Authors: Lydia Michaels
Part II
Lucian
Chapter 26
Alekhine's Gun
A position in which the queen backs up two rooks
The door slammed and a piece of Lucian's soul ripped away. Her words shredded him. It took everything he had not to bring her back, not to call the front desk and demand they hold her here. In one week's time he'd come to think of Evelyn as his, yet he was incapable of fucking her again.
That look, that haunted, broken look in her eyes, he put that there. It was right for her to leave, but she wasn't going back to her house or her life. She was going back to that goddamn shelter and the streets and she didn't even have a fucking coat!
He walked to the window and stared down at the streets thirty-two floors below. Cars wove in and out of spaces as pedestrians mingled and raced to where they needed to be.
Such monotonous bullshit.
How had she ever made it this far and come out less damaged than him? Well, that wasn't true. She was notably more damaged since she became associated with him.
I was born in an alley, addicted to heroin.
Roaring in frustration, Lucian turned and swept everything off of the desk.
Stalking to the French doors, he pulled them wide. The blustery November air cut through his clothing as his feet stomped to the heavy railing. Leaning far over the edge until his muscles clenched in fear that he might plummet to his death, he gazed at the tiny people scurrying below. Looking for any sign of Evelyn's dark hair luffing like a sail or that ridiculous pillowcase she called a bag, something inside of him crumbled when he saw nothing but strangers.
There was something indefinable about Evelyn, something no other woman had. She was strong, yet fragile. He could help her in ways others didn't need, yet she didn't need him either. Convincing her to take from him was never an easy task, and now he might never be able to give her anything again.
Stubborn woman.
He tried to convince himself that she'd be back, but the unfamiliar presence of fear weighing in his gut told him otherwise.
Standing out there until his fingers felt bloodless, waiting, watching for any sign of her, Lucian's mind scrambled for a solution. She'd come back. She had to come back. Eventually able to admit to himself that she might never come back and that was for the best, he shut his eyes, swallowed back the lump of pain in his throat and returned to the warmth of the condo.
A small black package sat on the side table. He hadn't noticed it there before. His brow creased as he slowly stepped closer. Ominous and finite, the little package was incredibly intimidating. A gift. His fingers ran over the sleek black paper and silver ribbon.
Lucian couldn't recall the last time he had opened a present. Visions of childhood holidays with Isadora and Antoinette took him to another place and time. Jamie handing him a pack of baseball cards on his thirteenth birthday he had subtly slipped a mint Mickey Mantle into, Monique giving him a new set of dishes because she didn't care for the old ones. There was nothing in the past several years. How vacant and meaningless his life had become. His existence had turned into something utterly superficial.
Evelyn was so different from Monique. She lacked the sense of entitlement Monique had always displayed. He'd admired that greatly about Monique, saw it as confidence, but looking back it was more spoiled petulance than anything else. If she hadn't been so all determined to have everything how she wanted it, when she wanted it, she'd likely still be alive today. But he wasn't sure if they'd have stayed together.
Slade was always more indulgent when it came to Monique's tantrums and demands. He'd been the one that bought her that damn bike to begin with. She should have never gotten on that thing, but after getting her way for so long, she accepted the word
no
less and less.
Evelyn, although stubborn in her own way, had a more rational side than Monique could have ever possessed. Evelyn listened and observed and, many times, he could see her brain processing new things she otherwise wouldn't know about. He liked that about her. Years ago he would've referred to Evelyn's outward personality as meek, but now he knew better.
Of the two, Evelyn was definitely the stronger. He hoped she wasn't so strong she'd stay away for good. Maybe she was stronger than him, because while she decided she didn't need him, he very much felt like he still needed her. She saw him in a way no one else did and he didn't want to lose her.
Lucian's presence was sought after for functions in which the purpose had lost all meaning. He couldn't even recall what he was supposed to be supporting last Monday at the museum. Details of Evelyn's crystal eyes and her ice blue gown ate up his memories of that night. It had been so difficult not to maul her the moment he set eyes on her. The memory of her soft skin as he zipped her gown still took his breath away. In that moment he had never wanted anything more than to peel that zipper down instead of up and splay her naked body wide for his pleasure.
Gazing down at the gift box, his finger slid under the silver satin ribbon and tugged. It slackened and slid from the box in a loop closely resembling a noose. He carefully peeled back the heavy paper, recognizing the name on the box from the boutique downstairs.
Plucking the box open, Lucian found crisp black tissue folded, covering a tiny nest that held a treasure inside. Without seeing what the actual gift was, he decided to love it on principle. Evelyn had picked this out. She had seen it and thought of him and that made it special.
As he peeled back the tissue he spotted polished, sleek leather, coiled like a snake. It was a belt, the brushed nickel clasp faded metallic, like gunmetal. Gently, his hands pulled the gift from the box.
As if he'd been given a ribbon of honor, he smiled and wanted to put it on immediately. It was a badge, proof that she thought of him even when he wasn't there. Gingerly placing it back in its box, he shut his eyes, overwhelmed with gratitude for the thoughtful gesture.
This was not an inexpensive gift for someone of Evelyn's means. Scowling at the incredible gift, he wondered if she'd charged it to the room or foolishly used her own money.
“Oh, Evelyn . . .”
His thigh vibrated and he reached into his pocket for his phone. “Patras.”
“Lucian, it's Shamus. How are you?”
“Hey, James. What's up?”
“I wanted to let you know that I met with the broker about the property on Macintosh. He says it's a go. You just need to have your attorney okay the paperwork and sign. Slade thinks it's a good deal. His attorney went over it yesterday.”
“Where are you now?”
“I'm actually in your neck of the woods. Spent the night with a lovely woman by the name of Tammy.”
“Sounds charming.”
“Charming she certainly was not, but she could fuck like a sailor on leave so I'm not complaining. How's your little piece?”
It wasn't Jamie's fault the way he referred to Evelyn. He'd have no clue Lucian saw her differently than the rest, especially not after he provided him with a cheap show a few days ago.
“She's . . . she actually just left.”
“Left, like ran to grab a paper or . . .” He let the question hang.
“She's gone.”
“You okay, Luche? You don't sound too happy about that.”
“I'm . . . I don't know. It's for the best I suppose. It wouldn't have worked out.”
“That's a shame. She was a stunner. Those eyes . . . gave me something to think about for quite a few nights.”
“She isn't like that, Jamie.” His jaw locked. He didn't want Jamie thinking of her that way.
“All right. Settle down. Didn't know.” He cleared his throat. “If she's so special, how come you let her go?”
“Slade hated her.”
Jamie laughed. “Slade hates everyone at first. Lucian, please tell me you're not basing your choices on Slade's preferences. Monique's gone. You need to let her go. The both of you do. Besides, I think you're making a mistake if you find a keeper and decide to share her.”
“You didn't think I was making a mistake when you were invited to watch.”
“Watching and touching are two totally different things and you know it. Listen, I'm pulling up to Calgary's, then I'm coming over. You want me to grab anything before I get to the condo?”
“No, I'm good.”
“All right, I'll see you in twenty.”
Chapter 27
Blockade
A strategic placement of minor pieces intended to provide shelter from an attack
Shadows crawled across the ceiling as the insidious ticking of the clock filled the room. It would soon be dawn and Lucian hadn't slept a wink. It had been the same for the past four nights. All he could think about was Evelyn. Was she safe? Was she warm? Was she thinking about him?
He tried to recall the shelter. He'd been in a rage the night he found her, showing up with a sole purpose, to get her the hell out of there. There were more men than women. Every time he imagined her sleeping on that floor alongside other homeless residents, his gut twisted.
He must have slept for an hour or two. When he awoke at seven, it was to the sound of his cell vibrating quietly on the nightstand. Seeing it wasn't anyone he wanted to talk to, he silenced it and went to shower.
By noon, Lucian was on his way out the door to a meeting at Finks off the main line. Midweek check-ins clogged the lobby entrance. Jerome held the large glass-plated door and Dugan, in perfect timing, opened the passenger door of the limo.
“Good morning, Mr. Patras,” the doorman greeted as he whisked by.
“Good morning, Jerome.”
Nodding to Dugan, as he outran the chill and slid into the back of the car, the door closed and he was again submerged in warmth. They were soon on their way.
Finks was an open little joint specializing in Italian cuisine leaning more toward lighter fare. Lucian spotted the woman he was looking for as soon as he arrived.
She was dressed in a style he considered understated money. Her clothing was finely made, but subtle, lacking any pompous flare or designer tags. She stood on her burgundy square-heeled shoes as he approached the table.
“Mr. Patras,” she greeted and smiled. “It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I admire what you've been doing with the old Poplar building.” Her handshake was completely asexual, not overcompensating; firm, but also lacking any feminine grace.
“Thank you for taking this meeting, Mrs. Morris.”
“Please, call me Paula.”
“Paula, then. And call me Lucian.”
The waiter deposited menus and they each ordered their beverages. Business lunches were a strategy meant to distract and relax guests, and he always made sure not to fall too far into the comforts of the surroundings. He quickly ordered a light grilled chicken salad and handed back his menu, not wanting to waste too much time on the superfluous rituals of social etiquette.
“Slade tells me you're interested in St. Christopher's,” Paula said before sipping from her sweet tea. “I must admit I'm a little surprised. I've watched your career at a distance and noticed you tend to stick to the more artistic charities. I'm flattered you're considering involving yourself with our shelter.”
Leaning back he eyed his lunch companion with friendly ease. “I don't know anything about what it takes to run a shelter, I'll admit, but I'd like to make the conditions more . . . agreeable to the guests.”
“Residents,” she corrected. “That's wonderful. I'm not sure if Slade told you, but the fire inspector's been coming down on us pretty hard lately. The school is passable, but the church should've been condemned years ago. It's a constant struggle to run a charitable organization when repairs are needed. Most of our budget goes to utilities and supplementing the pantries when supplies are low.
“Being that tomorrow's Thanksgiving, we'll have a surge of donations from local food banks that will get the residents through the next two weeks, but after that, as the holiday season approaches, people tend to get caught up in securing their own luxuries, rather than considering what the less fortunate actually need.”
It had completely slipped his mind that tomorrow was Thanksgiving. That meant he'd be traveling back to the estate tonight and heading to Isadora's in the morning. The tediousness of a day with family immediately registered itself, forming a knot between his shoulders.
Paula continued to list the various needs of the shelter. He decided that while food was not an immediate issue, clothing was. He'd order bulk shipments of coats, gloves, hats, socks, and shoes and have them sent over as soon as possible. Next week he'd look into the building's structural issues and see what could be done there. Slade was on the factions committee, and he'd know best where to start.
Paula admitted to not being too sure about the facility's structural needs. She said after last year's battle with the township, it was a wonder they remained open at all. Slade had spearheaded the campaign to keep the shelter alive. Lucian was grateful he had.
No matter how much Slade didn't support his interest in Evelyn, he was still a philanthropist on some level. The shelter had been a cause of his since he graduated, taking up right where his mother had left off with the charity. He wondered if he was coming around on the Evelyn front or if he had called him the night he found her in hopes it would smother all interest Lucian had in the woman.
After taking care of the bill, he thanked Paula and promised to be in touch. Upon their return to the hotel, he told Dugan to hang tight and quickly packed his briefcase with things to keep him busy on the ride out of the city. Within the hour they were leaving Folsom and he was on his way to an intense, family-crammed holiday. His palms were already sweating.
Chapter 28
Pawns
The weakest pieces in the game
Isadora put out a beautiful spread. Distraction was easily found in asserting his skills of intimidation over Antoinette's date. Peter Cross was a slimy little crawler with a knockoff Rolex, who liked to touch his baby sister a little too much.
“You're rotten, Lucian,” Isadora teased as he washed his hands at the kitchen sink.
“Quite, but what's brought about your scrutiny today?”
She laughed melodically as she transferred the remainder of turkey into a disposable silver tray.
“Poor Peter's going to need a new pair of underwear by the time he leaves here.”
“I don't care for the way he handles Antoinette. He should have respect. He's in our family home.”
“They're twenty-two and in love, Lucian. It isn't like he's groping her ass at the dinner table.”
“He better not be,” he growled, tossing a dishtowel on the granite countertop.
“She's not a baby anymore, Lucian.”
That was true. She was the same age as Evelyn, yet Antoinette still seemed like a little girl in pigtails.
Isadora sealed a lid over the leftovers and turned. “I talked to father today. He and Tibet send their regards and apologize for not making it back to the States.”
“Like we ever expected them to.”
Tibet was his father's mistress. She'd basically come with his father's marriage to their mother, like an unfortunate stowaway they all turned a blind eye to. When their mother passed away, when they were all under the age of twelve, Antoinette merely a toddler, Christos Patras had abandoned his children and legacy and taken off to Europe to fornicate with his mistress, where he wouldn't be under the judgmental eye of his and Lucian's mother's upper-crust circle.
Lucian's teenage years had been a navigation of misplaced anger and rebellion at being abandoned by the only parent he had left. Isadora took on the role of nurturer. Tutors saw to his education, ensuring he had the proper well-bred edification of any baron apprentice. He'd earned his master's just after he disenfranchised the company he saw as his father's last standing pride and joy, and earned his first million independent from his legacy shortly after.
The Patras name was plenty a foundation to stand on. By his midtwenties Lucian had held the impressive prestige of men twice his age, because none of them could compete with his family's worth. Their name had been a trusted brand since the turn of the century, when his great-great-grandfather had opened a charming little inn that catered to the upper class within the limits of a little metropolitan town called Folsom. They now had a fleet of luxury hotels spanning the globe and more money than any of them knew what to do with.
Lucian pulled his thoughts from the past with an effort. After the remainder of the meal was dealt with, they gathered in the great room to watch a little of the game. Although his eyes never left the television, minus the sidelong glances at Peter and his wandering hands, he wasn't even aware which teams were playing. His mind was focused on Evelyn.
Was she eating a turkey feast? Did the shelter acknowledge the holiday? What was she thankful for? He thought about the young man named Parker. It wouldn't surprise him if the two of them found comfort in each other's company. He cared for her very much, that was obvious in the longing way he watched her, whether Evelyn saw it or not.
Lucian's gut twisted at the thought of someone else holding her, touching her, kissing her. He didn't want to think of those silver-blue eyes staring into someone else's face with the same awe she sometimes looked at him with. The boy would never be able to provide the right type of life for her, the kind that would extricate her from the gutters of Folsom and put her where she deserved to be.
Parker Hughes wasn't really a boy, though, was he? No, he was a man with a disadvantage. The prick that Lucian was, part of him wanted the other man to stay down so he'd never have her. He should be hoping Parker ran into some luck so Evelyn could maybe find some small measure of happiness, but he was selfish. She was his.
Evelyn was intended for something better. Everyone saw it, except for poor innocent Evelyn herself. He bet she hadn't even realized what a ruckus she had caused at the bar the other night. What would she have done if she knew not only that clinger hovering at her chair was hoping to get a piece of her, but her friend from the salon, Patrice, also would've been more than willing to follow her to bed that night?
When he arrived at Vogue after Dugan received a call from the manager that a woman was using his card, he wanted to stomp in there like a possessive animal and mark every inch of her. Eyes from all directions were crawling over her body.
While everyone else had painstakingly chosen designer duds and invested extra time in their appearances in order to patronize the ritzy bar, Evelyn had worn nothing but a cotton T-shirt and jeans with those sexy fuck-me pumps. She stuck out like a sore thumb. Not because she was underdressed, but because even without the effort made by the others, she was easily the most beautiful creature in the room.
His jaw popped and he unclenched his teeth. She was no longer his and he'd have to accept she would always gain the notice of other men and women. She was stunning and sweet and made it incredibly easy for him to go the extra mile and do something generous he normally wouldn't even consider. He'd do anything, just to see that look of admiration in her eyes. But what if that meant letting her go?
He realized the game had ended when Peter stood.
“Well, Annie, you ready to head home?”
This douche bag . . .
Antoinette lived in a cozy little condo at the top of a swank establishment he had finished just in time for her twentieth birthday. Lucian had no doubt Peter was making himself quite at home in her condo, using her cable, eating her food. He reminded himself, again, that Antoinette and Evelyn were essentially the same age and she had as much of a right to live her life the way she chose as Evelyn did. It didn't help.
Slapping Peter hard on the back, Lucian squeezed his shoulder until he winced. “Why don't you come down to the city sometime, Pete? I'd love to show you what it is I do, let you get your feet wet in the real world for a day or two, see if you got what it takes.”
“Luche, Peter isn't interested in industrializing the world. He wants to be an instructor,” Antoinette said with doe-eyed affection for her boyfriend.
“An instructor of what?” he asked.
“Martial arts,” Peter chimed in, an unreliable worldliness to his voice.
Lucian's gaze narrowed as he skeptically took in his lanky build. “What belt are you?”
The younger man shifted his feet apprehensively. The motion was a complete contradiction to his upturned chin. “I'm not any belt yet, but I'm planning on starting classes this spring.”
Good grief. Antoinette needed to drop this moron. Quick. “Well, good luck with that,” he said, not bothering to disguise his unimpressed tone.
Once they all made their good-byes and his sisters promised they would get together in Folsom sometime before Christmas, he headed to his Rolls and planned to take the scenic way home in order to take in the open land. Hopefully the crisp air would erase the images of silver eyes and chestnut waves filling his head.