I nearly laughed at her blatant request. She obviously wanted to speak to her brother in private.
“No,” Lucien said. One word. No room for argument.
She blinked, then quietly chuckled. “Charming. As always, Brother.” She glanced my way, wished me a soft “Good luck,” then swept out of the office, closing the door quietly behind her. But the closed door didn’t drown out the sound of her voice as she not-so-quietly berated her brother’s stupidity, muttering something about stupid men and how dumb they were for thinking with their dicks.
I faced Lucien and raised a brow. “Well, that wasn’t awkward, not at all.”
“She’ll keep her thoughts to herself.”
I rolled my eyes, then gestured toward the door when a loud “What the hell is happening in there?” rang through the hallway.
“Yes, well.” Lucien adjusted his sleeves, then strode toward the door. “Shall we?”
“You’re serious about walking me home?”
“As the plague,” he said flatly.
It took me a second. And then… “Was that a joke?”
He didn’t answer. Just opened the door. His sister spun around mid-tirade, her face flushed red. She sputtered something incoherent, then stormed off with all the grace of a hurricane.
Lucien didn’t comment. He merely shook his head, then waited for me to step out of his office before leading me into the hallway.
We descended the stairs into the heart of Lucien’s lounge. I hadn’t exactly stopped to take in the view while en route to his office, what with all my righteous indignation. But now, with my temper cooled and Lucien looming behind me like a devilishly handsome bodyguard, I actually had a moment to take in The Crimson Veil in all its glory.
It was every bit as overindulgent as Thorne had said. Booths hugged the walls, each one separated by rich crimson drapes, to give the illusion of privacy without really offering it. The main floor was an open space intended for dancing, and currently occupied by a dozen, if not more, couples.
In the far corner of the room, a stage shimmered beneath a single golden spotlight. And beneath the spotlight stood a siren, who crooned a smooth jazz number into a microphone. She wore a slinky black dress that twinkled in the light, as did her smile. Her band stood behind her—an upright bass, piano, and violin. Together, the four of them wove a spell that lured me three steps closer to the stage before I even realized it.
“Like it?” Lucien asked.
I turned and found his attention riveted not on the siren or the band, but on me. His gaze somehow felt heavy, as though my opinion actually mattered to him.
I softly cleared my throat and said, “It’s very you. Maybe a little pretentious.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Only a little?”
“I’m being generous because, gods, she’s remarkable, isn’t she?” I said, turning my attention back to the siren.
A touch pressed against the small of my back and I turned to find Lucien standing closely behind me. Very closely. Oh boy.
“Would you like to dance?” he asked.
I couldn’t help it—I laughed. “What, here? In front of people? You know they’ll see us, right?”
And they absolutely would. Every last person in attendance would go home with a juicy story they were foaming at the mouth to tell. I could only imagine the headline: Disgraced Laurent seduces St. Germain heir on his own turf.
His gaze didn’t waver. “Frankly, my dear,” he murmured, his lips curving ever so slightly. “I don’t give a damn.”
Oh. Oh, no.
That was…hot.
My stomach did a triple backflip into an aerial cartwheel dismount with a twist of self-sabotage. This was a bad idea. A spectacularly bad idea. I knew it. He knew it. The entire lounge likely knew it.
And still—I reached for his offered hand like some bewitched debutante and let him lead me out onto the dance floor.
The crowd parted without a word, and he pulled me into his arms with a confidence that should’ve annoyed me but didn’t. One hand slid to my waist, warm and steady, while the other found mine and laced our fingers together.
