Beneath These Scars

by Meghan March

  His words got me thinking. “You’re kind of like a grandfather to Lucas, aren’t you?”

  Jerome’s chuckle filled the car. “I like to think of myself more of a . . . favorite uncle. Admitting I’m old enough to be his grandfather is a little depressing.”

  Cringing, I apologized. “I didn’t mean it like that. It just seems like you’re close.” Given that the only time I’d ever asked Lucas about his parents, he’d shot me down, I wondered if maybe Jerome could provide some insight. “You’ve been with him a long time, right?”

  “Well over a decade.”

  “Was he close with his parents? He doesn’t talk about them.”

  Jerome’s glance was sharp. “Mr. Titan’s relationship with his parents is something you’ll have to ask him about.”

  So apparently I wouldn’t be getting answers this way. But I wasn’t done prying quite yet. “They’ve both passed?”

  Jerome nodded. “Yes. His mother when Levi was just a toddler, and his father . . .” He cleared his throat before adding, “It was a couple years after I’d joined the household that we buried the senior Mr. Titan.”

  His choice of words stoked my curiosity further, but it seemed Jerome wouldn’t be sharing the details. He was right—I’d have to get them from Lucas himself if I wanted to know more about the man.

  A few moments later, we slowed as the gate in front of Lucas’s home rolled open. Pulling in like this—with the car, the driver, the everything—made it seem even more surreal. As if I was playing house or something.

  It’s just until I figure out where I’m going to live next, I told myself, even though part of me whispered I was in no hurry to leave.

  Lucas’s Aston wasn’t in the garage when Jerome parked, and it was on the tip of my tongue to ask when he’d return, but I didn’t. It wasn’t any of my business. Was it?

  Jerome offered to fix me a cocktail, but I declined and headed upstairs with my clothes. I slowed in front of the guest room and eyed the door to Lucas’s room beyond it.

  Where did I go? Where did I belong? That was the question.

  I remembered my first night in the house, how I’d thought I probably wasn’t even good enough to clean the place, and yet I’d spent last night in the master’s bed. I was living in a weird sort of limbo, and it seemed I belonged nowhere.

  The stairs creaked behind me and I swung around. Lucas was on the top step, his expression unreadable. His gaze dropped to the dress bag in my hands.

  “You can hang them in the closet with the rest.”

  The rest? I was still trying to figure out how to ask for an explanation when Lucas strode toward me, plucked the bag out of my arms, and pushed open the door to his room.

  I followed him inside, waiting for an explanation. I didn’t get one until I ventured into the closet behind him.

  It was laughable to call it a closet—it was another room, and not a tiny one. One half was filled with suits, dress shirts, and slacks, all evenly spaced and neatly organized. The other half was mostly empty, except for one hanging bar that was filled with dresses, skirts, shirts, and pants. Familiar ones. Most of the missing inventory from Dirty Dog.

  “What the hell?” I said, breathless.

  “You thought I’d have Jerome get you one dress?” he asked.

  “I-I don’t know what to say.” About the clothes or the fact that they were hanging in his closet.

  I reached out and touched a shimmering blue dress—the Cinderella dress. A myriad of emotions spun through me.

  “Why?”

  Lucas stepped behind me, both hands cupping my shoulders. “As much as I might prefer you naked, you needed clothing. You obviously liked these things enough to purchase them for the store, so it made sense to have Jerome make his selections there.”

  Yes, it made logical sense, but it didn’t make actual sense.

  Old feelings of shame crept over me. I didn’t turn, couldn’t face him to get this out. The words felt wrong but I said them anyway.

  “I’m not your mistress. You realize that, don’t you? You realize that it is not your job to make sure I have clothes on my back and a roof over my head? You realize that I’m not someone you can just buy and keep in your bed because you feel like it.”

  Anger and dirty feelings followed the shame, even stronger than before. Because for some crazy reason, I thought things had changed. But they hadn’t. He still thought he could buy me.

  Lucas spun me around. “You’re homeless and you own nothing. This is a helping hand, not a paycheck for fucking me. I expect you to do that for free.”

  His eyes were hard, serious. He released me and crossed his arms, as if waiting for me to blow up. I would not disappoint him.

  I pushed back on his shoulders, putting some space between us. “Yes, goddamn it, I’m doing that for free! Because I like you. Maybe I shouldn’t, but I do. And when you do stuff like this, it confuses the hell out of me because I don’t know what we’re doing here. I’m sleeping in your bed. Living in your house. Wearing clothes that you provided. Everything I swore I’d never do.”

  Lucas’s jaw muscle ticked. “You swore you’d never do any of that with me?”

  I shoved a hand into my hair. “Not you—anyone. Did you have me investigated? Check my background?”

  His jaw relaxed only enough for him to bite out, “No, I already told you that.”

  I laughed humorlessly. I couldn’t believe I was going to tell him this, but . . . what the hell. “If you had, then you’d know I come from a long line of very accomplished women who expect certain things when they fuck a man. Like a paycheck.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “Santos women—we’ve had that last name for over a hundred years because none of them ever marry—are excellent mistresses. It’s how we’re raised. I think I’m the first daughter in all that time to actually take vows—other than to the church, which is kind of ironic that out of a family of whores we’ve actually produced a few nuns.”

  Lucas tensed. “So you’re telling me . . . your mother is a mistress?”

  “And my grandmother, aunt, great-grandmother. Call it a family tradition.”

  “And you didn’t . . .”

  I huffed out another forced laugh. “I probably should have. Would’ve been a better choice than marrying the man I did who got his pussy for free and then beat on me because he felt like it. But no, I had to be different. Had to go against the grain. I swore that I’d never get involved with another man with money again. And then you came along.”

  He moved closer to me, lifting a hand from my shoulder to cradle my chin in his palm. “You’re finally getting with the program. Because we are involved.”

  “Out of all that, that’s what you picked up on?” I asked, shock coloring my tone.

  “It’s what matters most to me.”

  Something squeezed in my chest. “I don’t know what we’re doing,” I whispered, leaning into his touch.

  “Does it matter?” Lucas asked.

  “Not as much as it should.”

  “Good, because whatever this is, it’s not anywhere close to over.”

  I lifted my eyes to his. “So you don’t know what we’re doing either?”

  For some reason, the fact that he didn’t have this whole thing planned out relieved me. It made it seem like we were on even ground for once.

  Lucas stroked my jaw with his thumb. “For the first time in my life, I don’t care what I’m doing as long as it keeps going.” He stared into my eyes, and I braced for what he was going to say next. “You scared the hell out of me when you didn’t answer your phone yesterday. I care about what happens to you, Yve. I care that you’re safe. Happy. Smiling.”

  The corners of my mouth lifted. “Are you saying . . . you like me too?” It was a completely awkward, straight-out-of-junior-high question, but it seemed that both of us were on the remedial level when it came to relationships—again, even ground that steadied me.

  Lucas’s lip
s quirked. “Yeah. I am.”

  “Okay then.” I swallowed and we both nodded. But I still felt the need to get one thing straight. I had the feeling that he was the kind of guy who’d take ten miles if you gave him an inch, rather than just one. “But don’t think that means you can go buying me whatever you want, whenever you want. I’m not—”

  His grip on my chin tightened, his gaze sharpening. “Listen to me. I’ve never thought of you like that. A whore—a mistress—would be altogether much more inclined to please me. You challenge me, rebel against me, and push me on every level. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Sweet relief, and something much more complicated, swept through me. “Okay then,” I said again, unable to find any other words that would be appropriate.

  “So are we good?” he asked.

  I still had no clue what we were doing here, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to dig in and analyze this anymore. I just wanted to live it.

  “We’re good,” I replied.

  Lucas lowered his face, and before his lips pressed to mine, he said, “Good, because I’m taking you to dinner.”

  Rather than argue, I reached up and wrapped my hands around his neck to pull his mouth the rest of the way to mine.

  “Shut up and kiss me. We can argue about dinner later.”

  RARELY DID I LOSE AN argument, but occasionally I conceded—like tonight. Instead of the small Cajun restaurant I’d wanted to take Yve to, we stood before the door to one of the last places I wanted to be.

  The metal plate slid open to reveal Constantine Leahy’s face. His eyes widened with surprise. “No shit. Guess I owe Lord a hundred bucks because I swore you wouldn’t be back.”

  “I’m sure you’re good for it.”

  Con’s eyes landed on Yve. He shook his head and repeated, “No shit.”

  “You letting us in or are we leaving?”

  Yve squeezed my hand. It was a clear signal to shut the fuck up.

  “We were invited. He’s letting us in,” she said.

  Con slid the plate shut and a moment later, the door to the gym opened. “You were invited, Yve. I don’t remember anyone inviting him. And you’re late, by the way. Elle gave up on you an hour ago.”

  I considered it impressive that Yve didn’t blush. “Got sidetracked,” was all she said as we followed him inside.

  Sidetracked in the master closet. Because I couldn’t keep my hands off her.

  And thank fuck she couldn’t keep her hands off me either. I’d never experienced wanting of this intensity. I wanted her all the time, and not just in my bed, in my life. I wanted to be around her. Hear her laugh. Listen to her tell me I was wrong about something.

  No one challenged me like she did, and it was addictive. She was addictive.

  That was the only explanation I had for the fact that her clothes hung in the closet we’d broken in so thoroughly, and why I would go to great lengths to keep them there. I wasn’t ready to dig deeper into the motivation behind my actions just yet.

  “Food should be ready in a few. Some of the boys were helping, so it got a little dicey for a bit.”

  The scent of basil, garlic, and tomatoes filled my nose as we moved up the hall to the kitchen. I still didn’t know how Yve had talked me into this—a spaghetti dinner the night before a boxing tournament.

  Con turned and headed into the kitchen, which was complete pandemonium. Elle, Vanessa, and four large boys piled spaghetti, sauce, and loaves of thick grainy bread into huge dishes on the stainless-steel table in the center of the room.

  Elle spotted us first. “Well, well,” she started, and I thought she’d was aiming the words at me, but I was wrong. “Look who showed up after all of the work was done. Nice, Yve. Real nice.”

  This time Yve’s cheeks did take on a dusky tint. “Anything left to help with?”

  Vanessa turned from the sink, wiping her hands on a towel. “There are another six boys out there in charge of setting the tables, and I’m a little scared to see how it’s going. Lord is supposedly supervising, so it’s anyone’s guess.”

  “Perfect. We’ll handle it.”

  Vanessa’s assessing stare landed on me. “You’re still under orders to keep your knee away from Con’s balls. I have plans for them later.”

  I choked on the visual. She was certainly no longer the society princess I’d once thought she was. “Not a problem.”

  Yve tugged me toward the doorway, and I followed.

  Two long tables had been set up between the weight equipment and the ring and covered with white plastic tablecloths. Vanessa’s concerns had some merit, because four of the boys were on the other side of the room messing around with the punching bags. Lord was with them, demonstrating something. The other two were arguing over who was actually going to set the table.

  Yve snapped her fingers and they looked up. “You, plates. You, napkins and cups. We’ll take flatware.” They didn’t move. “Now,” she added, and the boys sprang into action.

  “You’re a general, aren’t you?” I said, a smile tugging on my lips.

  “I get shit done,” she replied and then pointed to the pile of silverware. “You take forks, I’ve got spoons and knives.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I wasn’t going to argue.

  “That’s right.” Yve winked, her saucy grin in place. It slid away when Lord crossed the room.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” He looked at Yve and jerked his head at me. “Not you, him.”

  “Are you going to make this a thing?” I asked. Keeping up the nice-guy act was starting to wear.

  “Just didn’t expect to see him back here again so soon.”

  “Lord—”

  I placed a hand on Yve’s arm. “I can fight my own battles.”

  She stared stubbornly back at me. “And so can I.”

  Lord’s deep laugh boomed through the gym. “Looks like you don’t need me to start shit. You two have that covered on your own.”

  Yve glared at him. “Do you want us to go?”

  He shook his head. “No. But Con may drag him back into the ring before I let him leave. They’ve still got a score to settle.”

  I opened my mouth to retort, but Yve stepped in front of me. “Don’t even think about it. We’re here for the kids tonight, and nothing else matters.”

  A foreign feeling took up residence in my chest at Yve’s defense of me—a sense of belonging. How strange that I should feel it standing in a building full of people who had their own reasons to hate me.

  Lord crossed his arms. “Fair enough. But I’m going to enjoy like hell eating off a table that Lucas Titan lowered himself to help set.”

  I bit back a fuck you solely because of the boys watching us like we were the fight of the century. I said nothing, and instead wrapped my arm around Yve and pulled her close.

  “Consider it our way of paying for our meal. I wouldn’t want something for nothing, after all.”

  An argument broke out on the other side of the room, catching Lord’s attention.

  “Shit. I’ll be back.”

  “Don’t hurry,” I said, not bothering to lower my voice.

  Yve poked an elbow into my side. “Leave it.”

  I looked down at her. “I’m not exactly sure when you got the idea that I would back down from anything, but you need to reset that expectation, love.” Her eyes widened, but I pulled her to the table. “Let’s get this finished before Con shows up to gloat.”

  DINNER GOT OFF TO A rocky start, but it finished more smoothly. Yeah, the guys threw barely concealed barbs at each other, but no blood was shed, so I considered it a win.

  I was still reeling over Lucas’s term of endearment. Love. What the hell did that mean? Was that just some weird slip? Did it mean anything at all?

  As if I wasn’t already confused enough, it just threw me for another loop. I thought about it for the rest of the evening, and continued mulling it over when I’d gone to bed alone because Lucas had some work to take care of. And it
was still on my mind when I’d woken up once again with him wrapped around me. It sure beat worrying about whether someone—Jay, namely—might be out to get me.

  And I was still thinking about it now, a week later, at Dirty Dog. I hadn’t seen Lucas much over the last seven days. He was working on some crazy big project, and had meetings constantly and calls that kept him up half the night.

  Occasionally I’d wake up to him climbing in bed with me, and I’d take advantage of the opportunity. One night he’d found me swimming in the pool and had talked me into skinny-dipping instead of doing laps.

  We’d settled into an odd, but easy, pattern. I did my thing, he did his, and when I’d least expect it¸ he’d show up at the shop, lunch or coffee in hand, and spend a half hour talking business, making sexual innuendos that I’d collect on later with a dirty-text booty call, or arguing with me about letting him take care of something I wanted to handle myself, like my insurance situation. He was still Lucas Titan—bossy, arrogant, and sexy as hell—but he was becoming so much more.

  The insurance company kept asking me if I’d settled on another place to live, but I’d been dodging the question. I needed to decide soon. I couldn’t stay with Lucas much longer. It would be crazy, regardless of how much I was strangely enjoying him helping me out. And that grip I had on my heart? It was getting dicey.

  And so was my bid to buy Dirty Dog. I hung up the phone. I’d just left Harriet another voice mail. She’d apparently left the country for a landscape painting class in France and wasn’t answering her messages. I didn’t have a solid plan, but I had a couple of ideas that would work if she were open to them. Lucas had given me a crash course in the business of mergers and acquisitions a few nights ago when we’d had a rare dinner together. The man’s body was sexy, but his brain—even sexier.

  The door chimed and I looked up, expecting another group of the tourists who’d been a constant stream today. But it wasn’t someone wearing beads with a hurricane in hand. No, it was a man in a slick suit, skinny black tie, and shoes that probably cost more than the vintage Dolce & Gabbana cocktail dress I’d just priced and put out on the dress form.