unguarded. Without artifice. “You’re looking at me as though you think I’m going to lunge at you and slay you where you stand. I’ve told you before—and it is the absolute truth—I’ve never harmed a woman. There is no woman who has ever suffered at my hand. I challenge you to find one. Or even a rumor of one. There isn’t anything you can say or do, bound or unbound, that would make me harm you, Juliette.”

  “Even if. . .” Her words croaked out her throat, barely audible. She swallowed and tried again. “Even if I were to accept that you’d never harm a woman, what about someone like Gabriel? Given your animosity toward men, how long before you see him as no longer a boy but an adversary? How long would someone like him be safe near you?”

  Even though Luc had no idea she was contemplating a ship voyage with him, and even though men didn’t normally interact with their paramour’s child—especially one they hadn’t sired, Luc’s accidental meeting of Gabriel notwithstanding—her fears for her son’s safety were valid. Particularly when the man in question struck fear into a number of his peers.

  He was seasoned in dueling, a master with weapons.

  Her little boy grew a little every day.

  He nodded. “That is a fair question. I would expect no less from a devoted mother. The answer is, he would never be at risk from me, no matter his age, for two reasons: one, he matters deeply to you. I would never wound you, whether we continue this affair or not. The second is, I’m no longer the man I once was. Yes, there was a time I was full of fury. It took little to unleash it. If that were still the case, I would have slammed my fist in Vannod’s arrogant jaw by now. Being in the King’s navy changed me—for the better. I was the commander of a number of ships. There were several hundred men under my command. Their lives depended on me and my orders—a sobering responsibility I never took lightly. They trusted me in every battle we fought and we fought hard together. I had their respect, and they had mine. Then I was arrested and wrongly accused of treason—like my brother and Charles—and brought back to Paris. Being held prisoner in a cell, faced with the possibility of an execution before a cheering crowd, with nothing to do with my time but think caused me to reflect on my life. I’d been stripped of my officer’s commission in the navy. My family labeled traitors. My service to my King and country tarnished by false charges. And I decided that if by some miracle I walked out of that prison alive and to return to society, I would not allow myself to become the man I once was around my peers—brash and volatile. Not ever again. I chose to abandon the anger I’d harbored and seek and embrace inner peace. I continue to choose it now.” A small smile formed on his lips. “And I appreciate and relish all exquisite moments in my life, like those I’ve had with you, because I choose to experience pleasure over ire.”

  *****

  What the hell are you doing? Luc was astounded at himself. Things he’d never told anyone, would never tell anyone, were falling out of his mouth. Yet, he couldn’t seem to stem the words.

  Had Isabelle’s effect on him somehow changed him around women?

  Or was he only going to behave this way around those who reminded him of her? It was obvious that part of Juliette wanted to run from the room. His idiotic slip about his cousin was the root cause. He was used to people fearing him. During his combustible youth, he’d even liked it.

  It kept people at bay.

  But the thought of any woman, much less this woman, fearing him, fearing for her son’s safety because of him, didn’t just bother him.

  It gutted him.

  Her beautiful dark eyes gazed at him. Her breathing, though soft, had quickened as she stood there, clearly contemplating what to do.

  He reached out and cupped her cheek. She lurched at his touch.

  “Easy,” he said softly, cradling her face in his palm. “We’re not strangers. We’ve been alone together before. We enjoyed each other’s company, and the carnal pleasures we’ve shared have been nothing short of spine melting. You’re safe with me. Your son has nothing to fear from me. And before you ask about the incident with my cousin, I will tell you that he died because of our duel. He was a good deal older than me. It was many years ago. Before the navy. His wound festered for a few days before he succumbed to his injury, and he damned well deserved to die. In fact, I’ve no doubt he’s burning in hell.”

  He hadn’t talked about Bastien de Bellac—ever. He shouldn’t have spoken of him now. Just the mention of Bellac was causing myriad emotions to gather inside him.

  “What on earth does that mean, Luc? Why would you be filled with so much anger? Why would your cousin deserve to die?”

  He mentally chastised himself. This is why you keep your mouth shut. Offering information only leads to questions. And though this maddening affinity he had for her was strong, there were some things he couldn’t—wouldn’t—talk about.

  In fact, he could feel his throat tightening, his body silencing the horror, as the sounds of Bellac’s chilling laughter mingling with Charles’s echoed in his brain.

  Memories he’d learned to crush through the years.

  Luc shoved them from his thoughts through force of will now and pulled Juliette into his arms once more. Burying his face in her hair, he took a moment to let the sweet scent of lavender from her soft tresses infuse his senses. Her body stiffened against him, and he knew he had to give her some sort of response. Briefly, he squeezed his eyes shut and steeled himself, determined to keep those unwanted images confined to that black hole deep inside his chest that had been created long ago.

  It stored every horrible moment of his life.

  Luc pulled back and looked into her eyes. “I suppose it’s a situation much as you’ve described. He was someone who should have possessed decency but harbored none. He was evil.” And so was that fucking demon who sired me.

  “What did your cousin do?” Her tone was so gentle and soft. He was amazed that even so much as a sliver of him wanted to tell her the ugly truth. He easily quashed that infinitesimal urge.

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. The duel was fair. He lost. He’s gone.”

  Good riddance…

  “Duels are illegal. Yet you were able to fight in so many without ever being arrested before the treason charges,” she stated, underscoring her previous comment about the impunity men in the noble class had when it came to breaking the law.

  A mirthless smile formed on his face. “Charles’s influence was able to keep me from arrest then.” The piece of merde was quick to act—not for Luc’s sake, but out of fear Charles’s twisted little secrets might be brought to light by the state of Luc’s body.

  She gazed at him intently. He couldn’t read her expression. He had no idea what she was thinking or what she was about to say next, but an uneasy feeling came over him. There was something in the way she was looking at him…

  “Did your father harm you when you were a boy, Luc?” Her question was but a whisper, but it might as well have been screamed out.

  He stepped back.

  His ears instantly started ringing.

  “Why the hell would you say that?” The words shot out his mouth, uncensored.

  He was instantly furious at himself for not simply denying it by saying, No!

  But no one had ever asked him that question. Not even his own brother. Charles’s treatment of Jules had been benevolent
, hiding his malevolent nature from Luc’s older brother.

  And so had Luc. He’d never told Jules about the extent of their father’s mistreatment of him.

  No one knew, except Charles and Bellac.

  And they were both dead.

  “I’m sorry. You have such contempt when you mention your father. Always refer to him by his Christian name. I thought perhaps…” Her words trailed off.

  And he was grateful.

  He simply couldn’t talk about this. Couldn’t dwell on how accurately this woman had deciphered the truth.

  Merde. He’d already said too much. Given away too much. This subject was excruciating. Especially when her words were tinged with anguish for him. When there was the hint of tears in her eyes.

  To see it tightened his very entrails.

  In certain ways, she was a kindred spirit, having had her own experiences with human heinousness.

  And he hated that for her.

  He hated it as much as having the hatred for Charles and Bellac surging inside him—when he no longer allowed himself to feel this level of loathing.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this.

  Luc turned away from her and stalked over to his clothing on the floor. She gasped as he snatched up his shirt. He didn’t need to look back at her. He already knew what she was reacting to.

  His back.

  In all its mangled glory.

  Fucking beautiful, isn’t it? The surface of his back was covered in long scars and raised welts.

  He had his usual explanation ready. The lie he’d retold multiple times of being in battle, being captured by pirates and lashed. Lord knows he’d fought enough of them in the West Indies to know firsthand how depraved they were.

  Just like the two dead members of his family.

  It wasn’t difficult to convince past mistresses that the tale was true.

  The lightest stroke brushed against his back. He practically jumped a foot and spun around to find Juliette right behind him, surprise etched on her face. Her hand was raised slightly, having just touched him.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Damn it. He hadn’t even heard her approach.