LUCI (The Naughty Ones Book 2)

by Kristina Weaver

  “Ah.” I felt a small stab of guilt, but ignored it. “Well, now you’ve seen me. You can report back to her that all is well.”

  “Is everything well?” he countered. “Aren’t you lonely up here by yourself? Wouldn’t you like some company?”

  “I’m pretty occupied right now, Peter, thanks,” I said, pointing at the computer on my lap. “I’m applying for jobs.”

  “Nonsense,” he said. “You’re in a cast.”

  “And one day I won’t be. Then I’d like to have a way to earn some money.”

  “You don’t have to do that. You have access to all the money you need.”

  “I don’t want your money.”

  “I’m talking about what your mother will be able to give you now, what my father will insist on giving you, just like he insisted on you staying here,” Peter said, making me flush. “And if you want a job, he’ll find you something.”

  “I’ll find it myself.”

  “You know, a thank you would be nice,” Peter said with sudden anger. “I’ve got this ruddy thing on my arm, ruining my life. This is the hand I wank with, you know, and I can’t. I haven’t been able to since the accident.” He did an exaggerated pantomime with it and winced.

  “I am so sorry that I’ve deprived you of your primary partner,” I said sarcastically. “I have to give myself sponge baths every day, so I guess I feel your pain.”

  “We could help each other out,” he said suggestively. “Form a sort of crippled partnership.”

  “In your dreams.”

  His blue eyes twinkled, but then he got sad. Contentious ribbing turned serious, and I wasn’t ready for it.

  “Can’t we try again, Gemma?” Peter lifted his eyes to meet mine, and I quickly looked away. “What would be so wrong about that?”

  “I don’t think we’re good for each other.”

  “How could you say that? You mean — you meant — everything to me.”

  “And what did you mean to me?” I asked. “You controlled everything. You were my landlord and my banker and my boss and my boyfriend, and those were just too many hats for you to wear.”

  “I wanted to help you. You needed help.”

  “I did, but I also needed to do some things by myself.” I gestured uselessly, not sure how to explain it to him. “Maybe I didn’t want to fall the way I did, or suffer the way I did, but I did want to pick myself back up. It was stupid for me to put all of my trust and hope in you. It was like a free ride, Peter, and I shouldn’t have taken it. I should’ve done some things myself.”

  “Gemma, no one needs to suffer the way that you did,” he said. “You worked so hard. Why shouldn’t you have expected a living wage?”

  “I wanted a living wage. I didn’t want a penthouse, or closets full of clothes and shoes and jewelry and purses. I didn’t have ownership over any of it because I could never take ownership. You were always there. Always so eager for me not to suffer that I suffered anyway. None of it was mine.”

  “It was all yours.” Peter’s eyebrows drew together. “Everything was always yours. The things we said to each other when we were fighting…those were just words.”

  “Yes, but we said them.” My eyes welled up. “You told me I was a charity case. You typed it up and sent it to me.”

  “I was angry. It wasn’t right.”

  “It was valid.” I looked up at the ceiling, unwilling to let the tears fall. “You were an escape from my suffering. You weren’t a solution.”

  “What can I do?” He spread his hands. “Tell me what to do, Gemma, to prove to you that I love you. To prove to you that we should be together.”

  “I just want some space.” I gestured at my cast. “And to heal.”

  “I’ve got eight weeks in this stupid thing,” Peter said, waving his arm around glumly. “What kind of time are you looking at?”

  “The same.”

  He heaved a sigh. “Who’s taking you to your appointment?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Eight weeks is a long time from now. I figured I’d just take a taxi.”

  “In eight weeks,” Peter said, walking to the door, “we have a date.”

  And then he walked out.

  Part of me didn’t believe that he’d be able to exercise the self-control it took to know where I was in the city, to know I was more or less helpless and alone, and to stay away, but he impressed me. I conducted my hermitage in peace and quiet, getting stronger every day, getting more capable, getting more confident that when my exile was over, everything was going to be okay.

  I corresponded with my mother via email, marveling at the pictures she was taking, the sights she was seeing. I smiled at the guilty message, right at the one-month mark, that they were going to continue on through Asia, and would I be all right?

  “Of course I’ll be all right,” I typed back. “I’m thriving and looking forward to getting this cast off soon.”

  I was happy for her, and then happy for me — a job application for an insurance company pinged back, and offered me an interview via video chat, given my physical limitations at the moment. It went well, and then another email came, and another, and I was soon in a position of being able to choose which job I wanted instead of snatching at whichever job I could get.

  It was a strange place to be.

  I had to wonder if maybe my mistake during my first stint in New York City was moving too quickly. The city did function at a blistering pace, and perhaps I hadn’t been ready for it. I should’ve been patient last time, weighing my interests and options, taking the time to do some research before wasting daylight and energy by walking in, often unannounced, with a resume in hand, to cold call people for jobs. With one of my legs encased in plaster, I was forced to slow down, to consider each of my steps. It made me analytical, realistic, and successful all at once.

  And when the second-month mark finally rolled around, I had something more to celebrate than just getting my cast off. I could celebrate a job in a skyscraper at an office that I’d gotten on my own merits — working for an online fashion retailer as part of their social media and marketing team.

  When the knock came on the penthouse door, I threw it open, beaming.

  “Well, I’m chuffed to get the cast off today, too, but you seem extra excited,” Peter observed, dressed casually in jeans and an overcoat that barely fit over his plastered arm. Beads of water on his coat told me that it had finally started snowing. The gray clouds had been threatening it all day.

  “I have a new job,” I informed him. “I’m starting on Monday.”

  “Well, bully for you,” he said. “You’d better have a coat in here. It’s freezing outside.”

  I would’ve been hurt that he was being so dismissive of my excitement, but I was too thrilled to care. I hopped to the closet and borrowed one of the winter coats hanging in there.

  I prattled on and on during the car ride to the hospital, regaling Peter with all of the specifics of my job, of the company, of what I’d be doing exactly.

  “I’ve heard of them,” he said carefully when I asked what he thought. “They seem to be legitimate.”

  “Of course they’re legitimate,” I said. “I’ve done my research. It’s all I’ve been able to do while being cooped up with this stupid cast. Ugh. I’m convinced that I could’ve gotten it off a week ago — two weeks, even.”

  “The doctor knows what he’s talking about.” Peter stared out the window.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I asked. “What’ve you been up to these past two months?”

  “Just thinking a lot, and working,” he said. “And trying to scratch my blasted arm underneath this plaster. It itches fiercely.”

  “Same here. I got a letter opener down part of it once…” I trailed off, my face flushing heavily. Peter and I had utilized a letter opener in his office one afternoon, the sharpness and inherent danger in our play heightening our senses, making it that much sexier. I’d been a fool to forget that, a fool to bring it up, and I tri
ed to cover my tracks. “So, what’s new at work? Anything exciting?”

  He looked at me, his blue eyes clear and bright. “Nothing’s been exciting at work since you left.”

  I sighed. “You could hire someone else, you know.”

  “I don’t want anyone else.”

  “You could go out on dates,” I said impatiently. “We’re not together anymore. You deserve to be happy, to look for someone who can make you happy.”

  “I don’t want anyone else,” he repeated, and then he kissed me.

  It was wholly unexpected. I’d been so focused on getting hired over the last few weeks that it had banished all longing for Peter. But with a simple touch of our lips, everything was reignited. I realized just how badly I’d missed him.

  I pulled away and touched my mouth. “Let’s focus on getting these casts off.”

  “Gemma.” His voice was low and hoarse, and it sent a shiver through me.

  “Don’t you want your right arm back?”

  “Not as badly as I want you right now.”

  “You’re going to have to wait.”

  “How much longer? Eight more weeks? The rest of our lives?”

  But I only smiled at him and accepted the driver’s help in getting out of the car. It was a strange thing to realize how much I wanted him physically, the depth of my caring for him, and, yes, the love. I’d loved him all this time. Loved him now, even more, even as he pouted and followed me into the hospital.

  My feelings for him were just as strong, and just as magnetic as they had been before. But I’d gained valuable perspective while being forced to focus on myself, tucked away in Frank’s penthouse, a cast on my leg effectively disabling me and keeping me from running away from myself. I loved Peter, and I craved him, but it didn’t rob me of my reason. I knew that I could pursue my own dreams even if he was in them as well.

  The cast coming off of my leg made me feel like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. I felt renewed, as if I had undergone some important transformation, and now I was going to be able to have everything that I’d ever dreamed of.

  “You look cheerful,” Peter observed as I hobbled out, still using a crutch for support.

  “I am,” I said. “I’m a butterfly.” I laughed as Peter shook my head at me. “Why are you so glum? You got your best friend back. How does it feel?”

  Peter gripped his hand and swung his arm around. “Like it doesn’t quite belong to me anymore. I don’t know. I guess I just have to get used to it again.”

  “Ooh, romantic,” I teased. “It’ll be like a stranger in your bed.”

  “Very funny.”

  “What are you doing right now?” I asked him. “Any plans?”

  “The world is my oyster,” he said drily. “I’m sure you’d like to get back to preparing for your job on Monday.”

  “Oh, I’m ready,” I said easily. “What I’d like to do now is celebrate. We have our health, you know, and we’re both gainfully employed.”

  “Joy.”

  “And we have each other,” I added, raising an eyebrow. “Unless you’d like to leave that behind. We could still be good friends, Peter. We’re step siblings now, after all.”

  “I’d rather you not call us step siblings,” he said, grinning. “Not with the things I have in mind for us right now. There is much celebrating to be done.”

  We barely made it into a hotel room with our clothes on, kissing and hobbling forward until we were safely out of sight with the door closed and locked behind us.

  “You’re going to have to be gentle,” I gasped out as we fell onto the bed. “I don’t trust my leg yet.”

  “We’ll be fine.”

  It was almost as if it was our first time again — in a normal hotel room, no wealth or status or hang-ups on display yet. I was happy to remember it clearly this time. Our real first time had been after a night of very heavy drinking brought on by the stress of my mother coming to the city to visit me. This time, we explored each other. I kissed and caressed his newly revealed arm, paler than his other one, more delicate but more precious because of it. He massaged every inch of me, examining my matching pale leg, not caring that my leg hair spiked out of my skin after two months without a shave, interested only in getting reacquainted with my body, relearning all of its sensitive places.

  It was like riding a bike. You never really forget what your lover likes.

  Peter was like an extension of my own body. That’s how well I knew him. I’d always enjoyed sex with him — in the myriad ways it came — but right now was different. It was completely apart from the role playing we’d enjoyed in his office, different from the times we’d sought physical comfort outside of his office, in my penthouse. I slowly realized, as we ran our hands over each other’s bodies, both of us painfully aroused, that this was the result of two people loving each other inescapably, neither of us interested in fighting what was right anymore. We’d both tried to get out of this at different times, but it was inevitable. We were meant to be together. I didn’t have to guess at it, or analyze it any further. Our bodies had brought us together, but our hearts had just learned how to be together.

  We touched each other for the longest time, both of us delighting in how equally we were able to make each other shudder. When he finally did enter me, we had to hold onto each other for dear life, the two of us almost swept away by sensation.

  We moved in tandem. We didn’t have to say a single word, our eyes locked on each other the entire time. My body felt as if it had been reunited with its beloved, and my heart felt the same way. What we had was special and undeniable. What we had was forever.

  We finished almost simultaneously, a testament to just how in sync we were with each other, and we might’ve slept for a while, exhausted and relieved and in love.

  “Why don’t you come back to work for me?” Peter asked, hours later, tracing circles on my back.

  “I already told you. I have another job.”

  “But what about Paris? We were going to go there to buy up those hotels you lied about.”

  I snorted at the memory. “Well, you don’t have to buy them.”

  “Too late for that. They’re bought. I wanted them.”

  “Then there’s no need for me to go to Paris with you on business,” I said, turning my head to face him. “But maybe when I find out what my benefits are going to be and what kind of vacation time I’m going to be getting, we can go for vacation.”

  His face lit up. “Do you mean it? Do you really want to go to Paris with me?”

  “Of course I do. I’ve been imagining it since you mentioned it.”

  “Then let’s go. Let’s go right away. Right now.”

  “Peter, I start my job on Monday. I want to do Paris justice.”

  I disappointed him, but I would’ve disappointed myself if I’d not pursued my dreams.

  “You know,” he said slyly, “most people would jump at the chance to live their lives without having to report to an office every single day. If you told them they could live the way they wanted to, doing whatever they wanted to do, with all the money they’d ever need, most of them would be grateful to have the opportunity to do so.”

  “I’m not most people.”

  “I know you’re not. I think I would be gutted if you were. I want you to say yes, to spend all my money and come be my plaything again, but I think part of me would be saddened if you did, if you gave up on what you truly wanted.”

  “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with us continuing to play around.” I smiled suggestively, and Peter threw his head back, guffawing at me.

  “Gemma Ryan, will you do me the honor of being my girlfriend once more?” he asked. “I’d get down on my knee, but I wouldn’t want you to think I was proposing and run away.”

  “I don’t know how much running I’m going to be doing with this leg,” I said. “It still doesn’t feel like it belongs to me quite yet. But I think I’m ready to try again.”

  “That’s excellent news,
” he said, beaming.

  “I think I never stopped loving you, not even when I was certain that I hated you.”

  Peter’s face softened, and he kissed me, his stubble scraping my cheek. “I love you, Gemma. I ache for you, now and always. You have my heart. You are my heart.”

  I was finally certain that this was my year when I kissed him again. I couldn’t ask for anything more.

  ###

  LAWSON

  Chapter One

  Nico

  He’s coming back to the United States, and I don’t know how to handle this new turn of events. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve known this was coming, that eventually I’d have to face the music and put a few plans into action, but I’d thought—hoped really—that the spoiled Law James would spend at least another ten years chasing tail and being a playboy in Europe.

  But no, his father Jack, my boss, my best friend really, suffered a heart episode and his wife Minnie isn’t hearing of him going back to his high-powered, high-stress job.

  I can’t say I blame Min, not when the poor woman has had to watch her beloved husband single-handedly run a multibillion-dollar company that happens to have so many offshoots that even I, as acting VP, sometimes have difficulty keeping it all in order.

  So yeah, can’t blame her. I just wish they’d given me more than eight hours’ warning before the prodigal himself is set to return to the fold. If I’d known, I would have handed in my resignation and set Jared Fowler up as VP—as Jack and I had always discussed if anything should happen. Of course, it was not as if Jack ever intended on letting me go.

  I am a kick-ass VP. I know my job like the back of my hand. I know how to delegate, and more importantly, I don’t cut fucking corners to get what I want.

  I just go for it, balls to the wall, and watch the powerful men in my path scramble to get out of the way. I am one hundred percent the best VP ever acquired by The James Conglomerate, and they fucking know it.

  That’s why I earn the big bucks. That’s why my boss is willing to give me slack where my son is concerned.