by BETH KERY
She hurried to keep up with his long-legged stride, disappointment swamping her. She didn’t know what to say. He was obviously attracted to her, but he just refused to fawn over her like other men did. He’d said she had him spinning, but it was she who was struck completely off balance by his cool aloofness interspersed with moments of intense, entirely addictive, raw sexuality.
She glanced at his handsome profile and scowled. He’d said he wanted her to learn self-control, but it just wasn’t fair, how much control he wielded over her.
The following Tuesday, Elise waited nervously in the examination room of the Michigan Avenue medical practice.
She hadn’t seen a lot of Lucien since they’d gone marketing on Saturday, much to her disappointment. He wasn’t avoiding her—or at least she hoped he wasn’t—it was just that their paths didn’t cross often at the busy restaurant. She’d been excited when Lucien had covertly pulled her aside this morning at Fusion, but he’d merely given her a few instructions and handed her a piece of paper with the address and time for her doctor’s appointment. When he’d told her his appointment was at a different time, and that he wouldn’t be accompanying her, she’d heaved a sigh of relief. She was highly anxious about this appointment, and she didn’t want him witnessing her nerves with those cool, knowing eyes of his.
When the gynecologist entered a few minutes later, introducing herself as Dr. Sheridan, Elise was glad to see she was fairly young. Maybe she wouldn’t laugh at Elise’s questions or confessions.
“When was your last pap smear?” The doctor asked the inevitable question a few moments later as she did the interview portion of the exam.
“I . . . I’ve never had one before,” Elise said.
Dr. Sheridan masked her surprise well. “Are you sexually active?”
“I’ve never had intercourse with a man. I know you must think it’s odd, since I’m twenty-four.”
“Not at all,” the doctor reassured. “Lots of women are choosing to wait these days.”
“But can you do an exam if I’ve never had intercourse?”
“Certainly. It’s good that you told me, though. I’ll use a smaller speculum. The vaginal muscles will be tight, but the chances of you actually having an intact hymen at age twenty-four are rare. You’re in very good condition. Are you an athlete?”
“I run. I used to ride almost every day, even though I haven’t had access to a mount for a year or so.”
“More than likely, the hymen was ruptured long ago if you’ve ridden that long. We’ll take a look.”
“If the hymen is broken, then the man would never know, would he? That I was a virgin?”
Dr. Sheridan hesitated. “Is that important to you?” she asked quietly.
“Yes.”
“Probably not. Not many men are all that experienced in gauging the subtleties. But I would encourage you to talk to your partner if you do become sexually active. It would be better if he could be as gentle as possible.”
She nodded. Dr. Sheridan must have noticed her anxiety as she flipped back the cover on the tray that held the instruments for the exam. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell you everything I’m going to do beforehand.”
The exam was slightly uncomfortable, but nowhere near as bad as she’d worried. According to the doctor, her regular horseback riding or some other activity had indeed long ago ruptured her hymen. Elise was relieved to hear it.
When the doctor had finished and told her to dress, Elise grasped for her courage. Lucien had arranged this appointment and was paying for it, after all.
“What I told you about not being with a man before, that’s . . . that’s confidential, right?”
The physician looked nonplussed. “Absolutely. I’ll supply you with your records, and whom you choose to share them with is your business. But there won’t be anything in the record but pertinent testing data.”
She gave a heartfelt thanks and the doctor left the room.
Elise’d had her share of men and exchanged sexual pleasure with some of them. But she wouldn’t make herself vulnerable. The simple fact was, she was one of the wealthiest women in Europe. Men had tried to ingratiate themselves sexually and emotionally with her since she was fifteen years old. She didn’t trust that there weren’t males out there who would use her body against her. They might strive to impregnate and use a child as an excuse to marry. That had happened to one of her acquaintances, a girl named Lucinda Seacon. After Lucinda had gotten pregnant at seventeen by a worthless combination of skirt chaser and fortune hunter, Elise’s mother had given her a pack of birth-control pills. For once, Elise had followed her mother’s advice and taken them.
Better safe than sorry.
But a man might simply use intimacy to emotionally manipulate and gain the upper hand. In addition to all that, she had the example of her mother when it came to sex—not an example to follow, but an example to guard against. Any handsome man of any age was fair game to Madeline Martin, including many of Elise’s boyfriends. Elise flatly refused to sleep with a man who had shared a bed with her mother. Sometimes that seemed like half the men in Europe. Her mother had even had the nerve to come on to her friend Michael Trent when she’d drug him along for a visit to Cannes, begging him for support during a compulsory weekend spent with the sharks.
It hadn’t even mattered to her mother that Elise had told her Michael was gay, she recalled disgustedly. Her mother thought so much of her beauty and allure, she’d believed she could lure a gay man to heterosexuality. It hadn’t worked in the case of her husband, but that seemed to make Madeline all the more determined to try.
Classic Madeline.
For a variety of reasons, Elise had never felt secure or confident in romantic or sexual relationships. So she had been the one to maintain control. She grew skilled at giving a man what he wanted, of satisfying him sexually, while maintaining a safe distance. She hadn’t planned to still be a virgin at age twenty-four, but she’d never encountered anyone in her adult years with whom she was willing to take the risk.
Until now.
Not only was she majorly in lust with Lucien, but she cared about him. She probably always would, after that summer they’d spent together. She’d believed him when he’d told her in his office that he cared about her as well. Some sort of invisible bond had been forged between them that summer, and it warmed her heart to know he felt that connection, too. She may frustrate him and she may infuriate him, but he cared.
Besides, Lucien had no reason to angle for her money. He had his own, and what’s more, he was supremely aloof when it came to monetary greed.
Wasn’t he?
There was that odd obsession he seemed to have with Ian Noble. But no, she scolded herself irritably, Lucien wouldn’t do anything sleazy for financial gain. How many other people on the planet would abstain from a massive fortune that was their birthright?
No, Lucien was the one. She trusted him with her body and her well-being, despite all this bewildering domination business, not to mention her unprecedented sexual reaction to it.
Even though she’d agreed to this thing with him, she didn’t want him to know about her vulnerability . . . her relative naïveté. Especially since he’d proposed such a sophisticated sexual arrangement. First of all, he’d never believe her, given all the hyped-up press about her. His disdain would hurt. Second of all, the idea of giving herself wholly when he knew of her weakness made her feel too raw. Too exposed.
Lucien had his secrets. It was only fair that she have one of her own.
Lucien stalked through the empty, hushed interior of Fusion, feeling particularly energized at the prospect of his upcoming meeting. A switch had been flipped in him recently. He’d discovered a newfound purpose here in Chicago, and it had nothing to do with Ian Noble.
He was considering buying a lovely vintage building ideally located in the South Loop near the once venerable, still atmospheric Prairie Avenue District. The location would make it the perfect spot for a restaurant and elegant
boutique hotel. It was unusual for him not to have several new business ventures going at once. He’d restrained himself in the past year, however, unsure how long his business in Chicago would take. He still had several restaurants in Paris and one in Monte Carlo, along with four thriving European luxury resort hotels. He’d learned the hotel business firsthand from his father years ago. Each of the businesses he owned today had been acquired and cultivated completely on his own, however, without his father’s money or assistance. The only debt he owed his father was the excellent training Adrien had provided by allowing him to manage several of his hotels. Lucien figured he’d repaid that debt amply in hard work and lucrative business decisions. Elise may have called him an heir the other night, but in truth Lucien had never touched a cent of his inheritance. He’d built a respectable fortune of his own, and he’d be damned if he ever pocketed dirty money.
The decision to begin a new business signaled a change was in the offing for him. It felt like a breath of fresh air flowing over the dark oppression of the past few years.
The thought of fresh air made his head turn toward the kitchen.
It was three thirty in the afternoon, the calm between the lunch and dinner bustle in the restaurant. In the distance, he heard the metallic sound of cookware and pictured Elise in the kitchen, her lovely face sober as she focused her entire attention on her culinary task. The memory of how she’d tasted when he’d spontaneously kissed her the other day sprung into his mind in vivid detail. The taste of maple syrup had lingered on her tongue, but the flavor of her—Elise—had been sweeter still.
It’d been a week since he’d caved and hired her as his interim chef, seven increasingly brutal nights since he’d come to a decision about her. He’d kept his distance with the exception of that regrettable kiss, all too aware that he must wait. She was his employee, after all.
For the time being.
He’d kept close tabs on her. All reports about her cooking from his staff and patrons had been stellar. Sharon had expressed her amazement yesterday when she’d come into his office, announcing the arrival of another chef candidate for Lucien to interview.
“Are you unhappy with Ms. Martin’s work?” Sharon had asked.
“Not at all. Should I be?”
“No, everyone is raving about her food. And she’s very pleasant to work with. Have you ever noticed everyone smiles when she’s around? There’s certainly a new pep to Evan and Javier’s stride.”
“I pay her to cook, not perk up my male employees,” he’d muttered dryly.
“It’s not just the male employees,” Sharon had continued, undeterred by his frown. It was one of the reasons he liked Sharon. She had a mind of her own. “She’s a nice change for all of us. Do you know Maryanne won tickets to the symphony but couldn’t go because of her kids?” Sharon asked him, referring to one of their waitresses, a single mother. “Elise volunteered to watch Allie and David so Maryanne could go. That meant a lot to Maryanne. It meant a lot to me, too,” Sharon added thoughtfully. “And she’s doing a marvelous job of cooking. Why do you need another chef?”
“Ms. Martin isn’t a fully qualified chef yet,” Lucien had said briskly as he cleared his desk in preparation for the interview.
“Tell that to your elated customers,” Sharon had said wryly before she left to retrieve the chef candidate.
He’d pretended to be brusque, but in truth he’d been pleased that Elise had won Sharon over as a protector. Sharon was no pushover, and all of his employees looked up to her.
Another part of him was tense, however, waiting for the other shoe to drop. A calm atmosphere and Elise did not go together.
She was a storm waiting to break.
The thought flew into his head as he opened the smoked-glass doors of Fusion and saw Elise standing in the lobby of the Noble Enterprises tower wearing her chef’s smock and talking to Francesca Arno, Ian’s lover. She was several inches shorter than Francesca, although he doubted most people would notice the inequity of the two women’s heights. Elise was so vibrant and animated, like a flickering flame. As he watched, several casual passersby turned to look at her, and not just men. Her strength of character and palpable charm had always amazed him, even when she’d been a child.
Elise’s expression shifted when she took notice of his approach, but she kept chatting amiably until he arrived by her side.
“Mr. Lenault! You know Francesca, don’t you?” she asked, pink lips curving.
“Of course I do,” he said, leaning down to give Francesca a brief kiss of greeting on the cheek.
“She just told me she’s a runner,” Elise said. “I’m going to start training with her for the Chicago Marathon.”
“You run?” Lucien asked Elise, disguising his surprise.
“Yes. I started a year ago. It’s good discipline,” she emphasized, the defiant spark in her sapphire eyes meant solely for him.
“I hadn’t realized you two had met,” he added mildly, ignoring her stab at him.
“I introduced myself last night after experiencing the ecstasy of her Essaouira chicken and strawberry crepes,” Francesca said, grinning up at him. “She’s brilliant. Ian and I asked for you at Fusion last night, but they said you weren’t in the restaurant. We had very important news to tell you.”
Francesca was always a lovely woman, but he’d never seen her look quite so radiant as she did when she lifted her left hand. Lucien laughed and gave her a heartfelt hug. He reexamined the exquisite triple-diamond platinum ring on her finger after they’d stepped back from the embrace.
“Ian is a very lucky man,” he told her sincerely. He bounced her hand teasingly. “Are you strong enough to handle such a heavy ring?”
“I’m strong enough,” Francesca told him archly, and he knew she’d precisely understood his double entendre.
He smiled, pleased yet again by Ian’s choice. “I believe you are.”
“Thank you. Ian picked it out himself,” Francesca said amusedly, her eyelids narrowing. “And if you know any different, don’t tell me.”
“He most definitely picked it out himself.”
Francesca beamed at his steadfast answer. “We’re throwing a little get-together at the penthouse Sunday night to celebrate. I hope that you’ll come. You too,” she told Elise irrepressibly.
“Oh, that’s so nice of you to ask, thank you. But . . . I don’t think I can,” Elise prevaricated, her hesitant, meek manner completely unbelievable to Lucien.
“Of course you can,” Francesca insisted. “You told me just now that you hardly know anyone in the city. You’ll love my friends Davie and Justin and Caden. . . . Well, Justin and Caden will love you, in fact, but they’re relatively harmless. And Fusion is closed on Sundays and Mondays, so I know you’re not working. Isn’t that right, Lucien? Tell her.” Francesca glanced at him for assistance. He held Elise’s gaze as he spoke.
“Of course you should go, Ms. Martin. It will do you good to make some friends in a new city.”
Elise’s eyes widened in surprise at his agreeable tone. Clearly she’d thought he’d signal for her to decline the invitation, but Francesca’s sincere request had blocked that option.
“Will you be there Monsieur Lenault?” Elise asked, eyes wide and innocent.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Her slight frown told him she’d understood his subtext. Allow Elise to run wild in the Noble penthouse without supervision?
Not likely.
The following day, Elise glanced up when Sharon walked into the kitchen.
“Lucien would like to see you in his office, Elise.”
The knife she held in her hand stilled at the news. It took her a moment to recover, something she hoped Evan and Sharon didn’t notice. It’d been a seemingly innocuous announcement, after all.
“You can take over here, Evan. You have it down perfectly,” she said with a reassuring smile as she set down the knife. She’d been instructing and assisting Evan in the dressing of a capon.
“I’m sure I won’t be long,” she added over her shoulder after she’d washed up.
She coached herself to ignore the butterflies she felt as she walked down the long hallway to Lucien’s office. He couldn’t be requesting the meeting because she’d done anything wrong. Her work ethic had been unquestionable. In fact, she was usually the first one there in the morning, eager to begin cooking. Part of that motivation might have been the depressing dreariness of her hotel room—not to mention a desire to pass Baden Johnson’s room before he awoke from his nightly intoxication—but the point was, she’d been here, ready to work. She’d become an expert at avoiding her leering, malodorous neighbor at the Cedar Hotel.
Her stomach fluttered with anticipation as she knocked on the carved wood door, graphic memories of her former meeting with Lucien in his office flooding her consciousness and mounting her anxiety.
“You wanted to see me?” she asked a moment later when Lucien opened the door. Today he was dressed in black jeans, a simple black crew-neck shirt, and an ivory blazer that highlighted his broad shoulders and the smooth, beautiful color of his skin. He was such a sinfully gorgeous man, some rare, magical blend of unknown origins, the mystery of his existence somehow perfectly fitting the magnetic enigma surrounding him. She recalled how once during her fourteenth summer, she’d bluntly asked him about his ethnic heritage. They’d been fishing off the dock, a pastime they’d both gravitated toward that summer, a simple, wholesome activity that stood in such contrast to the complex machinations of their parents’ business and social lives. It was obvious to anyone that Lucien couldn’t be the natural child of his blond, painfully thin mother, and Lucien towered over his paunchy, balding father. Lucien hadn’t taken offense, probably because he’d sensed her childlike sincerity and simple curiosity.
“I never knew or saw my biological parents. My mother and father adopted me when I was still a baby,” he’d replied, nodding at her fishing line. She’d obediently lifted it, and sure enough, a fish had stolen her bait. He took it from her without comment.