by BETH KERY
“Yes.”
“You never . . . you didn’t sleep with her ever, did you? My mother?”
Her heartbeat quickened when he just stared at her for a moment. She’d wanted to ask him that very question for a long time, but also dreaded the answer.
“No. Absolutely not,” he said with quiet forcefulness.
She exhaled in relief. She nodded, believing him completely for some reason. “Because I know she probably tried to seduce you that summer when we were in Nice. Probably other times, too. It’s what she does. I’m glad to know she failed with you. She certainly never did with any of my other boyfriends,” she laughed.
He closed his eyes briefly. “Elise, I’m sorry.”
She shrugged, striving for an offhand manner. “We can’t pick our parents. Unfortunately.”
An awkward silence ensued. She suspected he was feeling sorry for her for having such a vain, substanceless mother and wished like crazy she hadn’t brought up the topic.
“Have you really started running?”
She just nodded, thankful he’d noticed her discomfort and changed the subject.
“I’m proud of you. You need something to discipline your body, your mind . . . something to make you proud.”
He held her stare. Her heart throbbed in her ears once . . . twice. Suddenly, he was looking out the window and the intimate moment had passed. She inhaled as if all the oxygen had been vacuumed out of the cab for a few seconds and abruptly replaced.
“It does make me proud,” she said, regaining her balance. “So did waitressing. Why were you surprised I worked as one?” she asked as the cab zoomed down Upper Wacker Drive.
“Because you have one of the largest trust funds in Europe, perhaps?”
“They say yours is larger.” When he didn’t respond to her provocation, she sighed. She’d heard from her mother that Lucien hadn’t touched the funds since his father’s incarceration, but obviously it wasn’t a topic he wanted to discuss. She knew he’d compiled his own fortune, so he had less reason than she to worry about trust funds. “I can’t access my trust fund until I’m twenty-five,” she explained lamely.
“What will happen to your newfound work ethic when that happens?” he mused, turning in profile to her, his light eyes reflecting the rays of the sunset off the flowing river. His mildly patronizing manner irritated her. Did he still question her ability . . . her drive?
“I’ll be dutifully employed as a chef. That’s my hope. Would you like to make a bet about my dedication to my career?” she teased lightly.
“What sort of a bet?” he asked. This, too, he considered a joke. Little did he know she had plans for what she wanted to do with her fortune and her life. Good ideas. Worthy aspirations that would pay tribute to a very special man’s life.
She was just worried about having the clarity, the focus required to bring her plans to reality. She’d never done anything so . . . big before. What if, in the end, she really was like Madeline Martin—worthless fluff?
“Twenty thousand euros to me if I’m still gainfully employed as a chef one year after I have access to my trust fund and am leading a meaningful life. Twenty thousand to you if I’ve succumbed to the lures of wealth and am leading a wastrel existence.”
He turned, his gray eyes sparking. Ah, now she’d gotten his attention.
“I’ll take that bet.”
“You’re still doubting my dedication, aren’t you?”
He shrugged, and her gaze flickered with interest to his powerful chest and shoulders contrasting with a narrow waist and flat abdomen.
“I just thought the potential loss of twenty thousand euros might strengthen that dedication of yours . . . just in case you should find it running thin,” he said with a silvery sideways glance.
“I’m going to win,” she challenged, suddenly completely confident now that she’d made the bet with Lucien.
“I’m inclined to believe you.”
“You are?”
“Yes. I took the bet for good measure, though. I know how much you love to prove me wrong. It was a winning bet for me either way.”
She remained silent for the rest of the trip—Lucien’s low, delicious voice echoing in her head—turning over the unsettling fact in her mind that Lucien had known her reaction to taking that bet before she had.
Francesca and Ian entertained on a massive outdoor terrace situated on the roof of the dark brick art deco tower where Ian lived. The view was fabulous—the dark blue expanse of Lake Michigan to the east and the scarlet ball of the sun setting behind the cityscape to the west. Francesca had made the small area near a wet bar and fire pit intimate with paper lanterns that glowed a warm gold as darkness fell. It was a small party, consisting only of Francesca’s friends Davie Feinstein, Justin Maker, and Caden Joyner; Ian’s driver, Jacob; and Francesca’s graduate school adviser, a friendly middle-aged woman named Anara Sloan. Also present was Lin Soong—Ian’s executive assistant—Ian, Francesca, Lucien, Elise, and Mrs. Hanson, Ian’s housekeeper, who kept trying to serve everyone despite Ian’s and Francesca’s frequent reminders that she was a guest. A built-in speaker system played a relaxed jazz mix. After an hour and a half of being there, Elise was feeling very content and mellow, even in the midst of Justin’s and Caden’s increasingly competitive flirtations.
“I hope they’re not driving you crazy,” Francesca apologized in a confidential tone when Justin went to open yet another bottle of champagne. Elise had occasionally noticed Lucien’s gaze on her from across the terrace where he spoke to Jacob, Ian, and Davie. She strongly suspected that he was waiting for her to slip up and say something she shouldn’t with all the alcohol that had been flowing given the celebratory mood of the party.
“Not at all. They’re really nice guys. Davie, Justin, Caden, and you are roommates, right?”
Francesca nodded. “Davie watches over us all,” she said, smiling.
“You’re lucky, to have such good friends,” Elise said feelingly. For a horrible moment, her throat tightened. Too late; Francesca noticed.
“Elise. Are you all right?” Francesca asked, sitting forward slightly, concern etching her features as she stared at Elise’s face.
Elise slid her social mask back into place, only missing a beat. “Yes, of course. I’ll bet you’ll miss them, after you move in with Ian. Your friends, I mean. When will the wedding be?”
“We haven’t decided yet. Probably next spring. I finish my classwork this winter at my program, and then I just have a final project due before I can get my master’s. I’ll likely be finished by the spring. We’re thinking of eloping to Hydra. Ian owns a place there.”
“Oh, that’ll be beautiful.”
“You’ve been to Hydra?” Francesca asked, eyes wide.
“Yes, my parents own a home in Poros. I haven’t been to the islands in ages, though.”
Elise threw a surreptitious glance in Lucien’s direction, but his attention was on Davie as they conversed.
“Ian and Lucien seem like good friends,” she said in a hushed yet off-the-cuff manner.
“They are. Ian is very comfortable with him. He doesn’t worry about his true intentions, like he has to with so many other potential friends he meets,” Francesca said.
Elise nodded in understanding. “It’s hard. A man like Ian has to always wonder about people’s motivations. How long have they known each other?”
Francesca wrinkled her brow. “I’m not sure if Ian has ever said exactly, but I do know they were introduced by a common acquaintance in Paris several years back. Ian took to visiting Lucien in his restaurant whenever he was in Paris, and they discovered they both loved fencing. They started working out together when they got the chance. When Ian decided to open up his headquarters here in Chicago, he asked Lucien to open the restaurant in the tower as a personal favor.”
“Hey, Ian,” Justin called across the terrace, interrupting a conversation Elise found extremely interesting. Ian and Lucien paused in their exchange, turnin
g toward Justin. Night had almost completely fallen. Elise noticed idly that Lucien’s and Ian’s shadows were exactly the same height, their profiles both stark and arresting. “Why don’t you put on some real music? I might want to teach your fiancée how to dance,” Justin called.
Francesca snorted into her champagne.
“I taught you how to dance, you braggart,” she chastised.
“Just keep the gymnastics to a minimum, please. The last time I saw these two dance, Francesca left the floor with tennis elbow,” Ian told Elise drolly as he passed them.
“Tennis elbow?” Elise asked, confused.
“Don’t ask,” Francesca said, laughing.
Elise thought she understood after Ian went behind the bar and changed the music selection to a dance mix. Justin immediately pulled Francesca into an athletic, exuberant dance that did, indeed, look potentially harmful to life and limb. She was enjoying watching the two friends dance beneath the stars when Caden approached her.
“Come on, we can’t let these two steal the show.”
Elise removed her high-heeled sandals and took Caden’s hand. As she walked over to the designated dance floor—an open area behind the outdoor furniture—she noticed Lucien’s eyes gleaming in the firelit darkness as he watched her. A thrill went through her for some reason. He’d been ignoring her all night—well, not ignoring exactly. She’d sensed his attention sporadically, his alert focus as he observed her. Why was he stretching things out now that she no longer officially worked for him and they’d both completed their medical exams? He was driving her mad with his elusiveness.
She definitely had Lucien’s attention now, though, and she gloried in that fact. Caden was a good dancer. She hadn’t danced since her nightclub days and wasn’t really sure if she still had what it took. Turns out, she found her rhythm just fine, if Caden’s admiring grin and increasingly sexy moves in reaction to hers were any indication. She danced with Francesca’s handsome friend, but she danced for Lucien. Even though she refused to look in his direction, she was acutely aware of his focus on her . . . of his increasing tension, like a powerful storm brewing in the distance. She laughed at Caden’s comments and gyrated her hips, giving him a seductive look that turned his eyes hot. She glanced over her shoulder at Lucien and transferred the gaze to him, thrilling to see his stare trained directly on her.
She’d known it would be.
She’d stayed under the radar for the past year or so, but tonight, she felt the wild girl in her rattling at her cage.
When the dance came to an end, she and Caden shared a quick hug, both of them laughing and overheated. They began to walk back over to the seating area to join Jacob, Mrs. Hanson, Lin, and Anara.
“Aren’t you going to dance, Lucien?” Ian asked pointedly as Elise and Caden passed their little circle, which consisted of Ian, Lucien, and Davie. Elise’s cheeks grew even warmer than they had from the dance when she noticed Ian nodded in her direction, an infinitesimal smile on his sculpted lips. She realized Ian was teasing Lucien. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dance before,” Ian prodded.
“And you never will, if I have my way about it,” Lucien said shortly. Caden and Elise drifted over to their group.
“Ah. As good at it as I am, I’ll wager,” Ian said, taking a sip of champagne.
“Lucien is a fabulous dancer.”
Three pairs of eyes flickered over to her when she spoke; one pair flashed a disbelieving glance that seemed to burn right through her. She bit her lip.
Oops.
Ian lowered his glass. “When have you seen Lucien dance?” he asked, amusement tingeing his features. “I thought you two had just met recently.”
“We did,” Lucien said at the same time she did.
“What . . . does Lucien break into dance after last call every night at Fusion? I can’t quite picture it,” Caden asked, joking and doing a couple subdued dance moves, immediately stilling when noticing Lucien’s impassive expression and glacial stare. She got the distinct impression that while easygoing Caden and Justin might have partially broken through Ian’s reserve due to their friendship with his fiancée, Lucien was still considered a bit intimidating. Lucien transferred his gaze back to Elise, his manner seemingly calm, only his slightly flared nostrils betraying the fact that his hands were likely itching to stretch around her neck.
“Oh no, it’s nothing like that. Sharon Aiken and a couple of the waitresses told me that Lucien stepped out for a few at the Fusion Christmas party last year,” Elise sidestepped with a verbal sleight of hand to hide her error.
“I was at that party,” Ian mused. “I don’t recall seeing Lucien dance.”
Lucien quirked a brow up at her calmly, as if to say, I’ll let you handle the lying, since you’re the unquestioned champion.
“You have to wait until the bitter end for the good stuff—or so rumor has it. Thank you,” she told Mrs. Hanson warmly when the elderly lady brought Caden and her their drinks.
“Well, you learn something new every day,” Caden said. Elise took a long drink. She felt a little light-headed, but she didn’t think it was from the champagne. She pointedly ignored Lucien’s stare.
Ian received a call and disappeared on the other side of the wet bar to take it. Lucien walked away to get another drink. Francesca begged off from Justin’s manic dancing and went to follow Ian. Elise glanced over a few minutes later in the midst of conversation with Davie, Caden, and Justin and saw Francesca in Ian’s arms at the far corner of the deck, her face reflecting in the moonlight as she looked up at him and they talked, their manner subdued . . . intense. Francesca nodded, as if in reassurance, and Ian leaned down to kiss her, his head lingering.
As a particularly boisterous song came to an end, she saw Ian walking toward the door to the penthouse while Francesca busied herself refilling guests’ glasses, passing hors d’oeuvres, and chatting with Jacob. Elise watched from the corner of her eye, her curiosity mounting, as Lucien set his glass on the bar. His tall form melted into the shadows in the direction Ian had just taken.
Lucien stood with his back next to the wall, listening intently through the partially opened mahogany door.
“Those are my only two options?” he heard Ian’s deep voice resonate from inside the library office. Lucien knew from his many visits to the penthouse that it was the room Ian used for business while he was working at home. He’d hoped that since Ian made the call inside, he’d use the house phone—Lucien could have more easily eavesdropped on the conversation then. Although Ian had sought out the privacy of his office, however, he still used his cell phone. There was a pause as Ian listened to whoever was on the other end of the phone speaking.
“I understand what you’re saying, but surely there must be more choices than to either try this new medication or insert a feeding tube.” Lucien’s brow furrowed as he moved another inch inside the opened door, straining to hear. Ian sighed. “Fine. Let’s do the medication, if it will make her eat. Yes, I understand,” Ian said, sounding grim. Weary. “If she doesn’t respond to the new medication, a feeding tube will have to be inserted. Damn it, it’s so barbaric,” Lucien thought he heard the other man hiss.
He froze when something drew his attention away from Ian’s tense conversation. Elise stood several feet away from him in the hallway, her brows arched in amazement.
“I can’t be there for a few days yet. Fax the authorization papers to my residence,” Ian was saying. “We both know she hasn’t been reacting well to the sight of me anyway,” he said, his voice sounding hollow . . . barren. “If anything, I’d say I’ve been the trigger to her worst periods recently, Julia.”
Elise opened her mouth. Before she could get off the first word of her demand to know what he was doing, Lucien lunged across the space that separated them. He cupped her face and covered her mouth with his own. He applied pressure, swallowing her tiny squeak of surprise, his entire focus on the man in the office.
Had Ian heard anything? he wondered distractedly.<
br />
Ian resumed his conversation with whoever was on the phone, but suddenly Lucien couldn’t comprehend a word he was saying.
Elise’s body was pressed against his, her breath coming in shallow, rapid gasps next to lips that had meant to silence, but now were molding . . . shaping. He leaned down and fit the tight curves of her hips in his palms, his cock jumping at the perfect fit. His fingers reached, digging into the firm, ripe flesh of her ass. He penetrated her lips with his tongue. Her taste surged into his awareness.
She was clean and delicious, tasting of strawberries and champagne . . . and Elise.
She gave a muffled cry, but this one of arousal, not shock. He knew, because her tongue began to duel with his, hesitantly at first, but as the friction built . . . energetically.
Yes, this was the Elise he knew. So eager, so sweet, so addictive; he was a fool to have ever taken a taste in these circumstances. Because no matter how she clouded his logic when he needed it most, she was a temptation that surpassed all others.
Elise didn’t know what had happened to her. One moment, she’d been dumbfounded by what appeared to be the sight of Lucien eavesdropping—spying—on Ian Noble. Next, she’d been stunned at the feeling of his firm, persuasive lips moving over her own, spinning a spell of silence. Then she’d been luxuriating in his kiss and the sensation of his long, solid male body pressed against her own. She felt his cock harden next to her lower belly as their tongues slid and dueled and tangled together. Desire unfurled in her at the evidence of his stark arousal. She had touched, petted, and sucked her share of cocks, but this ripping, lightning strike of lust she experienced, this was different . . . a sharp, biting, imperative need. She had reached the age of twenty-four and never even glimpsed the edge of desire until Lucien.
She stared up at his shadowed, compelling visage a moment later when he sealed the electric kiss. His body throbbed next to her, hot, male, and primed. He lifted a long finger and pressed it fleetly against his lips before he grabbed her hand. She followed him without question, the luxurious fabrics and carpet of the penthouse muting their hasty tread. She would have followed him to the gallows after the shock of that kiss.