“‘Attached’?” The word detonated. “Attached?” I surgedforward, and he stumbled back a step. “This ismine. Iearnedthis. I didn’t inherit a balance sheet and show up with spreadsheets and opinions. I worked it. I bled for it.”
He opened his mouth, but I kept going, every word another shove. “I worked under my dad when he was already hard and mean and breaking me down every damn day. I learned early how to keep my head down and survive him. And the only time I ever got out—ever—was when I could spend time with your grandfather.”
That stopped him. His eyes flickered. “Well at least he wanted to spend time with you.”
“That doesn’t even make sense. If you’d made a single piece of contact, it would have made his entire life!”
“That’s bullshit! He was as hateful as my dad, and it was worse because I was desperate and I needed him?—”
“You don’t even give a shit about legacy,” I went on. “Did you know Walter’s buried on this land? Do you even care what happens when you sell off the people buried here?”
Lucas shook his head, breath coming quick. “Jesse, stop?—”
“He’d die all over again for what you’re doing,” I shouted right in Lucas’s face. “For you coming in here and deciding this place is expendable because it doesn’t turn enough profit for your cup to buy damn fancy coffees.”
He backed up until the wall stopped him, eyes bright, jaw set. “You think I don’t feel any of this?” he shot back. “You think this is easy for me? Despite the fact I hate him, I’m not trying to erase him, or you, or anyone. But he didn’t give a shit about me, so why should I care about him?”
“Of course he cared about you,” I snarled. “His preciousfucking grandson, who he kept saying would visit him one day.”
“Yeah, right; he didn’t want me—I called and he?—”
“You never called!”
“I did! You think you had it hard? My dad found out I was gay and threw me out! I was fifteen. I called, I wanted to come here, and my oh so fucking fantastic grandfather told me he didn’t want someone like me anywhere near him!”
What? No. He was the first person I told when I knew I was gay, and he was solid and never once said a bad thing. Hell, he let me vent about my dad. He was a good man.
“He wouldn’t do that!” I said.
“And I’m telling you he did. Maybe you never knew the real man, because he broke my heart into a million pieces, and he gave me this place because he was guilty!”
“He loved you!”
“He didn’t! No one did! No one does!” His voice broke.
We were both breathing hard, and something in his voice mirrored my life so perfectly that it was a knife in my chest. I wanted to hug him, and god, what did I do with that? I could see the regret in his expression that he’d even said that, but the edge to his words made me stop.
The hallway was too damn quiet for us to be shouting at each other, and Lucas stood there, arms crossed, jaw set, ready to argue the world into submission. He pushed back the sleeves of his shirt, exposing the lean muscle of his forearms. Jeez—was he getting ready to fight me? All five-nine of him, tense and focused. The light of a lamp cast a warm glow, but it did nothing to soften the hard line of his mouthor the way his blue eyes burned into me as if he were trying to set me on fire.
I should’ve walked away. I knew that. But the way he’d been messing with me and talking to investors and pretending as if I was even included, then blaming his grandfather, had my blood boiling. My fingers twitched at my sides, my body coiled with the kind of frustration that only came when you were sick of being pushed.
“You don’t get to stand there and act like you know what’s best for this place,” Lucas snapped, his voice low and controlled, changing the subject from the emotional outburst. “You could be a rich man! You’re too damn stubborn to see reason.”
“Your grandfather?—”
“No! I don’t need this shit!”
He vibrated with temper, his eyes bright, and maybe I’d regret this later, but I was flooded with compassion. He was wrong about the call. Walter would never have stopped Lucas from coming here, but the way his voice broke when he said no one loved him. Shit.
“No!”
I moved before I could think. I touched his jaw, and he flinched. His skin was smooth under my calloused palm, the faint stubble rough beneath my fingertips. His breath hitched, those blue eyes widening just a fraction—surprise, maybe, or something darker.
“Stop,” I growled.
He didn’t move. “I can’t,” he half-whispered.
And I kissed him, and I meant to be gentle, but my first taste of him was explosive, so itwasn’t gentle or sweet. It was teeth and tongue and need, my lips crashing to his as if I could fuck the pain in his eyes right out of him. For a second, he went stiff as a board, his body locked up, and I released my hold immediately—there was no consent here, and I might feel like I was helping in some twisted way, but I could control my libido.
