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“What?” I blink. “No, nothing’s wrong. I was surprised, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting—well any of this really, so just par for the course, right? Should I wait out here while you get dressed? I don’t mind.”
Good job. Totally cool and not defensive sounding at all. Jeez, Sophia.
He flashes me half a grin, and it churns my stomach, which is a problem since there was already a storm brewing in there.
“That’s Claudette,” he tells me. Why he thinks I want to know his lover’s name is beyond me, but whatever. “She works for me. She does PR for my firm. We had an early meeting, since I intend to be busy the rest of the day.”
His gaze intensifies at the end of his sentence, and I can’t read the look on his face, which annoys the hell out of me. Didn’t I just insist that reading people is what I do?
“That’s nice,” I intone, trying to sound utterly disinterested. “Although I don’t know why you’re telling me. It’s none of my business who works for you or what time you meet.”
He chuckles, which irritates me further, then opens the door a little wider and gestures for me to come inside. He’s pressed back against the door, his bare chest, abs, and arms everywhere I need to walk past, and warmth spreads across my skin against my will.
Lucas’s eyes lock on mine as I squeeze by. He must have just showered because no man’s natural scent isthisintoxicating. My thigh brushes his, sending heat washing up to my hips.
“Welcome to my home,” he says, emphasizing the possessive. That same possessiveness reaches his eyes briefly. Not long enough for me to determine what it’s attached to. Maybe his house, or the status of having a place like this.Or it’s simple pride in luring a fly into his web.Okay, enough of that. For my sanity, I’m going to believe he’s just really into architecture.
Once I’m inside, that theory holds a lot more water. It’s a spacious place, sunny and open, but it’s arranged in such a way as to create mysterious pockets of shadow and beams of sunlight. It’s dazzling in the same way an Escher drawing is dazzling, making you question whether you really understand the laws of physics or geometric concepts.
The door closes, and Lucas moves behind me, a lot closer than he technically needs to be.
I can feel his body heat and his breath, causing goosebumps to rush over me. Ignoring it, I look around, suddenly developing an intense interest in a statue in one corner, cataloging every detail of it without really internalizing any of it. Lucas Hale is making my brain buzz, and I still can’t tell if it was a warning alarm going off or a hum of desire. Not that the two are mutually exclusive.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he says in a low growl before he saunters off down a long hallway.
I’m alone in his gigantic, enticing house. I feel so… small and insignificant in this place. Or maybe like a fleshy blemish in this world of marble, crystals, and decadence.
I take a few tentative steps forward. My entire apartment could fit in this big room here, whatever it’s called. A foyer? An atrium? I’m not sure how to classify it, frankly. When a house has five rooms, it’s obvious which one is the living room. This could be a living room, a lounge, a library, a study, a small airport—it defies all labels. I like it, but it makes me uncomfortable, throwing me off-balance the same way the room’s owner does.
A few minutes later, Lucas strides back into the room. I shouldn’t be disappointed that he’s fully dressed now, since he can’t exactly show up to the office half-naked. But a part of me—a rather large part of me—would have liked to spend the whole day looking at him. Which makes me wonder if he did that on purpose, too. I can’t ask him outright, obviously, but there is a more acceptably professional question I can ask.
“Was there a reason you had me meet you here rather than the office?”
He flashes me a wicked smile that has me half-convinced that he can read my mind.
“I always have a reason for everything I do,” he says. “We need to make a stop on the way. Come with me.”
Back out front, he leads me to the shiny million-dollar speed demon sitting in the driveway. He opens my door for me with a flourish, and I deliberately avoid feeling any kind of way about that. The car looks like a compact but it feels like a spaceship on the inside. The seat hugs me firmly—a huge difference from my tired-out, tamped-down, spring-busted seat.And they say money can’t buy happiness.
He winks at me as he gets behind the wheel with a cocky little smirk that tells me he knows what he has and he knows I’m enjoying it. I can’t deny it, this car is sweet as hell. Lucas turns the key, and the car growls like a jungle cat, vibrating my everything.Oh, yes.This is going to be a damn good ride.
I don’t even try to hide my excitement as he guns the accelerator and sends us speeding down the driveway.
Chapter8
Lucifer
The morning sunignites Sophia’s auburn hair, picking up the red highlights and giving her a fiery halo that makes her look like a Goddess of Chaos when paired with her delight of the performance of the car, and I can’t help but drink it in for a moment too long.
I turn my gaze back to the road after a moment, but even traffic can’t steal my attention away from her. This feisty, intriguing woman amuses me. Or rather, it amuses me to play with her and her perception of me. Even those who don’t know who I am tend to shrink, cower, and morph themselves into whatever it is they think I will want, rather than allowing me to see their true selves. Havek comes to mind as someone who would put on any face he thought I wanted him to wear.
But Sophia? She doesn’t.
She digs in her heels and demands that I see her for exactly who she is. Even frightened, she managed to explain herself clearly and even attempted to decline my offer. I can count on one hand the number of people who have declined an offer from me when they were desperate, and I would still have fingers left over.
As I weave in and out between cars, I watch her from the corner of my eye. She cranes her neck as we pass the exit which would take us to my office, then she whips her head around and gawks at me. That, right there. I’m sick to death of fake smiles and simpering expressions. I’ve done something unexpected, and the woman is glaring at me for it. Refreshing.Titillating.
“Where are we going?” she asks—no,demands.
