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She didn’t know if one could force tension like this out. It seemed an invisible, heaving beast was snarling over them with bated breath ever since the day they had fought. Sure, they weren’t fighting anymore, but Evelyn felt as though she had welcomed something into their life that now wouldn’t leave. “Okay, Lucian.”
He called Dugan and went to the bedroom to pack some of his things. When he came out he was wearing his slate gray power suit, the one Evelyn had come to refer to as his “don’t fuck with me” suit. He wore it whenever he had a big meeting or negotiations. The posh material outlined his shoulders to perfection and fit his waist magnificently. He looked like the offspring of Forbes and GQ all rolled into one. He never lost when he wore that suit. What was he negotiating?
“Ready?”
Dugan arrived at the condo, removed their bags, and Lucian held her back as the elevator closed behind the chauffeur. He turned her and his lips, warm and sure, pressed over hers.
There were various levels of kissing, Evelyn had come to discover. There were the kisses like cute little snippets that played over lips like plucked petals, whispering childlike flirtations. Then there were kisses that left no room for argument, the kind that demanded your soul and would settle for nothing less. Then there were kisses hinting of dirty deeds in dark nights, the kind of kisses that curled one’s toes and had the potency to black out one’s mind, leaving a girl never quite sure if she had been kissed or fucked.
Then there were kisses like the one she was receiving now, kisses that ran the gamut of all emotions too intense to speak. Lucian’s hold was relentless, his touch proclaiming his potent need. His mouth whispered sweet desperations, and she tasted his fear like a drug flowing into her until desperation caught fire and the fear abated. Kisses like this were confusing. It was a kiss of heroic suicide. The kind soldiers gave their young brides before going to war, knowing they might never have a chance to kiss them so again.
Evelyn grabbed at his neck and pulled him into her. She didn’t know what made him kiss her this way, but if he felt this was the kiss they should share, then she’d better give him her all.
Deep breaths drew from his nose as it pressed into her soft cheek. His fingers and palms cupped her face like a chalice. He made love to her, right there in the hall, with only his mouth, and as the meaningfulness evolved, the mystery of the cause became all the more frightening.
He was afraid of something and his distress breathed into her. She didn’t want to let go. She wanted to save him.
Several minutes later they broke apart. He pressed his forehead to hers and stared into her eyes. “I love you, Evelyn. I want you to know, no matter the mistakes I’ve made in the past or the mistakes I’m sure to make in the future, I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”
She nodded, too speechless and confused to comment back.
He cleared his throat and slowly released her. “We better go. We have reservations.”
With all of this cryptic, ominous emotion floating around . . . she had reservations as well.
Chapter 11
“It takes two to make an accident.”
~F. Scott Fitzgerald
The Great Gatsby
Lucian led her through the lobby and toward Vogue.
“We’re eating in the hotel?” She had thought they would be going out.
He nodded. “Certain things are meant for a home court advantage, Evelyn.”
Something had shifted in his demeanor since they got off the elevator. Any hint of reserve or worry was now thoroughly hidden away, replaced with impenetrable assuredness. Lucian was back to the man others had learned to fear and obey.
His palm rested lightly, yet possessively, at the base of her spine. He opened the door to Vogue, and the scent of exquisite fare wafted to greet her. Patrons sat in their fine attire, sampling the French cuisine and chatting softly beneath the dim amber lights.
He directed her toward their usual table in the back, where the seating was more private and intimate. Sounds of silverware and whispered discussions fell away as they entered the less occupied room. A man with brown hair sat with his back to the door, awaiting them at their table.
She didn’t recognize him, which wasn’t unusual. However, her mind naturally crossed off the colleagues of Lucian’s she’d met, knowing this was someone new.
They approached the table, and Lucian slipped his hand into hers. He cleared his throat and the man stood. The moment he turned to greet them recognition dawned. Evelyn gasped.
“Parker?”
He smiled and held out his arms. She went to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek into his chest. She failed to notice the moment Lucian’s grip on her hand fell away, too caught up in her friend’s presence. He was thicker, bulkier, his scent a little cleaner. The beard he had the last time she saw him was now gone. His hair was no longer in his eyes. She could barely believe it was him.
