by Naima Simone
The ruthless businessman in him yearned to touch her, kiss her, force her agreement with desire. But not only did that damn promise stand in the way, but so did his very inconvenient conscience. He wanted her yes freely given.
Willingly given.
She studied him, her piercing inspection hovering between “I want to trust you” and “go to hell.” After several long moments, a shaky breath escaped from between her lips, and the thick fringe of her lashes lowered.
“Fine. I’ll try…Luke.”
Chapter Fourteen
“I’m not putting that in my mouth.”
“Sydney,” Lucas began.
“No. Absolutely not.”
He sighed. “You’ll never know if you like it or not if you don’t try it.”
Sydney scrunched her face up. “I don’t need to down a bottle of grease to know I won’t like it or that it’ll clog up my arteries. And eating that”—she pointed toward the aluminum-wrapped treat in his hand—“is the equivalent of drinking a lard cocktail.”
He peeled back a silver flap and bit into the deep-fried Twinkie with a moan, his brilliant green-blue eyes fixed on her. She turned her head away, hiding the ripple of arousal in her belly at the low sound of pleasure.
“There should be a surgeon general warning slapped on that,” she said.
“Come on, Sydney.” He pinched off a piece of the golden-brown cake and held it in front of her lips, a script flip of Eve offering Adam an apple. Except this apple had been submerged in grease and had a creamy filling. “One taste. You just might be surprised and love it.”
Said in that wicked voice, he was temptation personified. And it would require a stronger woman than her to resist. Sighing and mentally handing over her I-am-woman-hear-me-roar card, she reached for the snack. But he shook his head and nudged her lips, his hooded gaze locked on her mouth. Obeying his silent demand, she opened and allowed him to place the treat on her tongue. The rough pad of his finger grazed her flesh as he withdrew, leaving his unique taste behind to mingle with the cake.
She stifled a shiver. Jesus. The man could transform breathing into foreplay.
A combination of crunchy batter, soft sponge cake, and thick cream melted on her tongue. She shivered again, but for a completely different reason. “So that’s what a heart attack tastes like. I’ve always wondered.” She sipped from her black coffee, trying to erase the overly sweet flavor from her palate. “In a word. Yech.”
He chuckled and finished off the snack with relish. His obvious enjoyment was both baffling and sensual. She leaned on the railing and studied the gray-blue waters of Elliott Bay, hoping the busy and colorful tableau of Seattle’s famous Pike Place Market would distract her from staring at Lucas as if his face contained the answers to the deepest mysteries of the universe. Like what happened to planes that entered the Bermuda Triangle? Or what really became of Amelia Earhart? And how many licks did it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?
Lucas Oliver was another great mystery yet to be unraveled.
Over the last three days, he’d squired her around Bainbridge as well as escorted her to Seattle, a thirty-minute ferry ride across the Sound. They’d done simple things such as sailing, shopping, and in Seattle, visiting a museum, going to the movies. Then there’d been the touristy activities like riding to the top of the Space Needle and dining in the restaurant there, since she’d never been to the landmark, as well as strolling among the many shops and stalls that created the Pike Place Market. And when the sun sank for the day, they returned to the six-bedroom cabin for delicious dinners prepared by Lucas’s personal chef. The past few evenings had been passed sipping coffee or wine in front of a fire or even in a fierce battle of Monopoly. Lovely. Unexpected. She could apply those terms to the past several days, but not relaxing. Too much vitality, energy, and sexuality hummed within Lucas for her to completely relax around him. But he still fascinated her. Enticed her to work loose the many layers that comprised the man who could be merciless one moment, seductive the next, and in another blink, quietly teasing.
She shifted her attention back to him and found his steady, unflinching gaze on her. Almost as if he’d been patiently waiting for her to look at him so he could capture her in his visual web.
“Even if I had photographic evidence that Lucas Oliver, CEO of Bay Bridge Industries, enjoyed eating deep-fried Twinkies, no one would ever believe me.”
“Aiden would.”
“Because he’s your friend?”
“Because he used to go with me at least three times a week and buy them from the mall’s food court.”
Surprise pulsed inside her. “I didn’t realize you and Aiden went that far back.”
He nodded. “We met in high school, and he’s been my best friend ever since.”
“I should’ve guessed your friendship was more than business related. He’s the only person I’ve seen dare to poke the Bea—” Oh, hell.
His dark eyebrow arched. “The Beast?” His lips twitched. “It’s okay, Sydney. I know what they call me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. The cool wind off the water couldn’t extinguish the heat firing her skin. “That was rude.”
“It was the truth,” he stated. “I prefer you risk violating the polite rules of society and be honest rather than politically correct.”
Said no one to her ever. Shaking her head, she amended, “I meant to say he teases you where others vacillate between stuttering and bowing and scraping. He isn’t…intimidated by you.”
“You aren’t, either.”
Of course she was.
Did she fear he would abuse her? No. Only cowards hurt women, and Lucas was many things—ruthless, determined, unyielding, complicated, unnerving—but not a coward. She didn’t fear him but what he made her feel. What he could turn her into.
A needy woman desperate for love and attention. His love and attention.
A kernel of panic bloomed, as tiny and grating as a pebble in a shoe.
“Aiden and I have been through hell together,” he continued. “I know his deepest fears and secrets, and he knows mine. That kind of loyalty and friendship isn’t born in the boardroom.” He paused. Studied her. “What has your father done to deserve that kind of loyalty from you?”
She jerked, taken aback by the sudden switch in topic. “What are you talking about? He’s my father,” she stammered.
“And he isn’t the warmest, most affectionate or supportive man. He expected you to marry a man because it was a financial coup for him. Your happiness was incidental. What about him inspires such devotion from you?”
“It isn’t what he’s done, but what I did.” The admission burst past her lips before she could contain it. Horrified, she pinched the bridge of her nose hard. Oh, God, why had she blurted that out? And especially with him? He wouldn’t understand. Couldn’t understand how guilt and shame could whittle a person down until nothing remained but slivers of who they used to be—or could’ve been. Not Lucas—
A big palm slid across her nape. Tugged her closer until her cheek pressed against a hard chest. “Go ahead.” The order was a rumble beneath her ear, and a key that unlocked the story she’d never repeated to anyone.
“My brother, Jay, was the son my parents had been praying and waiting for, and they were so happy and proud. I was six when he was born, and though I loved him, I also resented him for stealing the attention away that had been solely mine up until that point.”
At first, the explanation stumbled past her lips. But as they gained traction, the words rushed over her tongue, as if anxious to escape. In an instant, she was transported to that hot summer afternoon fifteen years ago.
“The summer I was ten, Dad often traveled, and in those days, Mom sometimes went with him. This particular day, they were both away, and since I couldn’t go to my friend’s house, I asked the nanny if I could go swimming. She’d said no, because Jay, who adored the water, had a cold and couldn’t go with me. Mad, I waited until she became busy with
Jay before pulling on my swimsuit—a black-and-white suit with pink ruffles around the leg. I’ll never forget it,” she whispered. Inhaling, she halted in the telling, the fierce pounding of her heart like an anvil against her sternum.
“I snuck out the back French doors and headed for the pool. Just as I went in, I realized I’d forgotten a towel and rushed back inside and up to my bathroom. Then I remembered I didn’t have goggles, either, so I stopped to search for those, too. About ten minutes later, with my goggles and towel under my arm, I headed back to the pool. That’s when I heard it. The scream. I’ll never forget it,” she breathed. Even now, all these years later, she could hear it, the terror and pain branded into her sensory memory. “I ran down the stairs, toward the rear of the house. Through the French doors I’d left open, I saw the nanny kneeling beside the pool, Jay’s still body beside her. My parents were devastated. They returned home minutes after the ambulance arrived. I can remember Mother falling to her knees screaming, and Dad cradling his body, roaring. He looked at me and yelled, ‘Your fault’…”
Her voice faded along with the bustling noise in the marketplace. The only sound she heard was the steady beat of Lucas’s heart beneath her ear. His hand eased up her neck, burrowed through her hair, and cradled her head. The other palm stroked a path up and down her spine, his touch soothing, anchoring her in the present.
“You’ve blamed yourself for a mistake all these years? Tragic and horrible, God, yes. But still a mistake. For God’s sake, Sydney…” His grip tightened in her hair, and he drew her head back to meet his gaze, bright with sympathy and anger. “You were ten. Who in the hell would blame a child?” When she didn’t reply, he swore under his breath. “That’s fucking crazy.”
“He apologized later. Both he and Mom were devastated, in shock, and grieving. I understood. Still…” She studied the grim line of his mouth, his strong chin. “I’ve learned the brutal lesson of placing myself and my desires above others. My mistake cost them their son. And no sacrifice is too big, not when it will never restore what they lost.” Conforming to their wishes, marrying a man they approved of but whom she didn’t love, submitting to blackmail to save her father’s company—none of those sacrifices seemed too big.
“Listen to me, Sydney,” he growled, giving her head a small shake. “No one is to blame. Not you, who was being an average ten-year-old kid. Not the nanny, who mistakenly let your brother get away from her. Not your parents, who weren’t home. Not your brother, who ran away and jumped into the pool. Sweetheart,” he murmured, caressing her back one last time before cupping her jaw. “His death is not your burden. It’s a tragedy, not a weight you’re responsible for bearing.” He hesitated, and a muscle in his lean cheek jumped. “And your father has sins he has to answer for, but not loving you isn’t one of them.” He ground out the admission as if it pained him to grant her father any concession. “He loves you. The day we married, he pulled me into my study to warn me not to hurt you. While I can’t excuse him for blaming you, even as a knee-jerk reaction to his pain, he knows you’ve suffered, and he said you didn’t deserve to endure any more pain. It might be the one thing he and I agree on. Let it go, sweetheart.”
Knows you’ve suffered…didn’t deserve any more pain…he loves you… The information whirled in her head like a mini twister, the revelations like madly dancing leaves she tried hard to grasp but couldn’t.
“You said he has sins to answer for. Meaning what you believe he’s done to you,” she said. “But you’ve never told me what that is. Will you tell me now?”
Tension invaded his body. Though his touch remained gentle as he dropped his hand from her face and untangled his fingers from her hair, a wall of ice had dropped over his eyes. For the first time since they’d arrived in Washington, the pitiless, enigmatic mogul returned, the cold in his taut features and implacable gaze freezing her from the inside out.
“Are you ready?” He nodded toward her cup of coffee.
“Yes,” she said, the lukewarm contents no longer comforting or appetizing. Silently, they headed toward the market’s exit.
Though his abrupt withdrawal stung, and he remained as secretive as ever, one thing loomed crystal clear.
Whatever offense her father had committed, Lucas had appointed himself judge and jury. An unsettling thought wormed its way into her mind, and she couldn’t rid herself of the taint. Unease twisted in her stomach, pushing the coffee she’d drunk toward her throat.
While trying to save her father, had she unwittingly contributed to his execution?
Chapter Fifteen
Lucas stared at the closed door of Sydney’s room, his hand hovering above the knob. At the last moment, he rapped his fist against the door and waited. It’d been several hours since they’d returned to the house from the Pike Place Market and, claiming tiredness, she had closed herself in her bedroom.
Common sense had argued for granting her space and respecting her privacy. After the emotional outpour about losing her brother and the battle of guilt she’d waged all these years, she deserved some alone time to decompress. But the primal, possessive side of him snarled and snapped, demanded he push until she lowered both her emotional and physical barriers. It was hypocritical to want that from her when he wouldn’t—couldn’t—offer her the same. But the need that plagued him day and night didn’t give a damn.
He’d capitulated to his common sense, but it’d been touch and go for a minute there.
But after hours without her company when he’d so easily become accustomed to her warmth and quiet wit, he was headed into withdrawal. And if it unnerved him how quickly he’d adapted to her presence, he didn’t dissect it. Later. He’d conduct the analysis and study the results later.
The door swung open, and instantly, the persistent gnawing eased. Reserve and an aloofness smoothed Sydney’s features into the beautiful, distant mask he detested. But this time, it didn’t put him off. After the patience he’d exerted this afternoon, the cold, distant reception goaded him, challenged him. The hunger he’d throttled and reined in for the sake of his promise yanked at its leash, breaking it with an audible snap that reverberated inside his head.
Lunging, he thrust his fingers into her curls, snagged them in his fist, and pulled her head back. Her eyes widened, her hand slapping against his chest. Her lips parted, but he crushed his mouth to hers, swallowing her gasp. Her taste exploded across his tongue, and he groaned, diving deeper, taking more. After the smallest delay, she met him, greedy stroke for greedy stroke. Her palm slid up his chest, and both arms looped around his neck, holding onto him. Perched on her tiptoes, she opened wider for him, allowing him to claim more even as she conducted her own sensual advance, sucking on his tongue, licking the roof of his mouth. His grip on her tightened. The fingers in her hair angling her head for a deeper penetration. The hand on her hip steadying her as he ground his throbbing cock against the softness of her stomach. All afternoon, this gaping pit had yawned wide in his gut, and now with her tongue dancing with his, her curves pressed to him, desire rushed in, a roaring flood filling the aching emptiness.
Deliberately, slowly, he moved forward, guiding her backward, never lifting his mouth from hers. When the backs of her knees hit the edge of the mattress, and she sank to the bed, he followed her down. Settling between her spread thighs, covering her. The softness of her breasts pillowed beneath his chest, the firmness of her thighs cradling his hips, the heat of her pussy that burned his cock even though her black lounging pants and his jeans… Damn it.
He slammed his palms to the bed on either side of her head and surged off her.
“I didn’t come up here for this,” he growled. “Dinner is ready, and I picked up Grease for you. I promised to give you time, and I’ll keep it. So if you want to walk away from this, now is the time to do it. Because if you don’t, I’m not stopping until I’m buried deep inside you.”
Her lashes lifted, and his heart fucking stopped as her hands flattened over his shoulders. And pushed.
The bottom plummeted out of his gut, and he rolled over on his back, his arm thrown across his eyes. Damn. Damn, damn, damn. Air sawed out of his lungs, and his erection, rock hard and aching, pounded in time with his heart.
A few minutes. I just need a few minutes. Then maybe I can walk…
The room plunged into darkness, the pale moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows providing illumination. He straightened, and if he hadn’t been sitting, shock would’ve knocked him on his ass. Like a wet dream come to vivid life, she stood next to the bedroom door and the light switch she’d just flicked off…the sweater she’d just drawn up and over her head on the floor at her feet.
Shadows draped her, but they couldn’t conceal the bared golden skin, the beautiful breasts cradled by black lace, the perfect indent of her waist and sexy flare of her hips. Neither could the darkness eclipse the courageous tilt of her chin or the instinctive tensing of her arms, as if she wanted to fold them around her torso, hide from him, but stopped herself.
Good. She was gorgeous. A voluptuous goddess in lace, silk, and knit instead of sea foam and shell.
Her thumbs hooked into the waistband of her pants. “Stop,” he rasped. Cupping his hand, he beckoned her forward. “Come here.” His voice, harshened by lust, sounded like sandpaper in the silent room.
Fierce satisfaction burned in him when she obeyed without hesitation. She retraced her steps to him, her feet soundless on the hardwood floor. When she stood between his thighs, he pulled her in those last few inches until the outside of her legs stamped the inside of his. Pressing his face to the smooth, flat expense of her abdomen, he breathed her in. Her sweet scent filled his nostrils, and he couldn’t resist opening his mouth over her skin, sucking and licking as if he could draw the honey and cinnamon color onto his tongue.