by Sara Fawkes
“What do you want, Lucas?” I asked, suddenly tired of everything.
“What do you want, Ms. Delacourt?” he mused, watching me intently.
“I want to go home.”
“As do I.”
A snide remark was on the tip of my tongue but I bit it back as I saw the rueful look on his face. Ignoring him again, I stared out the window. “You could have at least warned me about what was happening in there.”
He said nothing to that and we lapsed back into silence. I watched the city pass by without really noticing anything until finally, we turned down an alley and into a gated parking garage. Some trepidation crept over me as we pulled through another inner gate and parked beside an elevator.
“Ah, finally.” The light tone was back, and when the door to the limo was opened Lucas scooted sideways and out. “Coming?” he added a moment later, poking his head inside the vehicle.
The urge to stay in my seat came over me again – our last stop had been an unwelcome surprise – but after a moment’s contemplation I walked hunched over through the long cab to the door. Ignoring Lucas’ hand, I pulled myself out into the cool air, but instead of backing away to give me some space, the wretched man moved in close.
Unable to back away, I turned my head, irritated by his proximity, as he ran a finger down my face. His hand came under my chin, tilting my head back around to face him. “Anger, not fear,” he murmured, and then a self-satisfied smile split his face. “I can work with that.”
He stepped away, giving me some space, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The driver closed the door and pulled the car away as I reluctantly followed the dark-haired man toward the elevator. Lucas ran a card through a slot and inputted a code of some kind, and then I heard the contraption start its descent.
“Where are we now?” I asked as he held the door open for me. I kept on the opposite end of the small room, and thankfully he didn’t try to invade my space again. “Some other meeting where I might get shot?”
“Not quite.”
The elevator went up and up, and I wondered how tall the building was. The panel had a single floor button labeled Penthouse, and I realized this elevator was meant only for the top floor. Eventually, the lift slowed, then with a ding the doors opened directly into a bright, thoroughly modern living room.
Hmm. Not quite what I was expecting.
“After you,” Lucas said.
I stepped out of the elevator, gazing around the spacious room. The ceilings were tall, with lights hanging down on thin wires to just above head level. Two skylights let sunlight stream inside, but the room was lined with windows that overlooked the New York skyline. The furniture was a pale cream, almost white, and all leather with a few colored accents. It certainly didn’t look like much of a bachelor pad.
The doors closed behind me, and a faint click came from the panel beside the elevator. A quick glance showed the red light glowing, and I guessed that I was stuck here for the time being. Swallowing back my nervousness, I followed slowly as Lucas moved further into the room, disappearing briefly around a corner. Stepping forward, I looked around and saw that the kitchen was nearly as big as the living room. There was a clink of glass, then he called out, “Wine?”
“Um.” He was acting like I was his houseguest, not a captive, and it threw me off. “Water please.”
“Coming right up.”
While he moved around the kitchen, I shifted further into the living room. The penthouse was modern, with thin steps beside the kitchen, leading up to another floor. I’d spent the last few weeks living inside a huge house in the Hamptons, and while this wasn’t quite as luxurious nor as large, it came very close in feel. “Is this place yours?” I asked.
“One of them, yes.”
I wasn’t sure what I expected from the gunrunner’s home, but it certainly wasn’t this. As far as I could tell, Lucas Hamilton had a sarcastic, colorful personality. I would have thought his home would be just as ostentatious as the man himself. This loft, however, looked more like something out of Ikea than Cirque de Soleil.
“Why am I here?” The question poured out of my mouth, all of my frustration behind the simple phrase.
Lucas handed me a bottle of water. “Because we both have something to prove to my brother.”
“Can I leave?”
“No.”
“Please?”
Lucas sighed. “Would you like a tour of the place?”
“No, I’d like to go home.”
“To that little Jersey City apartment, or back to my brother who rejected you?”
I wish I hadn’t told him that. My words had been an accident, but the damage was done. The reminder still stung and I swallowed, mouth dry. “He didn’t reject me,” I murmured, but there was no conviction behind my lie.
Lucas put a hand on my elbow, guiding me around the leather couch. “Sit,” he said, and sat down on a matching chair across from me. “Whether he rejected you is beside the point. He needs to learn how to appreciate you, and I need your language skills. If one can help the other, where is the problem?”
I stared at him incredulously. “What world do you live in where you can kidnap people and force them to help you?”
“My world.”
I unscrewed the cap off the water, taking an angry swig and wishing it was something stronger. “For someone who says they want to go home,” I said bitterly, “you sure seem intent on barreling down the wrong road.”
Lucas said nothing to that, and when I finally looked up I found he was studying me intently. I looked away, not wishing him to see how badly I wanted to get away. Not just from him, but from everything.
“It’s been a long day,” he said after a moment, standing up. “The first bedroom upstairs on the right is made up for you. Let me know if you need anything.”
I didn’t pause to consider the odd statement but stood up quickly, not wanting to study it too closely. Almost to the stairs, I heard him call my name and turned around. He watched me for a moment before speaking. “You know I never would have given you to Niall.”
I swallowed, wanting only to be gone. “I know,” I murmured softly. Even when I’d been sitting in that chair surrounded by the strange men, I’d known the scarred man had my back. It made no sense trusting him, but I did, at least that tiny bit. Not wanting to talk any longer, I fled up the steps and bolted myself inside the bedroom. The tall bed had been turned down for me, and the shutters to the windows were all closed. Not bothering to really take further notice of my surroundings, I climbed into the bed and pulled the covers around me.
The cocoon of blankets wasn’t the most perfect shield from the scary world I’d been thrust into, but it would have to do for now.
I must have dozed off because when I finally threw off the sheets, I could see that it was already dark outside. The winter sun set early, and it didn’t feel like I’d slept too much, but there were no clocks around to tell me the time. I discovered my room had its own full bathroom, which was a relief, as I didn’t want to go outside that door anytime soon.
I thought I heard voices downstairs but ignored them, surveying what was laid out on the granite countertops. Lucas had prepared for my arrival. The bathroom had hair brushes and curling irons, as well as a fully stocked medicine cabinet. I picked up a brush and, looking close, saw a pale blonde strand curling around the handle. It wasn’t much lighter than mine, and I quickly set the brush down as I realized to whom it had belonged, and whose bedroom I was now occupying.
A quick stroll through the walk-in closet confirmed my suspicions. Gowns, dresses, shirts, pants, all in sizes far too small for my figure, hung in neat rows separated by color and type. I even identified the dress Anya Petrovski had worn when I first met her, the flashy number an eye-catcher despite the low light.
Okay, yeah, this is weird.
There was a knock at the door and I swung around as if caught snooping. Don’t be silly, Lucy, I chastised myself, still closing the closet behind me. He put you
in here. Obviously he expected you to look around. There was something not right about looking through a dead woman’s things, however. As much as I’d dislike Anya in the brief moments I’d known her, all I could see now when I thought of her was the pale, tear-streaked face lying in a pool of blood.
“Knock-knock?” Lucas called, breaking me out of my reverie.
After a moment’s hesitation I unlocked the door and peeked outside. Lucas filled the entryway, leaning casually against the doorframe. In one hand he held a half-empty bottle of wine, in the other two glasses. “May I come in?”
The urge to say “No” was on the tip of my tongue. This is a bad idea, I thought even as I stepped aside, allowing him inside the room. “You here to let me go?” I asked, crossing my arms.
“Nope, just wanted to talk.” He seemed momentarily distracted, looking all around the room as if taking it in. I couldn’t see his face so had no idea what he was thinking, but got a clue when he picked up the picture of Anya I’d been staring at. Sympathy curled inside my heart as I remembered that, right behind the Russian girl’s tearful face, I’d also seen his desperate one. He’d tried to save her, but there hadn’t been any chance, and Anya had died in his arms.
I put my hand out towards his arm as he laid the picture face down, then pulled it back as he turned around. “Thirsty?” he asked, holding out the glasses. When I shook my head, he shrugged. “More for me then.”
“You’re drunk,” I said, giving him a wide berth.
Lucas held up a finger. “Not drunk. Buzzed.” He stumbled, leaning against a nearby dresser. “Okay, maybe a tiny bit drunk.”
The bottle he carried was nearly empty, and I stared at it disapprovingly. “Is this normal for you?”
Lucas shook his head, paused to think about the question, then shook his head again.
I rolled my eyes, the last vestiges of sympathy burning away. “This isn’t winning you any brownie points,” I said, but my traitorous mouth tipped up into a small grin despite myself.
“I’m curious what my brother saw in you.”
My smile vanished, as did any patience for dealing with the man. “You can leave now.” I marched across the room and opened the door. “I’d like…”
I turned to see him standing only inches behind me, and my words stuttered into silence. I hadn’t even heard him move. I pulled back a step and came up flush against the wall between the bathroom and bedroom doors. Lucas pushed forward, far too close for my comfort, and I put a hand against his chest to keep him back.
It’s a curious thing, having someone this attractive standing so close. Even though I didn’t particularly like the man, there was no denying he was handsome, or that his proximity made my stomach do flip-flops. The scar across his nose and cheek only served to accentuate his features. The smell of expensive wine was like faint cologne, not at all the cloying odor I would have expected. Beneath my hand, I felt the play of muscles beneath warm skin and silk, and I swallowed.
His fingers pushed a strand of hair out of my face, running along my brow, and I shivered. I pressed back against the wall and he followed, my hand the only thing keeping him at bay. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, dipping his face down near my temple. Warm breath flowed against my cheek. “And smart. And fearless. Is that what my brother saw?”
Instead of offending me, his words created a jumble in my head. I stared fixedly at his shoulder, refusing to meet his gaze. His other hand came up to caress my shoulder. The touch burned down my arm, leaving a white-hot trail across my skin, and the hand holding him away weakened its hold, allowing him to press closer.
Perhaps if he’d tried to kiss me or touch me in any way that could be deemed improper, I might have found the will to push him off, but he seemed content to stand this close. Certainly that more than anything left me confused about how to respond. When the back of his hand slid down my neck and across one shoulder, I trembled, my belly clenching.
Remember Anya, part of me whispered. At that moment however, it was difficult to hold my thoughts together enough to remember my own name, let alone the bedroom’s previous occupant. I leaned my head back against the wall as another hand glide across my collarbone, the touch feather light. My eyes fluttered shut, giving in to the fragile grace of skin on skin.
Until I met Jeremiah, I hadn’t realized how desperately I craved contact. My family was gone; I was alone in the world. For three years, I’d pushed aside all else, striving to preserve their legacy to me, until I’d lost my family home to the creditors. After that, my existence was a struggle to survive, to stay one step ahead of homelessness. Jeremiah Hamilton had plucked me from that reality, his touch making me feel more alive than I had in years. Now he was gone, but that burning desire, the need for human contact, remained strong in me, a live wire I couldn’t yet cap.
Lucas leaned his forehead against mine, and as I opened my eyes I saw full lips mere inches from mine. Looking up into blue-green eyes with dark lashes rimming and accentuating the color, I felt my insides melt. “So beautiful,” he murmured again, tilting his head to look at me. Then he leaned forward, warm lips pressing against mine.
There was no demand to the kiss, so for a moment I did nothing. He sucked on my lower lip, grazing the soft flesh with his teeth. I didn’t kiss him back, my body stiff with indecision, but Lucas didn’t seem to mind. When I felt the first dart of his tongue however, my lips parted of their own accord, instinctively allowing him access. My hand on his torso, which had kept him at bay before, gripped tightly at the dark silk, pulling him against my body.
If I thought the soft seduction was all Lucas had, his sudden hunger surprised me. Pressing me hard against the wall, his mouth burned across my lips, and I gave a small sigh. A hand slid around the small of my back, pulling me against his body as the kiss deepened, his tongue teasing me, encouraging me to be a bit bolder. It had the desired effect. I slid my arms around his neck, arching up to him, opening my mouth and allowing him access while at the same time meeting his own ardent advances. Hands curling through his longer hair, I moaned into his mouth, fingers dancing down along his ears and across the rough stubble on his jaw.
“God, you’re hot,” he murmured against my lips, hands slipping beneath the waistline of my pants to grip my hips. I reveled in his touch, wanting everything suddenly, wanting…
Jeremiah.
Guilt stabbed me through the heart, the effect like a bucket of ice water over me. I broke off the kiss with a gasp. Lucas didn’t notice the change, his lips falling to nibble tempting patterns on my neck, and an answering fire rose within my belly. My body seemed content to continue what was happening now, while my brain pleaded with me to end this. I rolled my head sideways, and caught the image of the blonde Russian woman staring at me from the framed picture. “Is this what you did with Anya?”
The reaction to my question was immediate. Lucas stopped what he was doing, then stumbled back, staring down at me for a moment. The swipe of cold air that swept across me in his absence made me shiver, and suddenly tears threatened to overwhelm me. His eyes followed mine down to the picture beside us, and emotion twisted his face. “Yes,” Lucas muttered, staring blankly down at me. “This is exactly what I did.”
He stumbled sideways, wrenching the door open beside us, then disappeared around the frame. I slammed the door behind him, bolting it shut, and dove back into the bed. My heart hurt badly, and tears streamed down my face as I tried to drown out the world around me. Jeremiah, I thought again, imagining the man’s face, his thick arms around me. I should have given you a chance to explain… Explain what though? I’d whispered my love in a moment of candor, and he’d run from the house as if chased by bees.
Muffled thumps and crashes came from downstairs, but I didn’t pay attention, too caught up in my own misery. How did this happen to me? I wondered, the events of the day racing through my mind.
What madness have I gotten myself into?
CHAPTER 2
A high pitch shrieking jolted
me from a fitful slumber.
Jolted awake, I scrabbled at my sheets, groping for the edge of the bed. The ground was further away than I thought, and I stumbled but managed to stay upright as I ran to the door. Ripping it open, I immediately smelled smoke, and raced toward the stairs, not knowing what to expect.
Lucas peered up at me from the kitchen. Sunglasses covered his eyes, but he gave me a bright smile. “Good morning, sunshine. I’m making breakfast. Care for some?” He had a fork in one hand and an unplugged toaster under his other arm, likely the reason for the fire alarm. Setting the chrome appliance back onto the counter, he moved toward the refrigerator. “How about eggs?”
I watched him, still momentarily stunned by my impromptu alarm clock. He bustled around the large kitchen, whistling a bright tune as he pulled the eggs out of the fridge. Shaking my head, my gaze travelled to the living room and my eyes widened in shock. “What happened?” I exclaimed, moving down the stairs slowly.
“Oh, this? I redecorated.”
The room looked as though a tornado had come through sometime during the night. One chair was lying on its side, several paintings had been dislodged from the wall, and the wood coffee table had been flipped onto its top. Nothing looked broken as far as I could tell. It was a mess, but fixable. Eying it dubiously, I kept my mouth shut and avoided the room as I tugged on one of the kitchen stools.
Sitting at the bar and keeping the granite surface between me and my far too chipper captor, I pulled the toaster toward me and peered inside. Frowning, I grabbed the fork and fished out two of the blackest lumps of toast I’d ever seen. “You don’t cook much, do you?” I said drolly, pushing the lumps toward him.
“Don’t be silly.” Lucas set the frying pan atop the stove, turning the gas burner on high, then began cracking eggs. “I’ve seen all the shows. It isn’t that hard.”
