Falling In

by Lydia Michaels

  When her gaze traveled back up to her face, she deflated. Her flesh-colored lips were lost on her plain skin. Her nose was small and unremarkable. Her eyes had always been her most unique quality. They were more silver than blue and had a way of getting lost against the whites of her eyes. Dark sapphire rims centered them and kept her appearance on the right side of that fine line between captivating and bizarre. Her lashes were long, but not as thick as Lucian’s.

  Her fingers gently nudged the loose skin beneath her eyes. It was deep purple and slightly bruised. She looked exhausted. Her cheeks were a little gaunt and she suddenly could see the slight resemblance between herself and Pearl. Scout averted her gaze, not wanting to look anymore. How had she gone from seeing someone beautiful moments ago, to hating the ugly person before her now?

  There was a loud knock.

  “Evelyn? What’s taking so long?” Lucian’s deep voice startled her.

  She jumped. “J-Just a minute.”

  Her hands quickly grabbed the first item she found and yanked it off the hanger. It was a dress, or something . . . She slipped it over her head and tugged the material around her behind. Perhaps it was a handkerchief. Yanking up the top, it covered her breasts, but she frowned when half of her curves were still hanging out.

  Lucian knocked again. “Evelyn.”

  She snapped her lips and scowled at the door. “I said I need a minute. It’s too small.”

  The door suddenly opened and she backed up. Her arms covered the ridiculously small scrap of fabric attempting to be clothing as Lucian stepped in. The mirrored walls created a hundred Lucians. Too many Lucians.

  “What’re you doing? You can’t come in here!”

  He tilted his head and rolled his eyes, telling her exactly how ludicrous he found her statement. “Let me see.”

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t fit. I look ridiculous.” Her protests only made him step into her personal space and force her arms to her side. He stilled.

  “See . . .” she mumbled.

  He stepped back, his eyes growing even darker. His gaze wandered over her like fingers. His Adam’s apple bobbed under the stubble covering his throat as he swallowed. “You look . . .” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “I like it.”

  “Lucian . . . It doesn’t fit.”

  “We’ll take it. I want one in every color.”

  Her palms slapped into her thighs. “It doesn’t even make sense. There’re no pockets to hold my stuff. It’s November. I’ll freeze.”

  “Then you’ll wear it in spring.”

  “I won’t be here in spring.”

  His head jerked and his eyes narrowed. They stared at each other for a long moment, each seemingly challenging the other, but about what she wasn’t sure.

  “Every color, Evelyn. Try on the next outfit.” He turned and left the genie bottle, taking all ninety-nine other Lucians with him.

  Scout groaned. Would she ever get her way again?

  Chapter 9

  Glass Slippers and Queens

  Scout’s weight shifted from foot to foot as she waited for Lucian beside the counter of the boutique. A man in a Patras blazer arrived and quickly carried boxes out to a delivery truck intended for the hotel. It was all too much.

  Lucian had spent enough money in the past few hours that could probably feed the shelter’s homeless for a year. Scout understood he was filthy rich, but seeing him in action was something altogether different. This was beyond rich. This was pure wealth.

  Lucian had requested she wear one of the more casual outfits home. It was a pair of skintight midnight blue jeans and a loose gossamer blouse that hung open at the collar and gathered around her waist with a delicate little beaded belt. On her feet she wore very pointy high-heeled shoes that were impossible to walk in. They reminded her more of weapons than footwear.

  Scout had to turn away when Lucian signed the receipt. She didn’t want to see such excess wasted on her. She’d sell it all, she vowed. Sell it and buy enough food to feed everyone at the tracks for months.

  Thinking of the tracks made her think of Pearl. She hoped her mother was better today than she’d been the day before. Had she found the food she left her?

  A warm wool camel-colored trench coat was draped over her shoulders. Lucian took her arm and led her back to the limo. With tiny ticking feet like a bird, she tiptoed beside him in the silly shoes. Stepping close to the limo, she stilled with the oddest sense she was forgetting something.

  “My bag!”

  “It’s in the limo,” Lucian said, directing her there as well.

  Scout dug her sharp heels into the pavement. “My clothes!”

  “You just got an entirely new wardrobe, Evelyn. Let the other pieces go to Goodwill.”

  She was Goodwill!

  Yanking her elbow out of his grip, he scowled at her. “That’s my stuff, Lucian. I’m not leaving it.”

  Scout turned and trotted stupidly back into the boutique. Fucking asinine shoes. How was anyone supposed to get anywhere quick in these? She was just in time. Sonia, the bitch, had her Botox lip curled as she dangled Scout’s belongings, pinched between two fake nails, over the wastebasket.

  “Hey!” Scout snapped and click clacked over to her with as much dignity as she could manage. Yanking her stuff out of the woman’s manicured hand, she quickly felt for her money belt and let out a deep breath when she found it still wedged in the leg of her pants.

  “This is my stuff!”

  Sonia gasped, and she had to give her credit. She at least had the good sense to look frightened. Scout turned in a huff and stilled when she spotted Lucian standing by the door. Great. His arms crossed over his chest as he leaned carelessly against the wall, taking in the scene. He was laughing at her, the bastard.

  Scout rolled her eyes and trot-marched back to the limo. When he climbed inside the vehicle she scowled at him. He’d schooled his expression, but not very well.

  His eyes still creased with laughter. “Remind me not to piss you off or take your stuff, Ms. Keats. I think Sonia just wet herself.”

  Scout threw her shoe at him. He was lucky it was her old one and not the dagger on her foot. He caught it with a speed and precision that seemed impossible.

  Glancing at the offensive shoe, he raised a brow and turned his gaze on her, dark promise of retaliation showed in his onyx stare. He chuckled and put the shoe aside. “Oh, Ms. Keats, I do believe you’re going to be a handful I will enjoy handling.”

  A hint of the sexual predator he was hiding beneath that power suit announced itself and her body responded with a jolt of nerves. The car was too small for all the tension suddenly filling it, the tension she could barely breathe through, yet he seemed to be getting a thrill from. She looked out the window and hid her reaction with her best impression of indifference when she was anything but.

  ***

  When they returned to the hotel it was after nine o’clock. They rode the elevator to the top floor and Lucian used his key to let them in.

  “I thought we’d go out for dinner, but I know you’re tired. How do you feel about ordering in?”

  She thought about her promise to Dr. Sheffield and smiled. Perhaps this man had the ability to end her days of roping off waistbands and bulky, ill-fitting clothing. For the first time in her life, she might actually get to a place where she was comfortable with her weight, gain some curves and not feel her bones protruding beneath her flesh. “Okay.”

  “I’m going to change out of this suit. I’ll call down and have them bring up something, and then I’m going to give you your first lesson in chess. Any special requests?”

  He slid off his shoes.

  “Um, explain it slow and don’t get upset when I ask you to repeat yourself?”

  He paused. “What?”

  Her head shook. “What are you asking me, Lucian?”

 
He laughed and came over to her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and smiled. “Have I told you how much I enjoy hearing you use my name?” He pinched her chin. “Dinner. I was asking if you had any special requests for dinner.”

  “Oh.” her cheeks heated. “Whatever you choose is fine.”

  He tilted his head, his eyes moving over her curiously. “What’s your favorite food, Evelyn?”

  She shrugged. She didn’t have a favorite food. Food to her wasn’t what it was to Lucian. To rich people it was a ritual, an experience, a display of beauty. To her it was what filled her belly at night and fought off her hunger pangs for a time.

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Well, what do you like?”

  He seemed to really want to know what kind of food she enjoyed. She thought about Raphael. “Um, there’re these little melon things. They make them downstairs. Their wrapped in this fancy kind of meat.”

  He grinned. “Prosciutto.” The ethnic word rolled off his tongue almost sensually.

  Her fingers snapped. “That’s it!”

  “Why don’t you pour us some drinks and meet me in the sitting area. The chessboard’s in the case along the wall.”

  Scout did as he asked. She wasn’t sure what Lucian usually drank, but there was some stuff in a crystal decanter so she poured him a tall glass of that with some ice. Taking a bottle of water from the fridge, she poured it into a glass for herself.

  The chessboard was housed in a glass hutch. It was heavy and very old and looked to be made of marble. She told herself it was marble because she didn’t want to consider that the antique game might actually be made of ivory and some poor elephant might’ve died so that rich people could play chess. Babar was one of her favorite stories that Parker had used to teach her small words.

  Carefully placing the heavy game on the table, Scout sat and sipped her water. Lucian spoke on the phone with the front desk and she waited patiently.

  She liked the colors Lucian used in his decorating. They were warm and cozy. He looked good against them.

  When Lucian emerged from the master bedroom all thoughts scattered from her head. He wore loose-fitting silk pants and no shirt. Muscles existed on him where she didn’t even know there were muscles. She had never seen a real person with a body like his. The image appealed to her in a fundamental way. He looked like the models she saw in magazines and on billboards. Her mouth was suddenly very, very dry. She gulped her water.

  “Dinner should be here shortly.”

  Lucian sat next to her on the sofa and pulled the heavy marble chess board onto the cushion between them. The action caused his arms to bunch and flex. His tanned torso twisted. His nipples were very dark and flat.

  Scout needed a distraction. Plucking her shoe off her foot, she asked, “Do you mind if I take off my shoes?”

  “Not at all, make yourself comfortable, but you may want to hear my rules first.”

  She stilled, shoe hovering in her hand just above the floor. “Rules?”

  He expertly placed the various shaped pieces on different squares. “I find people learn fastest when under a bit of pressure. I expect you to give me a decent challenge. Playing chess is one of my favorite pastimes and I’m in need of a good opponent. We’ll be playing strip chess.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. For every piece I take of yours, you remove an item of clothing. The same goes for me when you get my pieces.”

  “But you’re only wearing pants!”

  “Very good, Evelyn. It takes a keen sense of observation to excel at chess.” His sarcasm was playful, but she was too afraid of what he was suggesting to laugh.

  There was a knock at the door. Lucian stood to answer it. She kept her gaze averted as the men delivered the food.

  “The coffee table’s fine, gentlemen.”

  Dishes were spread across the low table beside them and they were soon alone again. Lucian removed the covers and her stomach pinched with excitement. She never wanted to forget how wonderfully he fed her during their time together. There was that melon wrapped in prosciutto, a tray of various cheeses and grapes, bread topped with salmon, some sort of cream, and dill, salad, and mini crab cakes.

  “That’s a lot of food,” she said, as he passed her a linen napkin.

  “Not really. It’s all appetizers. I figured we’d pick.”

  “Pick?”

  “Yeah, graze while we play.”

  Scout took a grape off the cheese tray and popped it in her mouth. The splendid juice burst over her tongue, tart and sweet. Lucian bit into a crab cake, then placed it aside.

  “Okay, Ms. Keats, the objective is to get a checkmate, in other words, threaten my king with an inescapable capture. Each piece moves in a unique way. This is the king. He can move any way he wants, but only one block at a time.”

  “Figures,” she mumbled and he arched a brow.

  He purposefully cleared his throat. “This is the queen. She’s the most powerful piece. She can move any direction and as many blocks as she chooses. Her duty’s to protect the king. She must never stray too far and she’ll sacrifice herself if it saves her king.”

  Scout cocked her head and shifted her legs beneath her, careful not to jostle the board. “I was impressed until the end of that spiel. Some protector he is. Okay, can we start the game?”

  He tsked. “Evelyn, first, chess is not a game, it’s a sport. Second, it requires a great deal of patience. When done right, it can be a beautiful thing, lyrical even. It can be a great show of aggression and surrender that’s charged with deep emotion. You must pay attention. It’s quite rare for a male to be topped by a female. No, don’t look at me like that. I’m only telling you the truth. Some say it has to do with the basic human nature of each sex. Females are naturally martyrs in many aggressive situations, while men are natural aggressors. And as far as the purposes of the king and queen, make no mistake, the queen’s the fiercest aggressor on the board. She holds more power than any other piece and is, without a doubt, the king’s greatest asset. Because she’s so valued, she’s also coveted. She can lure any piece into the king’s territory.”

  His fingers swirled over the round tip of the queen as he talked, and she had a feeling he was explaining more than the rules of chess. She gazed at the board, seeing the resemblance between royal order and the pieces.

  “Are these the guards?” she asked, motioning toward a horse-shaped piece.

  “They’re the knights. Their duty’s to the queen, but also the king. You must always be aware of your king. As the players move, so does he until one opponent finally outmaneuvers the other. Then . . . checkmate.”

  “It’s a big game of chase.”

  “Yes, but it isn’t fun to simply chase one player across the board. Chess is about taunting your opponent, seducing them out of their comfort zone.”

  She swallowed. The way he explained the rules in that deep gravelly whisper, it somehow made her very aware of her being female and him being male.

  “You’ll notice, Evelyn, that I prefer to keep my queen close to the king. I like her innocently uninvolved with the politics and safely tucked away in my back row, always there for me when I need her.”

  Pressure built in weird places she wasn’t used to noticing—until meeting Lucian, that is—and she squirmed. “You explain it like a war game, but describe it like a relationship.”

  “How much difference is there really, in love and war? Both require a great deal of passion and plotting. Chess is a display of training that ends in social intercourse. Chess is a competition that’s never lost, but the triumph of one competitor’s ego, the declaration of who is truly the master.”

  “What’s this one?”

  “These are your bishops. Quite powerful. They can move diagonally any distance. The X the bishops draw are said to represent Saint Andrew’s cross. Are you familia
r with that? No? We’ll save that for another time, perhaps.”

  He replaced the bishop and picked up the piece that resembled a castle. “This is the rook. He’s the voyeur. His tower’s tall so that he can watch over the game. He sees all, but rarely interferes. His movement is limited to the linear advances that are only ever in cooperation with the more powerful players of the game.”

  He replaced the rook and waved his hand over the lined up small pieces in the front. “These are your pawns. They’re your front line, your servants, and essentially, the foundation of your power. They’re here to serve and sacrifice for their king and queen, but we must never undervalue their importance. Shall we play?”

  Crap. She was so going to end up naked. “I suppose.”

  “Good. You may make the first move.”

  Her lips twisted and she frowned over the boards. Everything was packed in tight like little sardine soldiers. Shrugging, she slid a pawn two spaces forward.

  Lucian quickly made a move, and she had the feeling his was a lot more thought-out than hers. Scout moved another pawn. Lucian did the same. This continued for some time until the other pieces seemed a bit less confined.

  She found herself relaxing into the flow of the game and growing less intimidated. Chess wasn’t that hard.

  Suddenly, Lucian jumped a number of pieces with his knight and took her pawn. “Hey!”

  “It was bound to happen, Evelyn. You can’t expect to challenge me without retaliation. You owe me an item of clothing.”

  She huffed and removed her shoe. “They were hurting me anyway,” she said snidely and moved her knight, mimicking his strategy.

  His bishop slid out of nowhere and captured her knight.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  She bolstered her confidence with a lot of mental smack talk, but knew she was losing her shirt. Literally. It took courage she wasn’t sure she possessed to actually go through with this and not forfeit. Her pride told her not to be a chicken, but her conscience told her she was about to be humiliated in more ways than one.