A valet approaches the car as we stop. He nods to Lucan and opens my door. This low sports car has me seriously regretting my short dress and sky-high heels. A well-placed breeze tells me the valet probably got more than he bargained for as I swing my legs out of the car. Embarrassed, I try not to meet his eyes.
“Welcome, madam.” The valet gives a slight bow. He is wearing an expensive looking suit rather than the typical valet ensemble of polo shirt/windbreaker with the company logo. He offers me his hand as I maneuver to the edge of the seat. As our hands touch another electric shock jolts through my limbs similar to when I kissed Lucan. This one is more static electricity and less romantic fireworks but it still has me jumping out of the car and away from the valet fast. I hear him suck in his breath as if the shock has surprised him too.
“Thank you.” I smile and step onto the curb. The look on his face sends a chill up my spine. He bows slightly then walks to the other side of the car. I can feel his eyes on me the entire time. Lucan is at my side before I can take my first step towards the door. Geez, that man moves fast.
The black iron door doesn’t have a handle, just a place to scan an access card and camera mounted on the wall. Lucan pulls a card key out of his pocket and swipes. It has the same red crest as the calling card he left at my office this morning. Maybe he owns this place. The camera whirs around to take a look at us. After a few seconds door clicks and swings open. He ushers me inside with his hand on the small of my back. A warm tingle goes up my spine, replacing the creepy feeling left by the valet’s touch.
The lobby is brightly lit and ornate with marble floors, gilded light fixtures, and mirrors on the walls. There is an empty receptionist desk and a table with large arrangement of flowers in the center of the room and a few plush couches clustered in one corner. At the far end of the long room is another iron looking door, although it doesn’t appear to have a security system. I can’t tell if we are in his apartment building or an office building. Once the outside door is closed, I can hear the sound of glasses and silver clinking in the distance along with the din of conversation.
“This is a lot of security for a restaurant,” I blurt out without really thinking.
Lucan has a shy grin on his face. “Aye, love, it is.”
I steal a glance at Lucan in the mirrors. He catches me looking and I’m tingling again. My skin is almost humming from the energy. I make a mental note to ask Lucan about this reoccurring phenomenon. I am beginning to think it has nothing to do with dry air and friction.
“So what is this place?” I ask as we cross the long room towards the other door. Lucan opens the second door and a young woman in a slinky black dress greets us. She is stunning with smooth, perfect skin, bouncy, shiny hair and deep green eyes.
“A restaurant,” he answers wryly.
“This way Mr. O’Reilly. Your table is ready,” she purrs, barely above a whisper.
There are other people enjoying dinner and drinks at various tables and booths as make our way across the room. They are all dressed to the nines and very regal looking. I don’t recognize any celebrities, but this place must be very exclusive indeed. We stop at an intimate looking table by a roaring fireplace. I am grateful for the heat since I left my coat back at Charlie’s.
“Ms. Cole.” The hostess gestures towards a chair as Lucan pulls it out for me. How does she know my name? She hands me a menu. Lucan sits down across from me. The soft glow of the fire sets off his face. I hope it throws a shadow over mine so he can't see me blush. A waiter appears and places a napkin in my lap.
“May I offer you a glass of wine, ma’am?” he asks. Before I can reply Lucan rattles off a French sounding name and the year 1947. At least I don’t have to show my ignorance by saying white or red. I glance at the menu; it’s completely in French. I’m screwed. I only have a little high school Latin to work with. I hope Lucan is as proficient at ordering dinner as he is wine.
“What do you think, Abri?”
“Why does a restaurant need a security system?” I blurt out; frustrated he has not directly answered my questions yet.
“It’s more a club that happens to have a restaurant in it. It’s called the Enclave.”
There was no mention of a secret society in all the online articles I read about Lucan this afternoon, no Google images of him in bizarre regalia getting ready to sacrifice a chicken. In fact, all the images were of him at charity events looking very delicious in black tie. I feel like such a stalker. It’s a good thing Lucan can’t hear my thoughts, he’d probably agree.
At least this club explains the antiquated calling card; they both have the same red crest. A beacon to others in the know and clever stationary to the rest of us. But Max’s reaction to the card makes me think he knows something about this place and maybe about Lucan. I try to think of something to say without blurting out any of my assumptions.
Lucan is looking at me the way you do when you are waiting for someone to put something very obvious together. His stare makes me lose my train of thought and I take a second to look down at the indecipherable menu again before I blurt out something I will regret.
“I can read your thoughts,” he says. “Uh, I mean, as long as we’re blurting things out. And no, I don’t think you’re a stalker.”
I reach for the glass of wine that has appeared before me during our last few sentences. I don’t recall the waiter bringing it or pouring it but here it is. “All of them? All of the time?” I stammer. It dawns on me that my first reaction is not to discredit his ability. I have a gut feeling it is true but I can’t think about that now.
“Not all the time,” he starts backtracking. “It’s just when we are close. I was as surprised about it as you are, Abri. It’s not something I do on a regular basis. I mean, I can’t read everyone’s mind. I’ve never read anyone’s mind before, actually.”
“What am I thinking about right now?” I challenge. It has to be something unobvious, something outside his realm of experience with me.
“Ah, the Barbie dream house you got for Christmas when you were four,” he says.
“Crap,” Is all I can think to say. My mind is darting to all the things I thought about on our trip over and in my office this morning. Lucan breathes a sigh of relief. I guess he assumed I would freak out. I sorta assume I would have too. “So how long is your range?” I hope close by means face to face and not in the same area code.
“I haven’t really tested it, but I could hear you when I walked into Charlie’s earlier.” He looks down at the menu in front of him. We are both doing a good job at studying the thing.
“And all the way here in the car?” I ask tentatively. He looks up from under his long lashes and smiles sheepishly. My heart flutters in my chest. I can’t think of anything more embarrassing than having my inner monolog privy to Lucan’s ears – er, mind.
“I think it’s funny you call me Lucan when I told you to call me Luke.” He moves his hand across the table towards mine but I jerk it back. He looks hurt as he withdraws his hand.
“There is something else I need to know about. Why do I feel like I’ve just bitten down on a live wire every time we touch? Well, not just you, it happened when the valet guy helped me out of the car too. I mean, it’s been a while since I’ve had a date, and you obviously know I’m attracted to you,” I tap the side of my head for emphasis. “But...” I can’t find the right words to complete the sentence. Verbally or mentally.
“Crap. I didn’t realize how hard…” His voice trails off before he finishes his sentence. I can tell he’s holding something back and I squirm with anticipation. “Uh, so, yeah, can I answer that particular question later? For now, let’s just say it’s me and not you. Are you hungry?”
I can sense his uneasiness on the subject so I agree with a nod. For the first time I feel his vulnerability and it prompts me to back down a little. I am used to getting answers out of people, whether they like it or not, but I can’t make myself do that to him. I have so much information to
process later, when I’m alone in my head again. Embarrassed that he’s heard that, I start to answer his question. I can’t think if I’m talking. “Starving, but I’m going to have to rely on you to order dinner. I don’t read French.”
I move my hand across the table and place it in his upturned palm. I want to show him that, even without explanation, I trust he will not hurt me. The languid heat I feel in my belly has nothing to do with Lucan’s electrical charge. It’s a struggle to keep my body and my mind on the same cautious page. Our eyes meet and the look on his face says he is concentrating on not shocking me.
“Look at it again. I want to test something,” he says as his strong fingers close gently over my hand. His touch is unusually cool considering we are next to a fire but it does nothing to cool my body.
Christ, I can barely breathe let alone read. I look down again and the foreign script has transformed itself into plain, English text. I gasp and reflexively squeeze his hand. A little aftershock reaches my palm. “What the…”
“Apparently it goes both ways if we are touching.” He lets go of my hand and the letters change back to their original state. For the first time I am afraid. Mindreading I can write off as intuition and observation. This, however, leaves me with visual proof. “Please don’t be afraid. I will never hurt you.”
Oh, how I want to believe him! How I want to believe there is nothing strange about what I’ve just seen; or that, in the end, it will not be my undoing. But suddenly I am not so sure. The phrase ‘too good to be true’ is running through my head, mocking me. I take another large sip of my wine and look around the room. Everyone else seems to be enjoying their meals without the slightest knowledge of the freak show going on at our table. Remembering that Lucan can hear what I’m thinking, I mutter a mental apology and try to rein in my mental chatter.
“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” is all I manage to choke out.
Lucan summons our waiter and relays the order. I silently hope he hadn’t ordered escargot.
“The mind reading and the ‘electric fence,’ as you call it,” I narrow my eyes at him for repeating my thoughts. “Are just part of why we are here. There is so much more, but I beg of you, love, please let me tell you in my own way and in my own time. Just trust me.”
I nod, feeling like a fallen leaf whipped around and around in the wind. One second I am leery of this man and what he’s shown me, and the next I have forgotten all of that and struggle to keep from mentally undressing him. Trust he’s asking for. More like blind faith. I have never been good at that, especially when it concerns my heart. What exactly am I supposed to be trusting anyways? That he’s not a psychopath out to kill me or that all of this hocus pocus stuff is real and neither one of us is suffering from some psychotic delusion. I don’t want to believe that I am already in that deep, but it’s true. I want this to be real. I want him to be real.
Jesus H! I should be running but my body is glued to the chair. Maybe he is somehow seducing me into sitting here. After the bombs he’s just dropped, could mind control be that far afield? No, he’s not controlling my mind; it’s still just me inside here. I want to be here. I need to be here. I reach across the table again, taking his hand and a huge leap of faith. He smiles and I hear him say “Thank you.” in my mind.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Our food arrives and I am forced to remove my hand from his. Immediately I miss the current running between us. We eat and talk about where I grew up, how I came to live in the city, and my job. Lucan tells me he grew up in Ireland –that explains the slight accent and why he called me ‘love,’— and we talk about his charitable endeavors. Our conversation doesn’t feel so much like a first date, as it does catching up with an old friend. I don’t need to read his mind to know he feels the same way.
“So now that we know how I came to work in the Chrysler, how did you?” I am eager to find out how our paths crossed.
“I don’t work there, I live there.”
“Right, like you work so much it’s almost like living there. I feel the same way.”
“No. I really live there. On the 68th floor.” His face is serious.
“There isn’t anything on the 68th floor, that’s the old Cloud Club. I thought it’s been empty for years. How many apartments are there?” I can’t even imagine what the rent on something like that would be.
“It’s just me.” He sounds mildly embarrassed. “I own the three floors of the Club, but I just live on the 68th. The other two are storage and guest quarters right now.”
This just keeps getting better, I muse. Of course Lucan lives in my favorite place in the city, why wouldn’t he. In its prime, the Cloud Club was legendary. It was the premier wheel and deal place for high-powered executives in the early and mid 20th Century. I have about a dozen books on the building sitting on my coffee table at home and I’m pretty sure they all say the Club was condemned because no one could afford the high rent and up keep. The fact that he can afford to fix it up, let alone buy it, makes me speechless. Lucan is smiling and nodding.
“Always trying to sort it all out, aren’t we?” He is clearly enjoying my musings.
“Wait, can you, um, hear me when you’re at home and I’m in my office?” I am blushing now, the heat rising up my neck and into my face. Shit.
“No, no. Don’t worry, love. The steel in the building or maybe the distance blocks it. But I guess that means you’ve been thinking of me?”
His smile is as wide as a Cheshire cat. The pink heat in my cheeks grows stronger and I can’t answer. Lucky for me the waiter returns with the dessert cart providing a distraction. Ordinarily, I shy away from dessert on a first date, but I need something to calm my nerves.
“I’m glad you consider this a first date,” he whispers.
I am going to have to stop thinking so much. Yeah right, there is no way I can stop thinking so much.
“How about the tiramisu?” I say aloud.
“You heard the lady. Tiramisu please, Paul.” Paul selects the tiramisu from his cart and places it on the table between us with two forks. When he’s gone, Lucan starts the conversation again.
“Is there anything else you want to know about, Abri?” Lucan asks, putting down his fork after a few bites.
“Tons, but I think it will all lead back to what you are not ready to tell me yet. And you better keep eating, I’m so not going to be responsible for eating all of this,” I scold him mildly.
He shrugs and a smile twitches at his lips in agreement with my assessment of the situation. I know he hears the million questions spilling forth in my head. Satisfied with that fact, I turn up my mental volume and let him have it. His face gives away nothing but he at least obeys my command to keep eating his half of the dessert.
“Can I see your apartment then?” The request falls out of my mouth before either of us can react. I realize it is incredibly forward and goes against every dating rule I’ve ever read or subscribed to, but I want answers. Maybe being on his home turf will make him more willing to talk. I have building security’s number on speed dial, that makes it okay, right? I am not ashamed he can hear my reasoning, if for no other reason than he knows I mean to talk and nothing else.
“That is a marvelous idea.” He summons Paul again and hands him the black card. “Club card,” he confirms.
Paul returns with the card and a slip of paper for Lucan to sign. He puts the card back in his wallet and stands to pull out my chair. I follow him to the front of the restaurant again, trying to keep my mind quiet as I get a look at his backside. The pretty hostess hands Lucan his jacket and opens the door for us. Then we are back in the overly bright lobby. Lucan holds the heavy iron door open for me again and I can see the valet standing at the curb in front of Lucan’s car. I am glad we don’t have to wait, since I forgot my coat. Hopefully, Lindsey or Max will see it and take it home.
“Here.” Lucan takes off his leather jacket and holds it out for me. “I wondered, but I figured you Iowa girls liked the cold.” H
e smiles sheepishly at his assumption.
The jacket smells like good leather and cologne, not motor oil and mothballs like my grandfather’s. My pulse quickens and I can’t help but snuggle into the jacket a bit. Lucan pauses for a split second and his mouth drops open.
He shuts the car door behind me and walks around to the driver’s side where the valet is standing. They exchange a few words but I can’t hear them. Lucan climbs in and the valet shuts the door before returning to his post. A warning chill runs down my spine as I catch a glimpse of him in the side mirror. Lucan bristles next to me but I chalk it up to the fact he no longer has his jacket. There is no way he’s creeped out by the valet guy too.
The streets are completely empty now and Lucan really opens up the Evora as we cruise back up Broadway. We don’t have to stop once on the way back since the lights are synchronized. When we reach the Chrysler, Lucan pulls the car into a gated driveway next to the building’s loading dock. He swipes the black card and the gate glides open. I had no idea the building had a parking garage, although I am sure it’s not a public garage given the security system and that black card. We pull into a parking space and I notice there are nearly a dozen other luxury vehicles parked in the small garage.
“These aren’t all yours are they?” It is the first thing I have managed to say since we left the Enclave, not that the trip has take very long. According to the clock on the dash, it has taken three minutes.
“If I say yes will you think badly of me?” Lucan is out of the car before I can answer and is opening my door.
“No, but I will seriously take you up on your offer to drive next time.” Some of the cars I have never seen outside the pages of a magazine and some I’ve never seen before at all. There is an extremely tricked out Hummer taking up two spaces along the far wall. That would be my next choice, especially if we can take it off-roading.
“They are mine then. I collect them.” Lucan sounds almost embarrassed that he collects luxury vehicles with six figure price tags instead of something more economical like baseball cards or comics. A man with the same expensive dark suit as the valet approaches us and greets Lucan. He takes the keys and we walk towards an elevator in the center of the garage. Again, he swipes the black card on a reader where the call buttons should be.
42nd & Lex Page 5
