by Naima Simone
“Lose her?” Lucas scoffed, falling back in his chair. “You say that like I ever had her.”
The truce he and Sydney had agreed on in Seattle had remained intact since their return to Boston three weeks earlier. Their lives had fallen into an alarmingly domesticated pattern: he left early in the morning for the office, and she spent most of her day at the youth center. She arrived home before he did and arranged for dinner to be ready when he walked through the door. They dined together, discussing neutral topics such as her work at the center and invitations she’d accepted on their behalf. Afterward, he’d disappear inside his study to finish up anything he hadn’t been able to address during the day. And then…then he entered their room, where he and his wife had sex until neither one of them could move. At the bedroom door, all polite civility ended, and they took each other with a wild abandon that pleased and shocked the hell out of him.
And left him hungry.
Not just for her body and all that startling, amazing passion, but for her. The parts of herself she doled out to Yolanda and Melinda Evans and the girls at the youth center, but not to him. Unless she was writhing under him in bed, losing control. Only then did she lower her guard. He’d believed he would be satisfied with sex—didn’t want any more than that. He’d been wrong.
Especially when Tyler had possessed more of her than Lucas had. Her ex-fiancé had earned her friendship, her esteem, her affection. Hell, on their wedding night, she’d asked for more time because of Tyler. Lucas clenched his fist, hating the dual serrated edges of helplessness and jealousy sinking their jagged teeth into his chest.
“The world is not some fairy tale, Aiden. You and I know that better than anyone. Sydney married me because I blackmailed her. She wanted to save her father from jail, and I wanted to prevent Jason from getting his hands on Tyler Reinhold’s money.” If he hadn’t interceded, she would be planning her engagement party to another man at this moment.
“Yet you’re the only one winning in this situation. Jason may not go to jail, but you’re going to ruin him. And you used his daughter to do it. Have you even considered how that’s going to devastate her?” Aiden snapped.
“What do you want me to do?” Lucas shot from his chair, as if trying to escape the guilt that slicked his skin, invaded his pores. He stalked to the large window overlooking the financial district as well as the west entrance to the Public Garden. If he squinted, he could make out the statue of George Washington on horseback. Normally, he enjoyed the view. But at this moment, he hardly noticed it. “Turn my back on the promise I made to my father? Just let Jason Blake get away with the damage he’s done? Because of him, I grew up without a father. He laid waste to my life.”
“No, he didn’t,” Aiden murmured. “Luke, you are a successful, respected businessman who owns and runs one of the largest conglomerate organizations in the world. You’ve achieved the impossible from most people’s viewpoint—emerging from the inner city of Chicago’s South Side to beat the odds as a powerful, wealthy man.” He sighed, pushing himself out of his chair. “I’m your friend, so when I say this, I’m leaning on that friendship. It isn’t Jason Blake’s fault you grew up without a father… It’s your father’s fault.”
Lucas remained still, but inside, he flinched as if Aiden had sucker punched him in the chest. “Everything I’ve done, everything I am is because I swore one day he would pay for all the pain and loss he’s wreaked. And you want me to choose between my father and a woman I met less than two months ago? A woman who’s made it clear her first loyalty is to the man who stole the one person I loved most and my childhood from me?”
“No,” Aiden said quietly. “I want you to choose between living and existing.”
…
“Thank you, James.” Sydney smiled at Lucas’s driver as he clasped her hand and guided her from the backseat of the luxury town car. “I should be ready about one thirty. If I’m running later than that, I’ll call you.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgment. “I’ll wait here for you, Mrs. Oliver.”
Mrs. Oliver. One month, and she still hadn’t become used to the new last name. Or the enigma that was her husband. After the week in Seattle, she’d believed they had at least established a basis for friendship. But after they’d returned home, Lucas had become remote—more so than before their honeymoon.
Except at night.
At night he changed into the fierce, passionate lover who’d introduced her to a pleasure beyond her wildest imagination. As if the moon spilling across the hardwood floors of their bedroom transformed the cold, reserved man into a voracious beast.
Putting those thoughts out of my head right now.
God, if she walked into this restaurant for lunch with her mother flushed and aroused, Charlene wouldn’t stop pestering her until she ferreted the truth out of Sydney. And as nosy as her mother could be, she doubted Charlene would appreciate all the salacious details of her daughter’s love life.
And they were salacious.
Smoothing a palm down the side of her black pencil skirt, Sydney double-checked the white peasant-style shirt for wrinkles and the stiletto boots for scuff marks. Her mother’s vision could shame an eagle into visiting an optometrist; she wouldn’t miss the slightest imperfection.
Inhaling, she entered the upscale restaurant at which Charlene had called and requested Sydney meet her for lunch. Threading through the semi-crowded dining area, she spotted her mother at a table near the wide front window.
Charlene rose and lightly kissed her on either cheek. The familiar scent of Chanel No. 5 enveloped Sydney, and a rush of emotion poured through her—joy at seeing her mother after weeks of no contact, sorrow at the estrangement, apprehension over the confrontation. Because with her mother, there was no such thing as a simple lunch.
“What did you do to your hair?” Charlene grimaced, pinching a curl. “God, Sydney, you look like a ragamuffin. Does Lucas Oliver not allow you to visit a stylist or at least buy you a dryer?”
The criticism stung, but Sydney covered it with a courteous smile as she lowered to the chair across from Charlene and fought the habitual urge to apologize. Not only did Lucas seem to like the full tumble of spirals, but she’d grown to love the natural style. At what point did she stop allowing her mother to make her feel like a five-year-old instead of a twenty-five-year-old capable of making her own decisions? Of feeling unworthy?
“You’re looking beautiful, Mom.” She picked up the linen napkin and flicked it open to settle over her lap. “How’s Dad?”
“Thank you. And he’s fine. Worried, but fine.” Her mother picked up her glass of white wine and sipped, studying her over the rim. “I’m surprised by your concern. It’s been four weeks since your”—pause—“wedding. And we haven’t heard from you once.”
Charlene was not just her mother, but the mother of guilt trips, also. “After our last conversation, I assumed we both needed time.” Their waiter appeared, setting a plate of hot, fresh bread on the table. Sydney placed her order for a shrimp salad before returning to her mother and plucking up a slice of the honey oat loaf.
Charlene’s mouth scrunched into a moue of distaste. “Really, Sydney. Bread? As if you need any more carbs.” She sighed. “I don’t know how many times I’ve warned you to be careful of what you eat. Women of your”—another significant pause—“stature have to be more vigilant and careful than others.”
Sydney set the slice on her plate and folded her hands in her lap. “Stop it, Mom,” she said softly, though she instilled a vein of steel in the order that halted Charlene mid-diatribe. “I’m not going to let you talk to me like that any longer.”
Charlene huffed out an impatient breath. “The dramatics, Sydney—”
“Through pointed reminders and criticisms, I have understood for a very long time that I am not a perfect size two. I also know that disappoints and embarrasses you.”
In her head, Lucas’s voice echoed, rebounding against the walls, and gaining volume with each
pass.
“Have your parents ground you down to the point where you believe you deserve that kind of treatment…”
She could still feel Lucas’s palm against her jaw. Still see the fire that had blazed in his turquoise gaze as he’d made her contemplate herself in front of that mirror.
This woman is the most conscientious, selfless, considerate person I’ve met. And I’ve known her for weeks. How do they not recognize it…why does she let them get away with not acknowledging it? With not respecting her gifts, her heart, her feelings?
“I love you, Mom,” she continued, shaking off the memory. “But if my stature aggrieves you that much, we can limit our interaction. And when we are together, I’m no longer going to allow you to put me down for it.”
Silence, heavy with tension, loomed over their table like a single gray storm cloud.
“Well,” Charlene said, tone as stiff as her spine. “Apparently being married to Lucas Oliver has also taught you how to be disrespectful.”
Sydney didn’t reply. Anything she uttered now would be construed as an apology, and she was not sorry for finally—finally—standing up for herself. Fighting for herself. Elation, airy and bright as a summer ray of sunshine, glowed inside her chest. No doubt, her mother viewed this as an opening volley in a bid for control, but damn it, for the first time she didn’t fold, believing the outcome a foregone conclusion.
“Mrs. Williamson asked about you at our literacy meeting.” Charlene took another sip of wine. “She wanted me to pass along her congratulations.”
“Thank you. I’ll have to call on her.” Pleasantries. Trivialities. Safe topics.
“I told her you might.” Then she launched into a detailed account of the events and parties she’d attended as well as the local gossip, not halting as the waiter returned and set their orders before them. “I accepted the invitation on your behalf to the Reinholds’ reception after the Carnaval ballet opening this weekend. I’ll send the car—”
“Wait, I’m sorry,” Sydney interrupted, tuning back in. “Mom, why would you do that? I can’t go to the Reinholds’.”
“Of course you will,” she dismissed with a careless flick of her hand. “I think it’s very gracious of them to invite you after your treatment of Tyler. It would’ve been rude to decline.”
“Yes, it is beyond generous of them to ask Lucas and me to their home, but I can imagine how awkward it would be.”
“I didn’t mention Lucas Oliver,” Charlene corrected coldly. “The invitation was for you alone.”
“And you agreed?” She gaped at her mother. “You expect me to attend the party hosted by my ex-fiancé and his family without my husband. That’s ridiculous.”
“You can go, Sydney. It’s the least you can do for the Reinholds as well as for your father and me. They are extending the olive branch, and I must insist you accept it.”
Anger at her mother’s presumptuousness and cavalier rejection of Lucas sparked fast and hot. “Mom, I—”
“Excuse me. I hope I’m not intruding.”
Oh, God. Sydney briefly closed her eyes. Not now. Why now?
“Tyler.” Charlene rose, a beaming smile wiping away the chilly disapproval she’d worn seconds earlier. Her mother clasped Sydney’s ex-fiancé’s hands and pressed her cheek to his. “How wonderful to see you.”
“And you’re beautiful as always, Charlene.” His gaze shifted to Sydney, who’d remained seated, shocked. A whisper of suspicion that this chance meeting wasn’t so chance filtered through her brain. And a quick glance at her mother’s smug smile confirmed it. “Sydney.” He bent, lightly brushed his lips over her cheek.
A month ago, before the engagement had been broken off, the touch would have been nothing more than a polite greeting. But now she fought the impulse to recoil. Somehow, receiving a kiss from another man seemed…wrong.
“Hello, Tyler,” she murmured. “I hope you’ve been well.”
“Yes, as well as can be expected.” The tone of his voice dropped, infusing the words with an intimacy that slithered over her skin. His gaze skimmed over her face, a heat she didn’t remember ever glimpsing before lighting his gaze. Nervous nausea bubbled in her stomach. “I’ve missed you.”
“Won’t you join us?” Her mother gestured toward an empty chair as she reclaimed her own. “I was just telling Sydney about the invitation to your reception this weekend. Your mother was so kind to include us.”
“I hope you’ll come,” he said, his intense perusal never leaving Sydney’s face.
“I RSVP’d just this morning.” Satisfaction practically purred in Charlene’s tone.
“Wonderful,” Tyler murmured. “I’m disappointed I can’t stay for lunch. I have to return to the office for a meeting. But I’m thrilled I was able to see you before the reception. Now I have even more to look forward to.”
Confused, Sydney stared after him as he rejoined his group and exited the restaurant.
“You arranged that accidental meeting.” Sydney contemplated the pleased upturn of Charlene’s lips. “Am I wrong?”
“Please,” her mother scoffed. “You’re so dramatic lately. I saw him at the Miltons’ a couple of nights ago and mentioned we would be having lunch today. He seemed delighted to see you, though.”
“I’m married, Mom,” she stated.
Charlene waved off her words. “We both know that event shouldn’t have happened and can easily be annulled. And when Tyler expressed how much he missed you the other night, I knew there was still a chance for this whole sordid mess to be over.”
Sydney calmly set her napkin on the table beside her uneaten salad and rose from the table.
“Where are you going?” Charlene demanded. “You haven’t touched your meal. And we still have details to discuss—”
“I’m leaving.” Sydney slid her purse strap over her shoulder. “My appetite has suddenly vanished.”
“Sit down,” Charlene hissed, her gaze darting around the dining room. “I will not have you make a spectacle of us.”
“I anticipated us having a nice, quiet lunch together, but you viewed it as an opportunity to ambush me. I won’t have you disrespect me, Lucas, or my marriage by playing matchmaker.” A tremor shook the last few words. She’d been surprised but happy that her mother had reached out to her. That she’d made an effort to bridge the gap between them. That she’d cared. God, what a fool. “I took vows, made promises. I won’t betray them. Not for you, not for Dad, and certainly not because of a party invitation. Good-bye, Mom.”
She didn’t wait for her mother’s response or castigation, because they would be one and the same. As she crossed the dining area and left the restaurant, fury and sorrow continued to burn inside her. Charlene wouldn’t so easily forgive Sydney for walking out on her. But by her actions, her mother had jeopardized the agreement between Sydney and Lucas. And therefore risked her father’s freedom.
And if a small, irritating voice pointed out that it’d been her mother’s disdain of Lucas that had angered her, not the thought of the contract… Well, it was small enough to ignore.
Chapter Seventeen
Two o’clock in the afternoon. The CFO had called for a meeting to discuss the upcoming end-of-quarter, end-of-year budget. Aiden had scheduled a teleconference with potential buyers for the sale of one of their retail companies. And Lucas’s assistant had forwarded him a list of calls that needed to be returned before the end of the day. He’d never neglected a meeting, a phone call, hell, an email in favor of a woman before.
Yet Lucas stood at the large bay window in his living room watching Sydney step out of the town car like some voyeur.
If he possessed even an ounce of common sense, he would return to the office, chalk this up to a moment of lunacy, and forget it happened…
He remained at the window.
Aiden’s words haunted him as Sydney waved at James and climbed the front steps to the brownstone. “She might if you told her the truth. If you told her about why you’ve set this who
le Machiavellian scheme in motion. But if you don’t at least give her the benefit of the doubt, you’re going to lose her.”
He’d never had a woman who was solely his. His mother hadn’t been his or his father’s. She’d belonged to any man with a pretty face or deep enough pockets to keep her in the expensive clothes and jewels she adored. The women Lucas had been with had been expedient and expendable—by choice. Not until Sydney had he experienced this…this nagging persistence to possess, to smash down any wall she erected that kept him on the outside when he wanted in.
At the end of the year, he would walk away, but during the next eleven months…he wanted in.
“What are you doing home?”
Her surprised question brought him around, and the customary burn of desire flared to life. To not want her was like ordering his breath to freeze in his lungs. From the moment he’d bent over her hand at the auction and looked up into her lovely hazel eyes, lust for her had set up residence inside him and refused to be evicted.
“How did your lunch go?” he asked, sidestepping the question.
She sighed, untying the sash at her waist and removing her coat. As she crossed the room to toss the clothing over the back of the sofa, he dropped his attention to her ass in the slim-fitting black skirt. He bit back a groan. And made a mental note to buy one of those ass-hugging skirts in every color of the rainbow and in between.
“It was…interesting.” She emitted another weary sigh and dragged a hand through her curls. “Between my mother calling me on the carpet for my hair, eating habits, and choice in husband, I ordered a salad I didn’t get to eat. A salad that looked delicious, by the way.”
Fury stirred in his gut, poked to flames by Sydney’s abridged recounting of her conversation with her mother.
“Why didn’t you get to eat it?” he asked, surprised by how calm he sounded.
“Because I walked out.” She huffed out a strained chuckle. “I walked out,” she repeated as if in disbelief. He took a step toward her, her name on his lips, but she shot up a hand, halting him. “No, I walked out,” she said for the third time, stronger, firmer. “But not before telling her I would no longer put up with her criticism and digs at my expense. Granted, most of them are not malicious. But I think the indifference behind them is somehow worse. As if the inventorying of my imperfections is so common, so natural, it doesn’t require spitefulness.”