Falling In (19 page)

“Evelyn?” He looked accusingly at Slade. “What's the matter?”

Scout stood up, kicked her robe around her ankles, and marched into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. She barely had time to cool her temper when the door opened. Without a word, Lucian stormed up to her and swept her up and over his shoulder.

“Put me down!”

“Hush.”

His hand swatted her ass, leaving her momentarily speechless. He marched her back into the common area and plopped her unceremoniously on the couch. She gave him her fiercest glare and refused to look at Slade the snake.

“Tell her,” Lucian growled the command at his friend.

Not seeing the point in all this, she turned to Slade. He sighed and said, “Isadora is Lucian's sister.”

The relief that swept through Scout was immeasurable. She may have actually moaned.

“It seems my friend here,” Lucian began dryly, “needs to work on being a bit more unambiguous with his words. People seem to keep misinterpreting his meanings.”

Slade's jaw ticked. “My apologies, Ms. Keats. I've forgotten my manners. It won't happen again.” He was doing the
Gilligan's Island
rich person teeth-talking thing.

The apology was forced and she didn't believe one word of it was genuine. Scout wasn't sure how to react to such insincerity. There was a long, awkward moment of silence. Finally, Slade said something about making the next call but Lucian interrupted. “We're done here.”

Stymied, Slade said, “Lucian, we have to—”

“I said we're done.”

Realizing Lucian wasn't going to budge, Slade stood irritably and gathered his things. Once he had everything back in his briefcase, he turned to his partner. “You need to remember who you are and stop trying to be someone else.”

“And you need to remember it's
my
name
on the door
,
” Lucian retorted, eyeing the other man intensely.

Slade turned. “Ms. Keats.” He nodded and left in a huff that ended with a sharp click of the door.

She faced Lucian. He wouldn't look at her. “I'm sorry about that. Slade is . . . he doesn't deal with change well.”

Scout stood, wanting to hit the reset button on the entire morning. “I'm going to take a shower.” Nothing else was said.

Chapter 24

Too many sunrises . . .

Scout took an extralong time in the shower. Her second attempt at shaving her legs went a lot better than her first. Rather than turn into the bride of Frankenstein with the help of the blow-dryer, she simply braided her hair into one thick rope. T-shirts had mysteriously appeared in her closet, and she chose a soft cornflower blue one and a pair of plain boot-cut jeans. Then she waited.

She sat on the bed and braided her hair again. After pacing a rut in the freshly vacuumed carpet, she turned on the television, but there weren't any cartoons on at the moment. She couldn't relate to daytime television and found it annoying. Unable to take her silent restlessness anymore, she went out to bug Lucian.

Scout expected she'd be interrupting him, but his chair was turned away from his desk as he stared out the window. He appeared deep in thought. She approached quietly. He didn't seem to notice her watching him.

She wasn't sure what made her do it, but she stepped close to his chair and sat on the floor beside him. He looked down and she pressed her cheek into his thigh, wanting to breathe in his closeness. His fingers picked up her braid and turned the long rope of hair.

“Your hair's so beautiful.”

Her lips pressed tight as his praise fluttered through her chest. He draped the braid over her shoulder.

“Lucian?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you avoiding me?”

He didn't deny it. He took a deep breath and returned his gaze to the world outside. “Would you like to do something today?”

More avoidance. She pivoted on her knees and faced him. Her fingers plucked at the button on his shirt. “If you're not busy we could go back to bed and spend the day there. It looks like it's going to rain. We could light candles and—”

“That's not what I meant, Evelyn.”

His instant refusal threw her off. She had no experience with seduction, but she was a girl he had once found attractive. How hard could it be?

“I know that wasn't what you meant. I was making a suggestion.”

The patronizing way he looked at her made her bristle. “I'm sure you'd rather do something else.”

Her back teeth clamped down.
Don't get frustrated.

“I'm pretty sure I just told you what I wanted to do. Why are you . . .” It hurt to actually ask such a question. “Lucian, did I do it wrong?”

His dark brows lowered over his dark eyes. “Do what wrong?”

Exasperated, she held out her palms and dropped to her bottom.
“It.”
She
knew he had done most of the work, but she wanted to have a second try. She felt a little braver now that she knew what to expect. “Are you no longer attracted to me?”

“God, Evelyn, no. I just . . . You're innocent.”

“So? Is that so bad?”

He looked away.

“Lucian, I know you didn't expect me to be a virgin, but so what? I'm not anymore. You act like it's a bad thing. Look at it this way. You're all I've ever known as far as anything sexual. Rather than run from me,
teach me.
”

Scout waited for him to reply, but he wouldn't even look at her. Brazenly she reached for his belt and began to undo it. He jumped up as if she had spilled scalding coffee in his lap.

“What are you doing?”

His look of contempt was so fierce she flinched. Her mouth opened and closed but no words came out. He glared at her and incredible shame snaked through her belly. He scowled at her as if she had tried to rape him. Tears stung her eyes.

“N-nothing. I won't touch you again,” she whispered, and he walked away.

Scout sat on the floor, staring out the window for several minutes. When the front door of the penthouse slammed, she jumped. Maybe she should leave. Unsure if she'd be welcomed back at St. Christopher's, she chucked that idea. She didn't want to leave anyway. Lucian had become someone she was growing used to sharing her days with and she stubbornly wanted to see this thing through.

Her brain kept replaying Lucian's words about Parker in her head. The more she thought about Parker the more she feared Lucian was right. She decided she'd visit Pearl.

Her plans were dashed when a bolt of lightning webbed the solid sheet of sky like cracks in an old teacup, and there was a sharp crash of thunder. The skies suddenly opened and it began to pour. She had nowhere to go. Trapped.

Unable to sit in the suite any longer, she grabbed her room key and left. Scout walked down to the lobby and looked at the paintings of local architecture on the walls. She sat on a cushioned bench and watched families and lovers dining in the restaurant.

The doormen all wore Patras ponchos and plastic caps over their brimmed Patras hats. It made her think of the picture of her and Pearl and that silly rubber hat.

After a while she walked through some of the boutiques. Her eyes snagged on a black leather belt with a gunmetal gray, sleek buckle. It reminded her of Lucian, hard, yet soft, attractive, yet completely masculine. She asked if she could purchase it, and the clerk asked for her room key to put it on her tab.

Scout knew it was silly, buying him a present with his own money, but she'd never bought anything like that before. When the clerk rung her up the bill was ninety-seven dollars. As she reached for her room card Scout pulled it back.

“Wait,” she said, hesitating as her mind worked.

The clerk's assistant who'd been gift-wrapping the leather belt paused as well. “Is something wrong, Miss?”

“I'm not going to charge it to my room. Can you hold onto it for a minute while I run upstairs? I'll be right back.”

When the elevators deposited her on the top floor, she raced into the bedroom. Lucian still wasn't back. Her hands dug through her bag and pulled out a tight folded pile of twenties. Her fingers shook as she counted out five of them. Once she had enough money for the belt, she stuffed her money back in her bag and wedged it under the bed.

Scout raced back to the elevators and impatiently bounced as she waited for the car to arrive. She'd never spent this much money on anything. She wanted to hand it over before she changed her mind. The door opened and she jumped into the elevator.

Scout sped through the lobby to the boutique. The bills were sweaty in her palm by the time she handed them over to the clerk.

They did a beautiful job wrapping the gift in black sleek paper and a diagonally tied silver bow.

“Did you want this delivered to your room, Ms. Keats?”

Scout agreed, feeling dizzy from doing something so spontaneous. An attendant in sharp black pants and a Patras blazer came and collected her package and carried it to the elevator. As the elevator doors closed, her eyes focused on the dial rising as ninety-seven dollars traveled farther and farther away from her. Then she felt like she was going to puke.

How could she have been so wasteful? Pearl could've used that money. Or Parker. It could've bought food for the shelter or a coat and a new sweater for Park. Oh, God, she was a terrible person.

“Evelyn?”

Distracted from her self-loathing, she turned and found Patrice,the waxing torture artist from the salon, beside her. “Patrice. Hi.”

“You okay? You look a little pale.”

Scout swallowed. “I just did something very, very stupid, but I'll live. Definitely a lesson I won't be forgetting anytime soon.”

Patrice's lips curved with the practiced grace of someone who's always been beautiful, and she glanced toward the front of the hotel. “Look, I'm done for the day. I was gonna just go home and veg out, but I'll never get a cab in this weather. Wanna come with me to Vogue and get a drink?”

“Oh, thanks, but I don't really drink.”

“Well, then how about coming with me to keep me company until the rain lets up? You can tell me all about the stupid thing you did and I'll make you feel better.”

Scout was about to politely decline, but then figured what the hell. She was tired of being by herself and could use a break from her reality. “Okay.”

They sat at the bar. It was high and long and supershiny. She'd never sat at a bar before. The lighting was dim and gave this part of the restaurant a reddish glow. A handsome man with tanned arms and big muscles came over to them. He wore a Patras golf shirt.

“What can I get you ladies?”

Patrice smiled. Every expression she made had a sultry appearance. This didn't slip the bartender's notice. There was nothing sultry about Scout.

Patrice moved like one of those fancy fish they sold in the Chinese section of Folsom, the kind with the long, fringed fins that flowed and swirled. Her arms crossed delicately as she leaned forward. Her long lashes moved over her pale blue eyes like wispy fronds fanning in a breeze. Her voice, when she addressed the bartender, was more of a purr.

Her lips curved slowly over every word. “I'll take a tequila sunrise and my friend here will have . . .”

Patrice looked at her and Scout panicked. It suddenly felt silly to be sitting at a fancy bar and ordering a water. “Make that two.”

“Two sunrises, coming up.”

He turned and began pulling bottles down from glass shelves and filling a silver cup with ice. He put on quite a show, raising his arm high as amber liquid poured down in a ribbon of gold. He shook the silver cup and the chilled liquor slid into a glass, causing the red juice he first added to rise like the sun.

Scout smiled. “It's so pretty.”

“Like a sunrise,” Patrice added, turning her slight smirk and long lashes in her direction.

The bartender slid the glasses in front of them. “Two beautiful sunrises for two beautiful ladies.”

Liquor was a funny thing. It burned fast going down, then burned slow once it hit the belly. Scout had never had alcohol before and didn't really feel the effects. By the time she finished her drink she'd practically forgotten about the money she spent and was really enjoying herself.

“Can I get you ladies a refill?”

Patrice smiled and slid a twenty across the bar. Scout's brow puckered. She hadn't thought about paying.

“Wait,” Scout said, stilling Patrice's hand. Her nails were very nice. Little, neat, and red. “You bought the first two.”

“It's my treat, Evelyn.” She smiled softly and Scout breathed in a whiff of her light flowery perfume. Her breath smelled like cherry grenadine.

“No, let me. I have a credit.” Her fingers slid the room card to the bartender and he slid it through the machine.

He frowned and brought it back, looking uncertain. “Uh, this card isn't registered to your name.”

“Oh.” Scout didn't expect to be questioned for using Lucian's card, but she guessed that made sense.

Before she came up with an excuse, Patrice said, “Evelyn's Mr. Patras's guest.”

The bartender looked at Scout in question, and she shrugged. “He said I should charge everything to the room.”

With no easy way out of this predicament, the bartender jaggedly turned, skepticism slowing his progress, and made their drinks. As Patrice and she chatted, other patrons began to fill the establishment. Voices carried and they slowly began to talk louder, leaning in closer to hear each other.

After they ordered their third drink the bartender was flagged over by a man at the register. They spoke briefly and then the man looked at Scout. She wondered if they would be asked to leave. He made a phone call and left. She forgot about him by her fourth drink.

By the time the bar was full so was her bladder. Whispering to Patrice that she needed to visit the ladies' room, her friend decided to go with her. While she felt fine sitting at the bar, the moment she stood, she realized she was anything but. She lost her balance and Patrice caught her elbow. They giggled the entire way to the ladies' room. Walking in heels while intoxicated was like traveling on a tightrope.

When they returned to the bar, Scout had declared Patrice an excellent friend. She was in such good spirits she ordered drinks for the two men sitting next to them. The men were very appreciative. The one named Stephen stood beside them and told them about the convention he was attending while in town. Feeling loose and cheery, Scout leaned back in her chair and smiled. He didn't have such nice teeth, but he was still a very nice gentleman.

A while later she thought she saw Dugan in the crowd, but at that point everything had begun to swirl and blur. Patrice and she sat facing each other. Patrice laughed and placed her hand on Scout's thigh, little red nails rubbing gently. Stephen stood to her side, arm draped over the back of her chair. She was warm. It was a wonderful feeling, toasty and cozy in her skin.

The soft music that had been playing was turned up and people began to dance. She watched them longingly. Dancing looked fun.

Stephen followed her gaze and shouted over the crowd, “Wanna dance?”

Knowing she'd make a fool of herself if she tried, Scout said, “I—”

“She can't.”

With a start, she turned and found Lucian and Dugan standing beside them. Patrice looked terrified.

“Hey! Dugan! What is up, my brotha?” The words just came spewing out of her mouth and then she burst out laughing.

Patrice giggled behind her hand, little red nails curling delicately. Lucian frowned and Dugan's lips twitched, but his expression remained in its perpetual grimace.

“I thought you didn't drink?” Lucian leaned in and shouted over the noise.

Scout held up her glass in a solute. “I didn't, but I'm doing lots of things I never did before.”

Stephen smiled boldly and gestured toward Lucian. “Who's this, Scout?”

Patrice shook her head nervously and Dugan's deep voice carried over the drunken roar of patrons without having to shout. “This is Mr. Patras, the owner of the hotel. Ms. Keats is his guest.”

Stephen paled and slunk back into the crowd. Patrice laughed. “That wasn't very nice, Mr. Dugan.”