Naughty Or Nice

CHAPTER THREE

I FEEL LIKE JELLY. It’s the only way to describe how my insides tremble and my legs are weak.

Two orgasms.

Two.

I would have been content with one.

Whatever. You want more already—more a thousand times over.

And even then I know I’d still be wanting.

Because it could never just be about sex with him.

He’s dangerous. To my senses, my sanity—and, if I really dwell on it, my heart. All over again.

I was foolish to even go there.

I circle the room, talking with prospective partners, my business persona enough to hide my distraction.

Him.

I feel his presence with every word I say, every breath I take, every clip of my heel against the gleaming floor as I walk. I can feel his eyes following me and I purposefully evade him. My schedule for the next two weeks is filling up and I know he’ll be wanting his share. Perhaps that’s why I leave him until last. Because I’m goading him. Not because I still want him.

He’s at the bar now. I know it without looking. I’ve been aware of his movements ever since he appeared.

‘Your feet aren’t going to touch the ground over the next fortnight,’ Clare tells me as she scans her tablet. ‘And we still have those few that weren’t able to make it tonight…’

He’s moving. I can feel it.

Don’t turn.

‘I can offer them Friday,’ she says, ‘or later the following week. Of course, we still need to schedule in Waring Holdings, but if—’

‘Good to see I’m on the radar.’

Shit. He’s right behind me already.

I don’t want him to know how I feel, and I don’t want Clare to read it. So I school my expression, turning to face him with a polite smile that I hope masks a multitude of sins. I took what I wanted earlier to get him out of my system. I need him to see that. To hell with what my body is still saying.

‘Of course you are, Lucas.’ I gesture to Clare. ‘My PA will arrange a convenient time for us to meet the week after next.’ I add the timing for my own benefit, I need those days to get myself straightened out. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me…?’

I move to leave but he steps in front of me, his frown so genuine I’m momentarily struck still.

‘Does your PA deal with your after-hours schedule too?’

Now it’s my turn to frown. He’s not ready to let me go. That much is obvious. ‘Can you excuse us a second, Clare?’

‘Sure.’ She doesn’t even quirk a brow at his remark, such is her professionalism, and I’m grateful for it.

I watch her walk away and purse my lips as I turn back to him. Refusing to acknowledge the excited tremble that runs up my spine as his eyes sparkle at me, glinting in the fairy lights adorning the tree beside us.

‘Do you mind keeping this professional?’

If I expect my cold demeanour to rub off on him, it doesn’t. He actually looks as if he’s about to laugh.

‘I was merely suggesting you might be hungry.’

His eyes trace a slow path to my belly and back up, teasing me through the silk.

‘The hors d’oeuvres were delightful, but hardly enough to keep one going all night.’

I swallow. It’s the way he draws out the words all night…the sequence of carnal images it paints…

‘So, are you free for a late dinner? The place is emptying out.’ His hand, still holding a glass, sweeps the room, but his eyes are all for me. ‘For old times’ sake, Evangeline. We’ve so much to catch up on.’

There’s my name again. There’s that same excited shudder. My brain is screaming at me to turn him down, to keep this all about business from here on in. It’s wrong on so many levels—not least of all my family’s. I want to be stronger. I want to be able to stamp this out and move on.

‘Slow to work out that you’re not wanted here, Waring?’

Shit. Dad.

I’d been so focused on Lucas I hadn’t sensed my parents’ approach. Now they’re both standing directly beside me and I can feel the war building. This can’t be happening. Not tonight of all nights. My night.

Fuck that.

A pulse moves in Lucas’s jaw. He’s mad. Really mad.

‘I don’t believe anyone has said that.’ He raises his drink to his lips, the movement casual, but I can feel the barely restrained anger thrumming off his rigid stance.

My mother touches a hand to my father’s arm. ‘Now, David—’

‘I am,’ my father says, talking over her. ‘And she will—won’t you, Eva?’

He’s looking at me. They both are. And I see red. This is what I’ve been fighting to escape—my family’s control, interference, whatever you want to call it. For all that they love me, I’m tired of being under their thumb, dancing to their tune. And this is my product, my life. I’ve earned the right to say who I get involved with.

The way my brain phrases that last bit—involved with—isn’t lost on me, but I push past it and look to my father.

‘Waring Holdings is a good fit for the business.’

My father’s colour deepens, his eyes widening as my mother’s hand tightens upon his arm. But anger has given me the strength I need. Not just to deal with Dad, but with Lucas too.

‘They will be on my list for consideration.’

I feel Lucas’s chest puff and my eyes snap to his.

‘Please ensure that Clare has your details before you leave, so that we can arrange a mutually agreeable time to meet.’

My words leave no room for misunderstanding but rather than looking rebuked, he appears amused. The spark in his eye an open challenge. ‘Of course.’

‘Now, shall we go?’ I say to my parents. ‘We don’t want to leave François waiting.’

My mother looks warily between us all. ‘I thought you…?’

She’s right. I told them before the night began that I wouldn’t be joining them for dinner at their favourite French restaurant afterwards. I had some grand plan of a fancy takeaway, a hot bath and more champagne. Wallowing in my triumph, so to speak, and soaking away the stress of the last few months—years, even.

Now I know that a bath would only encourage debauched fantasies of what I might be doing with Lucas…

‘I’ve changed my mind,’ I say over the heat that starts to swirl, and I face him off. ‘Thank you for coming, Lucas.’

His lip twitches and I read the double meaning in his eyes. Christ. I almost expect him to say, Not me, but you did…twice.

My cheeks flame as his eyes dance. ‘I look forward to our next meeting.’

Look forward to it? I’ll be on heat for it—and at my wits’ end if I don’t get this under control.

Still, I have at least a week—maybe more.

Plenty of time.

It’s late when the door to Je l’adore opens and she emerges, her parents in tow.

I don’t know why I’m here. Or rather I know why, but I don’t approve of my actions.

Seems seeing her again has broken something in me. Something I kept locked away when I had a friendship to protect, a surrogate family to honour. Without it, I can’t shake free.

I want to blame it on unsated desire. Sex. Simple as.

I tell myself that if I have her, then I can move on. It’s an ability that’s served me well in the past. I don’t form attachments. Not any more.

I look at her now from my vantage point in the back of my limo across the street. She’s laughing, her arms around her mother as they bid each other goodnight. There is so much love between them and my gut lurches at the sight of it. There’d been a time when I’d been part of that. Had loved and been loved, or so I’d thought.

Then she turns to her father and that lurch turns into a twist. I don’t want to care any more. It’s old ground. But I owe part of myself to that man, my only real father figure. He shaped me, and my success is in some way because of him.

Love, respect, anger—they all collide. I flex my fists, breathing through it. I always knew tonight would be hard, but there’s so much I didn’t bank on.

And right up there is this rush of feeling for her. An emotion I thought well and truly dead.

Seems she is my weakness after all.

She pecks her father on his cheek and I can almost sense his need to say something. I know him, and I know he’s not going to let this go, but whatever he says she shakes her head at it and gestures for them to get in their waiting car.

I know she has an exclusive apartment around the corner—one of many homes owned by her family—and I’m banking on her heading back there tonight.

Just as I’m banking on getting what I came for…

I’m wired by the time I say goodbye to Mum and Dad. I could blame it on the amazing party—the culmination of my hard work. But it’s not. It runs a whole lot deeper.

Loving Lucas had been as natural as breathing in my teens. And just as impossible to prevent. He’d always been a part of our lives, his mother constantly using mine as a sitter so she could go on date after date, never finding anyone permanent.

I don’t know whether she was picky or desperate, but it had made me mad. Mad at how she could neglect Lucas, not care about him. The day he got his exam results I remember her delivering a swift ‘well done, honey’ before planting a kiss on his forehead and leaving for the night. There was no celebration—no nothing.

It had been my parents who had cheered him on, congratulating him, spoiling both him and Nate because they’d done well.

We’d even taken him away with us on family holidays. It had been inevitable, really.

He’d been gorgeous, athletic and toned, intelligent, a rebel, but never taking it too far—not like Nate, who never knew when to quit. It was always Lucas reining him in, looking out for him.

He’d looked out for me too, and my heart had revelled in it. Loving the way he didn’t disregard my opinion, unlike Dad and Nate, who saw me as just a girl. Lucas made me feel special.

But when his mother had died suddenly things changed. We truly became his family, gave him a home, and as much as Nate was his best friend, and my father a man he respected and could call on for advice, my mother the one to feed, water and look after him, I was Lucas’s ear. It was my turn to be there for him.

I was the one he talked to about how he felt, about his grief which was tainted with guilt at not having been the closest of sons to his mother. But his remorse only succeeded in making me more angry, more protective, as I tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault. She should’ve been a better mother. She should’ve been there for him more.

Like I had been.

Until my eighteenth birthday, that is. Until I pushed him too far.

I was naïve to think he would consider me worth the risk. Naïve to think he could have loved me enough.

I take a shaky breath and duck my head against the bitter cold wind. I know better now. I won’t go there again.

I teeter down the pavement towards home and I shiver. The champagne topped up with wine had been doing a fine job of warding off the chill until now.

How could things have gone so wrong five years ago?

Ten years ago I messed up and he broke my heart.

But five years ago, he and Nate and their business… I just don’t get it.

My parents loved Lucas—Nate loved him. I can’t believe he just bailed on the company, as my father and Nate claim. They hate him for it, but the Lucas I know—I knew—wouldn’t do that. And the anger, the resentment—it’s there on both sides.

If we’re to work together I need to get the full story. I need to know I can trust him. Which means I need Lucas to tell me his side of it. And that means dragging up the past.

I wanted to press Dad at dinner, to be honest and tell him that I suspect Nate of playing a greater role in what went down five years ago. But I didn’t. Instead, Lucas just became the elephant in the room.

A rather sexy, irresistible, fuck-me-now elephant.

I remember how he looked on his knees, his head buried between my legs, and the chill evaporates with a lick of heat. I wonder whether his trunk would be just as impressive as the oversized animal’s…

A surprised laugh erupts over my crazed thoughts.

‘You know, talking to oneself is the first sign of madness.’

Lucas. Oh, God.

I misstep and quickly correct it. Straightening my spine I turn to face him, praying that the low light hides the excitement rising beneath my shock. ‘Technically, I was laughing, and that is a sign of good character…not that you’d know much about that.’

His brow lifts over eyes that flicker and I wonder if my words sting. Guilt fires inside me—it’s a low blow—but I bury it.

‘What are you doing here, Lucas?’

‘I would have thought that was obvious.’

I take a shaky breath and remind myself of the trillion reasons why this needs to stop. ‘I thought I made it clear earlier that we’re even.’

He steps towards me and heat flares with his proximity. My lungs drag in air that is tainted with his cologne.

‘And I told you,’ he murmurs, ‘we’re not…not even close.’

I hear the desire ring in his voice, feel it echo in my blood, and I force myself to turn away, to walk. ‘It’s close enough, Lucas.’

‘That’s not what your eyes were telling me earlier, Evangeline.’

He follows close behind me and I ignore the shiver of delight, wrapping my arms around my middle, hugging my faux fur coat tight.

I can’t tell him that I’m scared of falling for him again. But I can tell him that my family hating him makes this a very bad idea.

But part of me suspects he is doing this because of my family and their vendetta.

I know my product is good enough to warrant his attention, but this—this has nothing to do with my product and everything to do with me.

‘Are you denying that you want me?’

I can hear the disbelief in his voice and it annoys me. Like my father—like my brother, even—he assumes he knows what I want. Is he going to start dictating what’s best for me too?

‘No, I think you know that well enough,’ I admit. There’s no point in lying about the obvious. ‘You knew it ten years ago and you know it all over again now. But here’s the thing, Lucas…’

I turn to face him. My apartment is a building away now. Sanctuary is close. I just need to hold it together a few more moments.

‘I’m not the kid I was then. I won’t jeopardise my work for some…’ I struggle for the right phrase and settle for the easiest, most innocent. ‘Some silly distraction.’

His laugh is low, seductive, and he takes advantage of my stationary state to close the distance between us, reaching out his hand to cup my jaw. I want to move away, to stop the frisson at his touch, but I can’t make my body obey.

His thumb is soft, warm as he brushes it over my cheekbone, and my eyes are lost in the darkness of his, so close I can just make out the rim of brown, the flecks of gold that dance in the snow-white lights adorning the trees that line the street.

‘There’s nothing silly about the way I feel right now.’

Dammit, does he have to look so sincere?

A group of revellers round the corner and start moving down the street, their voices deep and loud as they roll out a rendition of ‘Good King Wenceslas’.

‘Seems we’re destined to have spectators,’ he says.

And as my lips part on no words I’m swamped by the memory of our previous encounter and the fear that I want him to kiss me. So much it hurts. But it’ll be my undoing. A ten-year-old memory stoked, refreshed, and my feelings with it.

And a hope for something that just isn’t possible.

My tongue sweeps across my lower lip.

It’s nerves. I’m just nervous.

My clit pangs painfully, mocking me.

‘Please, Lucas, this has to stop.’

I think of his mouth, his tongue, the dizzying pressure he administered so expertly over me. Stop. Don’t stop. My thoughts are as chaotic as the blood racing through my veins.

‘Tell me to leave…’

He steps forward, close enough to stop the chill wind breaching the gap between us, and now I’m just hot. Hot and confused.

‘…and I will.’

‘I… I…’

‘Tell me.’

‘Please…’ I try again and fail. I don’t want to breathe—don’t want to inhale his scent, his warmth, his appeal. All my barriers are collapsing.

‘Evangeline…’

My name rolls over his tongue and his head dips. The air sits in my lungs as I neither rebuke him nor pull him in. And then he sweeps past my mouth, along my cheek to my ear, his lips gently brushing over my skin with his words.

‘I want you.’

A strange whimper sounds, and as he lifts his head, his lips curving, I know it’s come from me. I see the triumph in his gaze as he moves for my mouth and a slice of sanity erupts.

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