When You Defy Me (When I'm With You Part 2) (7 page)

“I hope I’m not too late,” she said breathlessly when she approached him. “The bus broke down on the inner drive and I had
to walk the rest of the way.”

He straightened from his leaning position, his light eyes moving over her deliberately and making her skin prickle in awareness.
“In those shoes?” he asked, the hint of a smile on his well-shaped lips.

She glanced down at the strappy high-heel sandals she wore along with a sack dress she’d belted at her hips. “This is nothing,”
she said as he took her hand and began to walk. “You wouldn’t believe the miles I walked in heels while I was waitressing.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Waitressing?”

She grinned, happy to have surprised him. “At La Roue, in Paris.”

He hailed a cab.

“We can walk,” she said. “I understand from Francesca the penthouse is very close, isn’t that right?”

A cab snapped to a halt in front of the curb. He opened the door for her.

“You’re getting a blister on your right ankle,” he said deadpan when she gave him a questioning look. She glanced down. He
was right. The skin around her ankle strap was abraded and red. When had he noticed? She sighed in relief a moment later when
she settled in the air-conditioned cab and did a double take when she noticed his small smile as he studied her.

“What?”

“Tender feet,” he said. She blinked at the unexpectedly seductive sound of his deep, resonant voice. “You were always getting
blisters as a girl.”

“My mother forgot to get me new shoes for the summer. I was growing like a weed that year.”

Annoyance crossed his bold features. “All that money, all those resources, and yet she neglected you,” he said. He noticed
her blank expression. He shook his head slightly, banishing a bitterness that confused her.

“Can I ask you a question?” she said impulsively, hopeful at the sound of his disdain toward her mother.

“Yes.”

“You never . . . you didn’t sleep with her ever, did you? My mother?”

Her heartbeat quickened when he just stared at her for a moment. She’d wanted to ask him that very question for a long time,
but also dreaded the answer.

“No. Absolutely not,” he said with quiet forcefulness.

She exhaled in relief. She nodded, believing him completely for some reason. “Because I know she probably tried to seduce
you that summer when we were in Nice. Probably other times, too. It’s what she does. I’m glad to know she failed with you.
She certainly never did with any of my other boyfriends,” she laughed.

He closed his eyes briefly. “Elise, I’m sorry.”

She shrugged, striving for an offhand manner. “We can’t pick our parents. Unfortunately.”

An awkward silence ensued. She suspected he was feeling sorry for her for having such a vain, substanceless mother and wished
like crazy she hadn’t brought up the topic.

“Have you really started running?”

She just nodded, thankful he’d noticed her discomfort and changed the subject.

“I’m proud of you. You need something to discipline your body, your mind . . . something to make you proud.”

He held her stare. Her heart throbbed in her ears once . . . twice. Suddenly, he was looking out the window and the intimate
moment had passed. She inhaled as if all the oxygen had been vacuumed out of the cab for a few seconds and abruptly replaced.

“It does make me proud,” she said, regaining her balance. “So did waitressing. Why were you surprised I worked as one?” she
asked as the cab zoomed down Upper Wacker Drive.

“Because you have one of the largest trust funds in Europe, perhaps?”

“They say yours is larger.” When he didn’t respond to her provocation, she sighed. She’d heard from her mother that Lucien
hadn’t touched the funds since his father’s incarceration, but obviously it wasn’t a topic he wanted to discuss. She knew
he’d compiled his own fortune, so he had less reason than she to worry about trust funds. “I can’t access my trust fund until
I’m twenty-five,” she explained lamely.

“What will happen to your newfound work ethic when that happens?” he mused, turning in profile to her, his light eyes reflecting
the rays of the sunset off the flowing river. His mildly patronizing manner irritated her. Did he still question her ability
. . . her drive?

“I’ll be dutifully employed as a chef. That’s my hope. Would you like to make a bet about my dedication to my career?” she
teased lightly.

“What sort of a bet?” he asked. This, too, he considered a joke. Little did he know she had plans for what she wanted to
do with her fortune and her life.
Good
ideas. Worthy aspirations that would pay tribute to a very special man’s life.

She was just worried about having the clarity, the focus required to bring her plans to reality. She’d never done anything
so . . .
big
before. What if, in the end, she really was like Madeline Martin—worthless fluff?

“Twenty thousand euros to me if I’m still gainfully employed as a chef one year after I have access to my trust fund and
am leading a meaningful life. Twenty thousand to you if I’ve succumbed to the lures of wealth and am leading a wastrel existence.”

He turned, his gray eyes sparking.
Ah
, now she’d gotten his attention.

“I’ll take that bet.”

“You’re still doubting my dedication, aren’t you?”

He shrugged, and her gaze flickered with interest to his powerful chest and shoulders contrasting with a narrow waist and
flat abdomen.

“I just thought the potential loss of twenty thousand euros might strengthen that dedication of yours . . . just in case
you should find it running thin,” he said with a silvery sideways glance.

“I’m going to win,” she challenged, suddenly completely confident now that she’d made the bet with Lucien.

“I’m inclined to believe you.”

“You are?”

“Yes. I took the bet for good measure, though. I know how much you love to prove me wrong. It was a winning bet for me either
way.”

She remained silent for the rest of the trip—Lucien’s low, delicious voice echoing in her head—turning over the unsettling
fact in her mind that Lucien had known her reaction to taking that bet before she had.

Francesca and Ian entertained on a massive outdoor terrace situated on the roof of the dark brick art deco tower where Ian
lived. The view was fabulous—the dark blue expanse of Lake Michigan to the east and the scarlet ball of the sun setting behind
the cityscape to the west. Francesca had made the small area near a wet bar and fire pit intimate with paper lanterns that
glowed a warm gold as darkness fell. It was a small party, consisting only of Francesca’s friends Davie Feinstein, Justin
Maker, and Caden Joyner; Ian’s driver, Jacob; and Francesca’s graduate school adviser, a friendly middle-aged woman named
Anara Sloan. Also present was Lin Soong—Ian’s executive assistant—Ian, Francesca, Lucien, Elise, and Mrs. Hanson, Ian’s housekeeper,
who kept trying to serve everyone despite Ian’s and Francesca’s frequent reminders that she was a guest. A built-in speaker
system played a relaxed jazz mix. After an hour and a half of being there, Elise was feeling very content and mellow, even
in the midst of Justin’s and Caden’s increasingly competitive flirtations.

“I hope they’re not driving you crazy,” Francesca apologized in a confidential tone when Justin went to open yet another
bottle of champagne. Elise had occasionally noticed Lucien’s gaze on her from across the terrace where he spoke to Jacob,
Ian, and Davie. She strongly suspected that he was waiting for her to slip up and say something she shouldn’t with all the
alcohol that had been flowing given the celebratory mood of the party.

“Not at all. They’re really nice guys. Davie, Justin, Caden, and you are roommates, right?”

Francesca nodded. “Davie watches over us all,” she said, smiling.

“You’re lucky, to have such good friends,” Elise said feelingly. For a horrible moment, her throat tightened. Too late; Francesca
noticed.

“Elise. Are you all right?” Francesca asked, sitting forward slightly, concern etching her features as she stared at Elise’s
face.

Elise slid her social mask back into place, only missing a beat. “Yes, of course. I’ll bet you’ll miss them, after you move
in with Ian. Your friends, I mean. When will the wedding be?”

“We haven’t decided yet. Probably next spring. I finish my classwork this winter at my program, and then I just have a final
project due before I can get my master’s. I’ll likely be finished by the spring. We’re thinking of eloping to Hydra. Ian owns
a place there.”

“Oh, that’ll be beautiful.”

“You’ve been to Hydra?” Francesca asked, eyes wide.

“Yes, my parents own a home in Poros. I haven’t been to the islands in ages, though.”

Elise threw a surreptitious glance in Lucien’s direction, but his attention was on Davie as they conversed.

“Ian and Lucien seem like good friends,” she said in a hushed yet off-the-cuff manner.

“They are. Ian is very comfortable with him. He doesn’t worry about his true intentions, like he has to with so many other
potential friends he meets,” Francesca said.

Elise nodded in understanding. “It’s hard. A man like Ian has to always wonder about people’s motivations. How long have
they known each other?”

Francesca wrinkled her brow. “I’m not sure if Ian has ever said exactly, but I do know they were introduced by a common acquaintance
in Paris several years back. Ian took to visiting Lucien in his restaurant whenever he was in Paris, and they discovered they
both loved fencing. They started working out together when they got the chance. When Ian decided to open up his headquarters
here in Chicago, he asked Lucien to open the restaurant in the tower as a personal favor.”

“Hey, Ian,” Justin called across the terrace, interrupting a conversation Elise found extremely interesting. Ian and Lucien
paused in their exchange, turning toward Justin. Night had almost completely fallen. Elise noticed idly that Lucien’s and
Ian’s shadows were exactly the same height, their profiles both stark and arresting. “Why don’t you put on some real music?
I might want to teach your fiancée how to dance,” Justin called.

Francesca snorted into her champagne.

“I taught you how to dance, you braggart,” she chastised.

“Just keep the gymnastics to a minimum, please. The last time I saw these two dance, Francesca left the floor with tennis
elbow,” Ian told Elise drolly as he passed them.

“Tennis elbow?” Elise asked, confused.

“Don’t ask,” Francesca said, laughing.

Elise thought she understood after Ian went behind the bar and changed the music selection to a dance mix. Justin immediately
pulled Francesca into an athletic, exuberant dance that did, indeed, look potentially harmful to life and limb. She was enjoying
watching the two friends dance beneath the stars when Caden approached her.

“Come on, we can’t let these two steal the show.”

Elise removed her high-heeled sandals and took Caden’s hand. As she walked over to the designated dance floor—an open area
behind the outdoor furniture—she noticed Lucien’s eyes gleaming in the firelit darkness as he watched her. A thrill went through
her for some reason. He’d been ignoring her all night—well, not
ignoring
exactly. She’d sensed his attention sporadically, his alert focus as he observed her. Why was he stretching things out now
that she no longer officially worked for him and they’d both completed their medical exams? He was driving her mad with his
elusiveness.

She definitely had Lucien’s attention now, though, and she gloried in that fact. Caden was a good dancer. She hadn’t danced
since her nightclub days and wasn’t really sure if she still had what it took. Turns out, she found her rhythm just fine,
if Caden’s admiring grin and increasingly sexy moves in reaction to hers were any indication. She danced with Francesca’s
handsome friend, but she danced
for
Lucien. Even though she refused to look in his direction, she was acutely aware of his focus on her . . . of his increasing
tension, like a powerful storm brewing in the distance. She laughed at Caden’s comments and gyrated her hips, giving him a
seductive look that turned his eyes hot. She glanced over her shoulder at Lucien and transferred the gaze to him, thrilling
to see his stare trained directly on her.

She’d known it would be.

She’d stayed under the radar for the past year or so, but tonight, she felt the wild girl in her rattling at her cage.

When the dance came to an end, she and Caden shared a quick hug, both of them laughing and overheated. They began to walk
back over to the seating area to join Jacob, Mrs. Hanson, Lin, and Anara.

“Aren’t you going to dance, Lucien?” Ian asked pointedly as Elise and Caden passed their little circle, which consisted of
Ian, Lucien, and Davie. Elise’s cheeks grew even warmer than they had from the dance when she noticed Ian nodded in her direction,
an infinitesimal smile on his sculpted lips. She realized Ian was teasing Lucien. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dance
before,” Ian prodded.

“And you never will, if I have my way about it,” Lucien said shortly. Caden and Elise drifted over to their group.

“Ah. As good at it as I am, I’ll wager,” Ian said, taking a sip of champagne.

“Lucien is a fabulous dancer.”

Three pairs of eyes flickered over to her when she spoke; one pair flashed a disbelieving glance that seemed to burn right
through her. She bit her lip.

Oops
.

Ian lowered his glass. “When have you seen Lucien dance?” he asked, amusement tingeing his features. “I thought you two had
just met recently.”

“We did,” Lucien said at the same time she did.

“What . . . does Lucien break into dance after last call every night at Fusion? I can’t quite picture it,” Caden asked, joking
and doing a couple subdued dance moves, immediately stilling when noticing Lucien’s impassive expression and glacial stare.
She got the distinct impression that while easygoing Caden and Justin might have partially broken through Ian’s reserve due
to their friendship with his fiancée, Lucien was still considered a bit intimidating. Lucien transferred his gaze back to
Elise, his manner seemingly calm, only his slightly flared nostrils betraying the fact that his hands were likely itching
to stretch around her neck.