Chapter
Nine
ISADORA
Of course it was him.
Because why stop at two St. Germains when you could round out the set? Apparently, the universe had some sort of score to settle with me, forcing me into this cursed tea party I’d never agreed to attend, starring all the people I least wanted to impress.
Lucien entered the café, his coat catching the light in a way that said custom tailoring, not retail, and his gaze swept the patio with lazy precision—until it landed on me.
I didn’t say a word. I just lifted my cup and sipped my drink as if my body wasn’t reacting on some ridiculous primal level I couldn’t control. Heat bloomed low in my stomach and my nerves ignited with lightning.
The man, by all accounts, was my enemy. And yet, I couldn’t tear my eyes off him. Someone so insufferable should not look that good. Like he’d been carved from stone itself by a sculptor with a god complex. The sharp cheekbones, the perfectly tousled hair, the eyes so dark they looked black, the wickedly generous mouth…
Ugh, it wasn’t fair.
I’d noticed the attraction last night as well, when he’d strolled uninvited into my bar. But I’d blamed it on the adrenaline and the stressful situation. There was no mistaking it now, though.
Whatever this was, it was some annoyingly involuntary response to his tailored arrogance and bone structure beautiful enough to make angels weep. Anyone would find him attractive, right?
Because I was not interested in him. I couldn’t be. I wasn’t someone who let presence, reputation, or even an attractive jawline impress me. These emotions were little more than a reflex to meeting an attractive man. They were meaningless.
Especially because I knew better. I knew intimately what happened when you let a vampire like him under your skin. So no, I wasn’t impressed.
Unfortunately, it seemed my body had received an entirely different memo.
Lucien approached us, plucked a chair from a nearby table, then planted it next to Juliette’s. Just like that, our crowded four-top became a cramped five-seater. And he’d done so without asking permission to join us or borrow the chair from the other table. He’d merely assumed he had the right to do as he wished. Arrogance wrapped in couture.
“This town needs better security,” Thorne muttered.
Lucien, unbothered as always, glanced at Juliette. “I see you’ve made yourselves comfortable.”
“Just enjoying the sunshine,” she replied, though no one within proximity—not even the haunted teacups—seemed convinced. “And the company.”
His attention slid back to me.
Gods. I hated that it landed like a spotlight.
“Miss Laurent,” he said.
“Mr. St. Germain.” I inclined my head, channeling every bit of bored debutante I’d long since perfected.
“We really must stop meeting like this,” he commented.
“By all means,” I replied. “Seeing as how I didn’t invite you to join my table, feel free to exit the way you entered.”
Thorne’s laugh was sharp and short.
Juliette, ever the diplomat, lifted a brow and addressed her brother. “You’re late.”
“I arrived exactly when I meant to,” he replied, still watching me. “Besides, you seem to have kept yourselves entertained.”
His gaze dropped to my lips for half a second. Just long enough for heat to flush my cheeks and my skin to tingle.
Was he…flirting? No. More like taking my stock. Plotting his next move.
Right?
