by Arlene James
His hands rose to her hair, plucking and tugging at pins and clips until his fingers could slide against her scalp, tilting her head just so in order to accommodate the deeper plunge of his tongue, and all the while, she clutched at him, bringing her elbows close to her body in order to bring her body harder against his. She felt the bulge of his desire against her, every heavenly inch of it, and her body wept for more.
Increasingly frantic, she forgot to be frightened, forgot everything but the joy of being filled by him, connected, one. She tried to wrap her arms around his neck, but his hands got in the way. He dropped them to her waist, pulling her tighter as he tilted his hips against her. Frustration howled. She went up on tiptoe, twined her leg about his, the slit in her dress pulling wide, and found a sweet pressure that only made her want more.
He rocked his hips, rubbing against her, his hands cupping her bottom now and holding her in place as his mouth plundered hers with tongue and teeth and lips. Gripping his hair, she mindlessly sought relief by grinding against him everywhere she could manage. A spasm of sensation rippled upward, and her body exulted, certain now that it was going to get where and what it wanted. Nirvana beckoned. Ecstasy hovered. His hand slid between them, cupped her breast, and it was all she could do not to melt and ruin that delightful friction. Then his hand moved awkwardly to the center of her chest and pushed just hard enough to break the kiss.
She opened her eyes—When had she closed them?—and felt the room spin. Blinking, she tried to adjust, confused by that hand on her chest holding her away from him and the one on her bottom locking her close. Then he rasped, “Where is your bedroom?”
She twisted toward the stairs, and as they wavered into focus, she suddenly realized what she was doing. So do it, she told herself. You’ve done it before. But this time it would be different. If she took him to her bed like this, she would never again own herself, never again have her own life to live in her own way. There were no finite boundaries this time, no escape clauses, no easy exits. This time she would be trapped as surely as ever Kenneth had trapped her.
With a cry, she wrenched free of him, stumbling in her bare feet across the carpet. The skirt of her beloved sapphire dress ripped above the slit almost to the waist, shredding the delicate fabric.
He stretched out a hand to her, concern knitting his brow. “Avis?”
She drew back, chest heaving. “No!”
He tilted his head, looking like a curious puppy, charmingly confused. His gaze slid to the tear in her dress. “I’ll buy you another,” he said soothingly.
She recoiled. He might as well have said that he’d lock her in a closet and throw away the key. “I-I want you to leave.”
He chuckled. “Darling, I know the difference between hello and good-bye. That was a welcome kiss.”
The color drained from her face. “Get out of my house!”
Lucien stared. Then he shook his head, his face hardening into that sculpted mask again. “You try my patience.” He shoved both hands through his hair, which she had disarranged with hers. “You tell me, ‘Go!’ But your body pleads, ‘Stay!’ I want to know what your heart says. Tell me that, if you can!”
Anger unlike anything she had felt before, more intense than any she had ever allowed herself, boiled up into her throat. “How dare you? How dare you! Do you think I’m stupid enough to listen to my heart? I’m not twenty years old anymore! I’m not a thing you can own! I’m not just some pretty convenience you can pick up on a whim. I’m a human being. I have my own life, my own thoughts, my own goals! I won’t let you put me back into a box of obligation and…” She put her hand over her mouth, aware that she was raving. He stared at her in stunned silence until she twisted away in shame. “Please,” she whispered, “just go.”
For a long, torturous moment, nothing. Then he cleared his throat. “All right.”
She looked at him with surprised hope. A muscle twitched in the hollow of his jaw. His fisted hands relaxed. He smoothed his tie, rotating his shoulders.
“I’ll go,” he said calmly, “for now. But I’ll be back in a week. One week.”
Her heart thudded. “D-don’t.”
He suddenly pointed a finger at her. “We are in business together. I expect the last parcel to be purchased and the prospectus brought up to speed by the time I get back here.”
She blinked. “You’re staying with the TexBank deal?”
“I’m not stupid, Avis,” he said imperiously. “It’s a good project. If it wasn’t, I’d have found another way.”
“Another way?” she echoed uncertainly.
He shrugged that aside as inconsequential. “Corydon funds will go into a special account for the time being. Update the prospectus. Buy the parcel. Within the week.”
She gulped. “The parcel. Y-you mean the lot next to the bank building.”
“With the restaurant,” he confirmed, tugging at his cuffs. “You might consider offering them space inside the mall as an incentive.”
She nodded and mumbled, “That might work to our advantage, but it also means revealing our plans. What about keeping things quiet?”
He dismissed that with an impatient wave of one hand. “We don’t want things quiet. We want all the buzz we can generate.”
“But we haven’t even purchased the bank tower yet.”
“Oh, but we have.”
She felt a chill rush over her. “You mean that you have.” He just looked at her. “My God! And Pete doesn’t have a clue.”
Lucien grimaced. “I’m not cutting out anyone. The thing needed to be done quickly to get the best price. You’ll have control of the second parcel, and once the word is out on the streets, we’ll have tenants lining up outside our door, but we have to act now.” He pointed his finger at her again. “You have to act now. Understand?”
She understood, all right. She understood that Pete’s dreams and plans rode completely on her shoulders. Well, Pete was going to get his TexBank deal. All she was going to get out of it was a lousy week’s reprieve. So be it. In a week, Lucien Tyrone was going to find a changed woman on his hands, a woman in control, in command of her emotions and impulses. She nodded and lifted her chin. “One week,” she confirmed reluctantly.
Lucien smiled. Something soft and dangerous glittered in his dark eyes. He was the predator again, patiently stalking his prey. Then he spun on his heel and strode into the foyer. She listened to his footsteps as he crossed the floor. The door opened and closed. Footsteps pattered and shushed on concrete. A car engine rumbled. Another door thumped mutedly. Tires crunched on the drive. Then only the rumble remained, fading gradually into silence.
She sank down onto the floor, gasping with relief. And worry.
“The man is wealthy beyond belief,” Pete said, bending over the paper he’d just placed on her desk blotter. “A billionaire, right up there with Gates and Onassis! He has a reputation for being ruthless in business, but his judgment is renowned. One word from him and we’re made, kiddo.”
Avis shook her head. She’d known that he was wealthy, of course, but she’d never imagined that he could be one of the world’s richest men! What on earth did a man like that want with her? Pete mistook her reaction for disbelief.
“I’m telling you, Avis, the man is Midas.” He perched on the edge of her desk. “According to my sources, his father left him well off, but Luc has more than quadrupled his inheritance since then. His personal life is pretty much a mystery since his wife died. Apparently he likes to keep a low profile, but they say that, all things considered, he’s real down to earth.”
Avis snorted at that, but then she had to rethink. He’d flown commercial, after all, and while his London townhouse was lovely and opulent, it wasn’t a mansion set in the middle of a hundred acres and sealed off by an impregnable wall. She bit her lip, more confused than ever. Had he really implied that he was in love with her? Or was that just something he used to get his way? She shivered, wondering which conclusion would be worse. “I don’t like thi
s.”
Pete threw up his arms. “What’s not to like? Lucien Tyrone has put us on the map, sweetheart. TexBank is going to succeed like magic!”
“But even at that it’s small potatoes to a man like him,” she argued.
“So? A good deal is still a good deal. Maybe he’s looking for a toehold in the DFW market and the fact that he met you in England tipped the scales in our favor. Did he really go sightseeing with you in London?”
She nodded distractedly. “Umm-hmm.”
“There, see! Down to earth, just like I said. By the way, Cabot has increased his investment by sixty percent.”
Avis’s mouth fell open. Marshal Cabot was known for his conservative investment practices. “That means he’s more than doubled his bank’s investment in the project!”
“Actually,” Pete informed her with a smirk, “he matched the bank’s investment with one of his own and then went ten percent better.”
“Good grief! If this keeps up we can do it without Lucien!” she exclaimed hopefully. Then she remembered that Lucien actually owned the property now, a fact Pete still did not know.
Pete hopped onto his feet, chortling good-naturedly. “No way, sister. Without Lucien Tyrone, all we’d have from Cabot and everyone else is an iffy promise. I’m telling you, Avis, the day you bumped into the Greek Tycoon was the luckiest day of your life—and mine, too.” With that he dropped a kiss on her cheek and headed for the door.
Avis felt a jolt of shock. “The Greek Tycoon,” she muttered resentfully.
“That’s what they call him on Wall Street,” Pete called gaily as he swept through the door.
Avis sat stunned. Everyone knew about the Greek Tycoon. He was rumored to be one of the most ruthless corporate raiders in history. Hadn’t she suspected from the beginning that Luc was involved in that sort of thing? He’d thrown her off with a dose of casual, charming honesty. Except that he hadn’t said who he really was. Okay, so he hadn’t exactly lied, either. So what?
Avis put a hand to her head. The world had turned upside down. Pete seemed distant, cheery but distant—and resigned, as if he’d yielded the field where she was concerned. She felt trapped, and she’d sworn to herself that she would never feel this way again. It wasn’t scandal or infirmity and illness that held her this time. Oh, no. It was the hopes and purposes of two very different men. She couldn’t help resenting both of them.
The transaction went like clockwork. The contracts between C&L and Corydon were not even signed yet, but the word was out on the street that Lucien Tyrone was in on the TexBank deal, and that was good enough. The owners of the BBQ joint that occupied the lot next to the damaged TexBank building didn’t even know who Lucien Tyrone was, but they were anxious to do business with the infamous Greek Tycoon. Avis dutifully pointed out that they were selling to C&L I&D, but their accountant had told them that the Greek-American billionaire was involved, and that seemed to override any other details. It also doubled the price of the property, even with the incentive of mall space for a carry-out business thrown in.
Avis inked the deal anyway, thinking that if it sank the project, that might be for the best, after all. The worst that could happen was that Luc would have to buy out C&I’s interest to make the deal work the way he wanted it to. Or he could just scuttle the whole project. But no, he was too good a businessman for that. Still, she didn’t trust Lucien Tyrone, and she was dismayed that Pete did. When he came waltzing into her office with the contracts the very day after they’d purchased the restaurant lot, two attorneys and Candy in tow, she fought to keep her bitterness from showing.
“Put your pretty little name on the dotted line, darlin’, and let’s celebrate!” Pete crowed. Candy carried a bottle of champagne by the neck and a stack of plastic tumblers.
Avis stared at the sheaf of papers that Pete plunked down in front of her, recognizing the names of their company and Corydon, Inc. She darted a glance at their attorney, a tall, muscular young man with the unfortunate name of Hanson Biggot and more hair sticking out of his ears than on the top of his head. Corydon’s rep was an urbane, middle-aged gentleman of impeccable stature and old money sensibility by the name of Robert Sanford.
“Are you sure this is wise?” she asked Pete, but it was Biggot who answered her.
“It’s a fair contract, Ms. Lorimer. I went over it with a fine-tooth comb.”
“I’m sure you did, Mr., er, but, ah…” She glanced at Pete, who slid his hands into his pockets and shrugged.
“But Corydon owns the TexBank building,” Pete said affably. “It was a good move on Tyrone’s part. Now we’re buying in with the second parcel.”
“We’re not in control, Pete.”
“We never were. It’s true that I envisioned a deal with a lot of little partners that would give us control, but we spun our wheels for two years with that plan. The point is, it’s still our plan, and we’re going to make so much off this that next time we’ll be driving the bus.”
Sanford chuckled and placed his briefcase on her desk. “Well put.”
Pete rocked back on his heels. “I had the sweet job of turning down money this morning. Can you get over that? Winston Bank wants a piece of us now, and they’ve turned down every proposal I’ve ever put to them. Serves ‘em right, I say.” He plucked a pen from his shirt pocket and offered it to her, adding, “You first, partner. If it weren’t for you, old Tyrone would never have looked our way.”
“Is that so?” Sanford mused.
Avis gingerly took the pen as Biggot came to stand beside her and flipped the pages to the right place. Lucien’s signature and one other were already on the paper. She took a deep breath.
“Sure is,” Pete answered Sanford proudly. “Avis met Tyrone in London months ago.”
For Pete, she told herself, putting aside her resentment, and began writing.
“Must’ve made some impression,” Candy said, popping the cork on the champagne bottle. Avis flinched, flubbing her signature.
“Well, she would, wouldn’t she?” Pete said, making Avis cringe. “Lucien Tyrone. I knew there was a reason she was immune to my good looks,” he teased, and Avis could gladly have slunk under the desk to hide.
“Bet old Tyrone didn’t know what hit him,” Biggot put in. “Texas women are just better looking than average, don’t you think?” Candy beamed while Avis felt her face heat with color.
“Why, thank you, Mr. Biggot,” the secretary said with a wide grin.
Avis scribbled her name again as the young attorney indicated and shoved away the papers. Candy was busy pouring champagne and making a mess of everything. She sat a glass in front of Avis and shoved another at Sanford who demurred and came away with the glass in hand anyway. Biggot accepted his eagerly while Pete signed his own name with bold slashes of the pen. Sanford divested himself of the bubbly in order to sign as witness to the event, followed by Biggot, who managed one-handed. Then Candy proposed a toast.
“Here’s to success, y’all, and a big fat raise in my paycheck.”
Everyone laughed but Avis, who barely managed a sip while the others were chugging theirs and talking. Sanford emptied his glass but refused another. Candy had already refilled her own and sloshed golden liquid on Avis’s desk blotter while refilling Biggot’s. Pete, meanwhile, smiled at his empty tumbler and cast a warm look on Avis.
“We’re on our way, kid.”
She couldn’t even muster a smile for him, but she didn’t have to. Everyone else was smiling and laughing and chatting as if it was a real party. Why did she feel that the only place she was on her way to was the end of the world?
The end of the world arrived at 11:45 p.m. The end of the world apparently involved luggage. Lucien shoved a heavy tanned leather garment bag into the foyer and dropped a matching briefcase on top of it. “I usually travel light.”
“You never heard of wheels?”
He shrugged, and she rolled her eyes. Of course he hadn’t bothered to buy wheeled luggage. Why should he when someone
else always carried it for him? She stepped around the bags in question to peer out the door for whoever had carried them this far. He could just carry them right back again to wherever they came from. Except that he was nonexistent. She caught the glow of red taillights as a car braked before turning right at the corner. Lucien had had himself dropped off at her house. With his luggage!
She slammed the door. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“It’s reciprocity,” he said with a cheeky grin. “You stayed with me in England.”
“At your invitation!”
“Exactly.”
She folded her arms. “You can’t stay here.”
“I have to stay somewhere until I can set up a place of my own.”
“Does the word hotel mean anything to you?”
“I hate hotels.”
“Oh, well.”
“Why do you think I own so many homes?”
“Because you can?”
“Because I hate hotels. Besides, there isn’t a hotel in Fort Worth where I can stay.”
“Don’t give me that.”
“I tried,” he insisted. “I’ve just come from a hotel.”
“Not up to your standards?” She could barely keep the sneer out of her voice.
“The accommodations were acceptable,” he said. “The security was not.”
“Security? Like this place is Fort Knox.”
“I had sixteen voice mails and a dozen handwritten notes waiting for me when I checked in. The staff there had never heard of the concept of discretion. It was blazoned across the marquee out front. Welcome, Mr. Tyrone!” He made a gesture with one hand and rattled off something in Greek. “The lobby would have been packed with gawkers by morning.”
She had to admit that he had a point. They’d been fielding calls at their office for two days, reporters wanting interviews with the Greek Tycoon, bankers begging for introductions, women asking where he was going to be for lunch. But none of that mattered. He simply could not stay here. “You brought it on yourself. There are other hotels, more discreet ones, I’m sure.”