by Arlene James
He left her standing there shaking her head.
She didn’t leave her room until he had gone.
The days flew. Almost before she could catch her breath, he was back, sweeping into her office on the leading edge of a tempest. She fought a thrill at the sight of him and even managed a frown as he pulled her up from her desk chair with one hand on her arm.
“I have something to show you. Come.”
It wasn’t a request, and she didn’t try to pretend that it was, just retrieved her handbag from her desk drawer and allowed him to propel her out of the office and into an elevator.
“What is it?” she finally asked.
He tugged at his cuff links, as impeccably outfitted as ever. “A statement of intention.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will.”
The elevator came to a halt, and the doors slid open. He escorted her across the building lobby and out onto the sidewalk, where a dark-blue limousine waited at the curb. A young man dressed in jeans and a T-shirt stood beside it. He quickly opened the rear door.
“This is Jeff,” Lucien said as she ducked into the back seat. “He is our new driver.”
“Our?”
He dropped down next to her and closed them inside. “He’ll be at the disposal of whoever needs him. For company purposes or personal ones.”
“Ah.” A Lucien Tyrone project required a Lucien Tyrone driver and limo, of course. It seemed a foolish expense, but she wasn’t paying for it.
She heard the driver’s door close and glanced at the glass separating them from the front seat. Like the other windows, it was mirrored. They could look out, but no one could see in. She steeled herself, expecting that Luc would kiss her now, but he merely rubbed his hands on his thighs and turned his head to look out the window, saying, “This won’t take long.”
They rode in tense silence, moving swiftly through the city streets. The driver was obviously highly skilled. Quick and efficient, he seemed fully aware of his route and confident in his handling of the vehicle. She found herself needing to make conversation.
“How was your trip?”
“Busy.” Lucien glanced at her then turned back to the window and added in a slightly accusatory tone, “Lonely.”
She didn’t say anything else. Within moments, the limo slowed and swung off the street onto a lane that traveled between two stately columns of brick topped with pediments in the shape of rearing mustangs. Avis glanced around her. She hadn’t paid attention to anything outside of the limousine and couldn’t imagine where they were. It looked like a park. Then the house came into view, a sprawling, single-story of red brick and white tile with a broad porte cochere sheltering the top of the drive and the impressive entry. She slid to the edge of her seat just as the car came to a stop.
“What is this place?”
Lucien opened the door. “I told you, a statement of intention.”
He stepped out onto the pavement and reached down for her. She allowed him to help her onto her feet, looking around at the lush gardens and formal facade of a very large house.
“I still don’t understand.”
“Come inside.” He led her along a landscaped walk to the front door, which opened beneath his hand. She saw at once that the house was only partially furnished. They were standing in a small rotunda illuminated by skylight, despite the enormous chandelier of unusual and very modern design sparkling overhead. “This way.”
They walked into an immense living room, one wall of which was entirely glass and looked out over a large, beautifully landscaped swimming pool that was fed by a series of waterfalls and fountains constructed of flat rock. “What do you think?” he asked.
She stared at him. “Whose house is this?”
“Mine.”
Her eyes flew wide. “Your house? Lucien.” She shook her head.
“You said you needed space. Well, now you have it, and I have a house in Texas, a permanent place of my own.”
And a statement of intention. He wasn’t giving up on her. If she would not go with him, then he would come to her as often as he could. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry and did a little of each. He grabbed her hand and towed her toward the back of the room and along a short, glass-walled hallway that ended in a single door.
“The bedroom is fully furnished,” he said, throwing open that door and pulling her inside. Fully furnished was an understatement. The room was huge, big enough for a small dining table and two chairs, a sofa suite placed before a rock fireplace, bookcases and a built-in armoire, even a desk and computer, not to mention a sumptuous bed facing a full wall of windows overlooking the pool. The front of the house might be brick, but the back of it was all glass.
He released her hand and shrugged out of his suit coat, dropping it to the floor. She knew that look in his eye, and as usual it played havoc with her breathing and started tingles in all the secret recesses of her traitorous body. He loosened his tie.
“Lucien?” It sounded as much a question as a warning even to her own ears.
“I can’t wait,” he said, dispensing with the tie and beginning to unbutton his shirt. “I want you now.”
She backed away, shaking her head. “Don’t ask this of me.”
“All right,” he said, stalking closer. Suddenly he dipped slightly and swept her off her feet and up into his arms. “I won’t ask.”
His smile said that he knew perfectly well that she was willing or soon would be, despite everything, despite the cost that she would pay later, that they both would pay later. Perhaps the Greek Tycoon, the billionaire, could afford it, but she could not. Oh, this would break her in so many ways, and at the moment she just couldn’t care.
“Do you know what you’re doing to me?” she whispered as he carried her to the bed.
“Yes,” he answered softly, silkily. “I’m loving you. Get used to it.”
Chapter Twelve
Avis sighed and opened her eyes, feeling delightfully refreshed. Naked, she stretched and rolled onto her side, looking at the face of the man sleeping on his stomach beside her, or rather, the half of his face that wasn’t smashed into the pillow. Folding the top edge of the covers into a neat cuff beneath her arm, she smiled. This was not the first time she had awakened in his bed over the past several weeks. Being loved by Lucien Tyrone wasn’t such a bad thing, after all.
She had her own life, and he had his, jetting in and out regularly. She had come to realize that he returned to San Francisco and his son every third day while on this continent and that it was always his first stop upon returning from overseas. That was as it should be, but she couldn’t help feeling sorry for the little boy who so seldom saw his father. Then again, Lucien’s family wasn’t any of her business, just as her life outside of their moments together wasn’t any of his. Not that she had much of a life apart from him and work.
Her friends did call, and she was careful to see them when she could, but only Gwyn knew about Luc, and Avis kept the details to herself, saying only that he’d found himself a place in Fort Worth, that they were both busy and that they were taking it one day at a time. In truth, he was the busy one, though TexBank was shaping up nicely.
Technically they’d decided to call the project Texas Western Heritage Mall and Luxury Apartments, but the shorter TexBank was hard to let go of, so they’d dubbed the project TexWest for short. Avis still thought and said TexBank half the time, though.
Pete was in heaven, wheeling and dealing leases and contracts on a daily basis. Lucien had not really tried to cut him out of the deal, as Avis had feared might happen, so, for the first time in memory, life was as it should be. If moments of unease or dissatisfaction sometimes crept in, well, life was just like that sometimes for everyone. Wasn’t it?
“I’m hungry.”
Luc’s voice yanked her from her reverie. She smiled into his dark eyes. “I’m sure Scott has breakfast waiting.”
Scott was the full-time chef Lucien had hired for the Fort Worth house, along w
ith a maid and a part-time groundskeeper. He still manned the kitchen himself on occasion, but his time was short and, as he explained it, he’d rather spend it with her than among the pots and pans, much as he enjoyed cooking.
Lucien lifted onto his side and reached out for her, drawing her in against him. “You first,” he said with a wolfish grin, “then breakfast.”
She laughed and gladly fed his appetite.
Later, as they were getting dressed, he surprised her by saying that he could stay another night this trip. “We should go out, though,” he suggested, “because I’ve already given Scott the night off, but let’s make it someplace private.”
She couldn’t imagine where that might be around Fort Worth. He had purposely kept a high profile around town, and, as a result, investment opportunities had poured in for him and, to a lesser extent, C&L. An unfortunate consequence, however, was that the man could hardly show his face in public without being recognized and approached.
“Anyplace in mind?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I have a meeting this afternoon, and I expect it to run late, until seven anyway, but I don’t want you to have to stay in town until then, so why don’t I come to you afterward? Surely you can think of some place in your area where we can eat.”
She thought quickly. Maybe it was time for Luc to taste the world in which she lived. Puma Springs didn’t have a lot to offer, but Luc was no snob, and while they wouldn’t go unnoticed, he wasn’t likely to be bothered by anyone, either. “We could try the local steak house. It isn’t anything fancy, but the food’s good.”
He smiled into the mirror as he looped his tie. “It’s decided then.”
She smiled back. “Better bring a pair of jeans.” He paused, prompting her to ask, “You do own a pair of jeans, don’t you?”
“I own several pairs. Somewhere.”
She laughed, and so did he, both aware that he would have to make time for shopping.
Avis couldn’t quite believe her eyes. He not only owned jeans but boots, and wore them very well, with a tight silk T-shirt that left no doubt about the state of his fitness or his masculinity. It was a completely incongruous costume and completely right for Lucien Tyrone. The Greek Tycoon had gone Texas as only the Greek Tycoon could. She refused to take the limo, so Luc sent it back to the city and got behind the wheel of her car. He liked to drive but seldom had the opportunity. Avis was learning that being Luc Tyrone was more complicated and confining that it sometimes seemed.
The steak house had once been a gas station and maintained that theme, though the building had been added onto more than once. The dinner crowd was thin at half-past eight on a weeknight, at least in the dining room. The bar had plenty of patrons, and they kept the single waitress busy enough that she hardly gave Luc a second look. Well, not a third, anyway.
The steaks were fine, but the onion rings really did it for Luc. He admitted that he hadn’t eaten the things since college. He’d attended Princeton, followed by Cambridge, much to Hettie Baldwin’s delight. He explained this while wolfing down the whole order with his fingers and knocking back a beer, all the while trying to snag the attention of the overworked waitress to request seconds. When that was accomplished, he turned his attention to the rest of the meal, and Avis found that she was having a really good time, watching him observe the locals and tap his toes to the country-and-western music filtering out of the bar, as opposed to being gawked at himself. That ended with the arrival of Heston Witt.
The mayor was putting on weight, and the added puffiness of his face gave his malicious eyes a piggy look as they landed on Avis. He made a beeline for the table. Avis inwardly cringed, but outwardly maintained her composure. Nonetheless Luc, who always seemed attuned to her moods, noticed her reaction.
“What’s wrong?”
Before she could answer, Heston was on them. “Out on the town, are we? Don’t see much of the heiresses around here lately. Guess we’re too low-class for the likes of y’all now.”
That would be right, Avis thought, so far as he was concerned, but she said nothing. Luc looked around, sized up the man with a single glance and asked mildly, “And you would be?”
Heston pulled himself up tall. “Heston Witt, the mayor. Don’t think I know you.”
Luc rose to his feet. “Lucien Tyrone.”
Avis thought Witt would swallow his tongue. “Lu-Luc…the Greek Tycoon! Oh, my soul!” He grabbed Luc’s hand and began pumping it. “I read you were in Fort Worth, but what are you doing here in our little town?” His eyes cut to Avis then. “Well, missy,” he sneered, “you’ve sure come up in the world, thanks to my idiot uncle, climbed right up the ladder over my back.” He yelped suddenly and yanked his hand free of Luc’s. His eyes accused Luc of trying to break that hand, but he did have better sense than to suggest such a thing. Instead he smiled lamely. “Mr. Tyrone, it’s an honor to have you in our fair community regardless…” He swallowed the rest of that sentence and lightly shook his hand. “Forgive me for interrupting your dinner.” He started away, obviously eager to spread the word, then halted uncertainly. “Please call on me, sir, if I may be of any assistance.” His gaze darted to Avis. “I could fill you in on all the pertinent information.” He leaned in, adding conspiratorially. “There are matters of which you might not be aware.”
Luc smiled smoothly. “I am aware, Mr. Mayor, that you are a crude, provincial bore who does not know how to treat a lady in public. That’s all I need to know.”
Heston gasped, paled and hurried away as fast as he could waddle. Lucien sat down.
“Charming fellow,” he said to Avis. “Would you like me to ruin him?”
“Yes,” she answered honestly, then, “No. He’s just bitter because his uncle didn’t leave him any money to go with the family ranch. He left it to my friends and me instead. Heston’s spiteful and petty, but he doesn’t really matter, Luc. Just let it go. I have to live in this town, you know, and picking fights with the mayor isn’t the most comfortable way to do it.”
He reached across the table to cover her hand with his. “As you wish.”
The onion rings came, but not the beer. The frazzled waitress appeared grossly overworked. Luc made a mental note to tip her well and wondered if he ought to speak to her employer. He quickly rejected that idea. This was Avis’s turf. She obviously didn’t want him throwing his weight around here. Her decision about Heston Witt proved that. She was too soft-hearted for the Heston Witts of this world.
Little people like Witt were usually beneath Luc’s notice. He figured that most of them already had gotten what they deserved out of life, but the way Witt had treated Avis was enough to make him an exception to the rule. Luc hoped he’d broken the fool’s hand. Right up until that cretin had imposed himself upon them, the evening had been most enjoyable.
He looked at the onion rings on his plate and rubbed his chin. He really did want that beer. Avis read his thoughts.
“Want me to go get her?”
“No, no, she’s already overworked or she wouldn’t have forgotten.”
Avis pushed back her chair. “I’ll go to the bar and get it for you.”
He was on his feet in a heartbeat. “You’re not to serve me. I’ll do it.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I do.” He was already moving in that direction, curious about how the locals unwound after a long day. “Want anything?” She shook her head, but he saw that her smile was tight and decided that however interesting the bar might be, they would call it a night as soon as he got that second beer.
The room was dark and loud, but when he approached the bar, two men standing at the end scooted over to make room for him. He caught the bartender’s eye.
“Be right with you,” the fellow called over the din.
Luc nodded and leaned his elbows on the bar. He heard a voice ask, “Who’s that?”
Another man answered. “Some rich dude the Lorimer woman netted.”
Luc straightened, but the bartender approa
ched just then. “What can I get you?”
Luc told him, and an instant later had a cold beer in his hand. He paid and stepped away from the bar, but he didn’t go back into the dining room just yet, and sure enough, a moment later, the two men began to talk again. Luc moved to stand right behind them.
“The mayor says she’s gone from home-wrecker to mistress.”
The other one snickered. “The new stud has a lot more going for him than old Ken ever did. Guess she can afford to run in better circles since she inherited Searle’s millions.”
“Yeah, well, a slut’s a slut, I always say.”
Cold liquid splashed on Luc’s fingers, and he looked down in surprise to find his hand gripped so tightly around the beer bottle that it was in danger of breaking. He was trembling with rage. How dare they speak of Avis that way? He caught the guy by the shoulder and spun him around. The fellow’s eyes flew wide in alarm.
“I should take you apart for that filthy remark,” Luc snarled.
The man looked down at his shirt front wadded in Lucien’s fist. “Hey, get off me!”
People were turning to look. The other man tried to intervene. “He didn’t mean nothing, mister. It’s just booze talk.”
He wanted to bash their heads, but he knew that would only make matters worse for Avis. Besides, the author of that piece of filth was the one who deserved to feel the brunt of his wrath.
Luc shoved the scruffy cowboy away from him and pointed a finger at him. “It’s only out of respect for Mrs. Lorimer that I don’t break your jaw, but another remark like that will overcome my good manners.”
“We didn’t mean no harm,” the other fellow said, his Adam’s apple bobbing, “and it won’t happen again.” He elbowed his friend. “Will it?” The cowboy reluctantly mumbled a reply.
Luc gave them a hard look, set his beer bottle down on the nearest surface and turned away, scanning the room for Heston Witt. He caught sight of the pudgy mayor bent over a table in the far corner of the room, talking to a couple who sat there. Lucien began to make his way across the room. The crowd parted as he moved through them.
