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“This is your dukedom.”
With a sharp bite, I retort, “Accurate assessment.”
“Don’t be an ass. Having something handed over, it makes a person either resentful or lazy or . . . I don’t know. Dad treated my mom the best he could in the beginning.” Her eyes lock onto mine.
Understanding her inference, I climb to my feet. “Never compare me to anyone else.”
She gives a wry smile. “I'm not. The situation is similar, though. Older man. My dad was the fucking mack daddy at—”
“It’s not remotely similar,” I reply drily. Engulfing Luxury’s hands with my own, I help her stand. Luxury burrows her head into my chest. For a moment, I’m not the savior I swore I was upon our first introduction.
Not her hero.
I'd rather Luxury not shed another tear. I set aside my craving to transform her understanding of tragedy, to rework it, making a brave woman out of her. My emotions click on full force—a firework of craving that transcends the physical touch of her arse or her hips or those plush lips. I kiss her breath away. Fingers softly cuff her throat, thumbs roving the slender column. I growl, “You will never be released, Little One. I . . . will always aspire to place your happiness above all. You are mine.”
“Victor,” she murmurs, smiling sweetly, “I love you. I want to stay with you every second. Something’s wrong with that. It’s obsess—”
“Rubbish! How could there be something wrong with your desire to stay with me, and I with you, huh?” I tip her chin and meet her eye.
“Because you don't love me too.”
Bloody. Fuck!I leaped in front of a hollow-tip bullet. “I care for you.”
“Victor, stop. I'll be twenty-four in a few weeks. I should be starting graduate school and dating a man that has potential—”
“I’m a billionaire, Little One. It doesn’t get any better than this.”
“Potentialto marry me. Don't stare at me like you want to murder me when I say so. If youcare,”Luxury slings the word like acid, “then you'd want my life to follow along those lines. Moreover, I just let Urban Gardens go. After I left New York, I didn't sell the company nor keep up with the payments.I gave up.”
“That wasn't a responsible thing to do.”
“Yeah. I'm glad collections hasn’t called me. Or rather, I don’t have my cell phone.”
I rub her arms. “Lux, when was the last time you talked with your mate?”
“Aliyah?” She smiles, though the familiar sting of regret flickers over a gorgeous façade
Am I bloody losing her? Just like . . .
Twenty-bloody-three. Last time I fell.
“I have this feeling you’re changing subjects. Trying to make sure I don’t leave.”
“You’re not permitted to leave,” I assure. “But when?”
“Okay, bossy pants. I haven’t spoken with Aliyah in over a month—since I left,” Luxury exasperates.
“Give her a call. I’ll draw you a bath before we leave for dinner. Then tomorrow, we will assess your jabs and uppercuts.”
41
Luxury
Before Victor came into the room and I admitted how irresponsible I was about Urban Gardens, I had tried to take an afternoon nap. But Momma’s diary kept taunting me. From my ages of seven to eleven, she snuck around Dad’s back, covering her indiscretions. Uncle Red offered the attention and affection that a mother desired and a daughter required.
For some time, the memories consumed me—had they resurfaced? Or were they false?
But I can’t help the knots in my gut as I now recall wishing Uncle Red was my father. Then the fire accident at his lab. That day, he should’ve died, but my mom’s spunkiness, everything that made her feisty, everything that was in Gina’s genetic makeup died instead.
