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He’s told me again and again that this is the kind of man he is. A man who will move me from here to there like a doll, a pawn. But there’s something different about this particular power play. Something that doesn’t quite track.
Because Lukas Lazarev doesn’t run from anything.
He’s a man who stares down boardrooms full of hostile executives without blinking. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he pinned me against a wall and threatened to defile me six ways from Sunday, and he meant every depraved word.
But last night, he stood outside my door and touched himself while listening to me do the same. He moaned my name.
And now, he’s fleeing back to New York like the hounds of hell are nipping at his heels.
It all points to one obvious truth:
Lukas Lazarev isterrified—ofme.
41
RAE
DEPARTURE NOTICE [URGENT]
Flight: Bordeaux → New York
Passengers: One (1) man running scared + one (1) woman who just figured it out
“Good. You’re awake.”
I turn to see Lukas emerging from the kitchen. Gone is the breezy, at-ease linen he’s worn for the last two days. He’s back to a crisp, starched Oxford cloth button-down with a high collar. His hair is combed and oiled; same with his beard. A pair of aviator sunglasses hides his eyes from view.
He’s got his battle armor on again.
“The car is waiting for us out front,” he says. “We’re wheels-up in twenty-five minutes.”
“Great,” I say, flat and bitter as day-old coffee. “So that’s it, then.”
Lukas pauses mid-stride. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, nothing.” I cross my arms over my chest. “It’s just funny, is all.”
“What’s funny?”
“You.” I point my chin at the suitcases. “One second, you’re all,Five million bucks means you’re worth more than a simple dinner.Then, all of the sudden, it’sLet’s wrap this show up.I guess I should’ve known you were a bullshitter. Do you evenhaveany horses in that stable?”
His jaw tightens behind that perfectly groomed beard. The sunglasses make it impossible to read his eyes, which I’m sure is the point.
“The horses?—”
“—were a pretense. Yeah, I know, I get it. Like everything else.” I’m being petty and bratty now, and I know that, but I can’t stop. The humiliation from last night—fromhearinghim, from letting him hearme, from cumming with his name on my lips—is curdling into something ugly.
He got what he wanted.
That makes one of us.
“Are you finished?” he asks. He’s speaking to me like I’m a toddler throwing a tantrum and he’s waiting for me to exhaust myself.
“No, actually,” I snap. “I’m not. I’m just getting started. You’re really, really good at all the up-front stuff, aren’t you? You know how to enter a room, how to cultivate an aura. But when it comes to actuallydeliveringon all those dirty promises? Well, at that point, you turn into Just Another Guy. So, yeah. It’s a little funny to me.”
Lukas’s lip curls with contempt. “‘Just Another Guy,’” he repeats. “Is that what you think I am?”
“It’s what Iknowyou are.”
