Breaking Out Read online

  “Are you planning on getting me drunk?”

  He took a long sip of the amber liquid in his glass. “I plan on getting myself drunk and figured it would be rude to do it alone.”

  There was no teasing tone to his voice. Her posture straightened. “Lucian, what’s going on? Don’t tell me it’s nothing, because I know you’re lying. Ever since we had that fight last week I feel like you’ve been keeping something from me.”

  He refilled his glass and drank it down. Ignoring her question, he went to sit on one of the club chairs. His tie was undone and he looked too disheveled for what their day had entailed.

  “Do you know that I’m a prick, Evelyn?”

  Her brow knit tightly. She’d never seen him act so peculiar. “You’re not a prick.”

  He laughed. “Oh, yes, I am. Be smart. Know who you’re dealing with. I’m a first-rate cocksucker who will do anything to get what he wants without thinking of the consequences.”

  She took slow, measured steps and lowered herself to the chair beside him. Something was wrong. “Did you lose a deal?” she whispered, trying to make sense of his mood.

  “Oh yeah, I’ve lost.”

  She reached to comfort him, but he stood. At the bar he filled his tumbler again. This time when he sat, he brought the decanter with him. She waited for him to say more. He sipped his drink and she could actually see the brandy setting in. His cheeks became rosy and his eyes a bit glassy.

  “What did Hughes mean when he said that thing about boats and waves?”

  “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past. It’s the last line of The Great Gatsby. He read it to me last summer. Haven’t you read it?”

  “No.” He stared at the ice in his glass as he tilted it side to side. “What did he mean?”

  “Parker? Who knows? He’s always quoting something or other. How he applies literature to his own life is beyond my interpretation.”

  “Fitzgerald wrote that, no?”

  She nodded.

  “What do you think the author meant? Tell me the story.”

  She really didn’t have the energy for this. They were supposed to be focusing on them, not having a literature lesson. But, for whatever reason, Lucian wanted to talk about this, and she decided to tell him.

  “Well,” she said, drawing her knees onto the cushioned seat. “Daisy's husband's having an affair and everyone knows it, except Daisy and the mistress's spouse.” She paused, her throat tight, distracted as she recalled the mysterious apartment. She shook away the uncomfortable thought and continued with her synopsis.

  “Nick, the main character, is trying to make something of his life. The whole story’s an ongoing struggle revolving around challenges that stem from wealth or a lack of wealth. Nick lives in a poorer part of town next to a man named Gatsby, who’s rich from bootlegging and in love with Daisy, but he doesn’t find happiness. There’s betrayal and drama and no one really finds a happy ending. I don’t know why it’s considered such a great classic.”

  “And do you suppose I am the laughable Great Gatsby trying to manage my destiny?”

  “Lucian,” she said slowly, waiting for him to look at her. “You’re Lucian. Who cares what Parker meant?”

  “What was it he said? Say it again.”

  She sighed. “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

  He sipped his drink. “Do you know who Parker’s father was, Evelyn?”

  His question came out of left field. She blinked, unable to connect the dots. “He was a criminal.”

  Lucian chuckled, but there was no humor in the hollow laugh. “We always remember people for their worst, don’t we? Parker’s father was a legend among the gods of my field, a master of real estate. He had a gift for buying and selling at just the right moment. He could set the market on an upward trend as quickly as he could send a name into an abyss of failure. That’s how much buyers treated his word as creed. He killed himself after he was busted for insider trading, but I don’t believe that was how he made his fortune. He had a gift. I think he turned to insider dealings when he lost his gift and feared losing his fortune.”

  “Why does any of this matter? Parker hates money. He thinks seeing it as anything more than a means to an end is the fastest way to corruption. He hates his father and anything to do with him.”

  “But Parker will be rich all the same.”

  She laughed at the absurdity of such a prediction. “How do you figure?”

  “Because no matter how hard he fights the current, he will be ‘borne back ceaselessly into the past..’”

  “Do you know who Parker’s working for, Lucian? Is he in trouble?”

  He shut his eyes and sighed. “Ah, will your heart ever stop bleeding for him, Evelyn?”

  She stiffened. “He’s my friend, Lucian. If he’s gotten into some sort of trouble I’d expect you to help him.”

  He opened his eyes. Those black orbs stared through narrowed slits at her. “He’s a man, Evelyn. If he fucks up his life, it’s on him. You see him as a vulnerable boy. I assure you, he’s not. He’s got teeth sharper than razor blades beneath that charming smile. Don’t be a fool.”

  She stood. “You’re drunk and now you are being a prick. I’m going to bed.”

  She turned to walk out of the room and he said, “You’ll see. Your shining white knight is cloaked in secrets. One day you’ll see him for who he is. Let him sell you his bullshit about money being corrupt. It’s only as corrupt as the person who wields it. Every man is capable of manipulating others. Give them money and you’ve given them power. It’s a sword to reach farther and cut down obstacles more swiftly.”

  She didn’t know what he was talking about and was developing a headache. Rather than sit there and listen to the nonsense of a drunken man, she turned and went to their room.

  ***

  Evelyn’s body was turned onto her back, but her eyes didn’t open. Lucian’s weight settled on top of her as the blankets lifted. His mouth, hot and searing, fastened to her taut nipple, and she arched. Soft suckling sounds filled the darkness as his arms lifted her upper body off the bedding. His cool hair tickled her collarbone, and the scent of stale brandy prickled her nose.

  There was nothing aggressive in his touch. He seduced her from her sleep with gentle kisses and caresses. What was becoming of them?

  The weight of his erection balanced on her belly. He embraced her, but did not trespass. Who was this man and what had happened to her domineering Lucian? Only at her own physical invitation did he enter her.

  There were no words. He pressed into her, not to build pleasure, but to remain deep in the foundation of her being. Like the kiss in the condo the night before, there was something frightening and desperate about the way he touched her now.

  She wanted to scream with bewilderment. She couldn’t go on like this. Lucian either needed to confide in her about what was going on with him or she didn’t know what would happen to them. This couldn’t all be the result of her going to find Parker. He was keeping something from her and it was killing him.

  They made love in the dark, and that stone she seemed to have swallowed sloshed about her belly, never letting her forget its presence. It was a tiny ball of tension, but there all the same, intruding on the serenity of her life, irritatingly present at every step like a pebble in her shoe.

  ***

  She awoke to the scent of bacon and eggs. Her muscles pleaded as she rose from the mattress. What time had he come to bed last night? They had made love for a while. It was soft and gentle, but within the shadow of something dangerous.

  Evelyn never had a relationship before Lucian, but she had the foreboding feeling that he might be readying her for a breakup.

  Did this have to do with the apartment he was renting? She decided she would get some answers tod
ay.

  After a quick shower, she donned a pair of cotton pants, a top, and sneakers. She headed downstairs and grinned at Lucy, who was dusting the furniture in the entryway. She found Lucian behind the six-burner stove, shuffling fluffy yellow eggs in a copper pan.

  When he noticed her he smiled. “Good morning, beautiful. Breakfast’s almost done.”

  She took a seat at the table and poured herself some coffee from the carafe. Lucian carried a plate of steaming eggs to the table and a pitcher of juice. “Lucy’s upset with me. Apparently she had her own breakfast planned for us, but I told her I needed to do some groveling for my behavior last night and I would be the only one cooking for you this morning.”

  At least he wasn’t planning on acting like nothing happened. He sat and they quietly ate. He was watching her but not saying anything. Finally, she plunked down her fork and stared at him. “Since the brandy is locked away now, I’m going to ask. What the hell is going on, Lucian? Don’t lie to me either. I know something’s bugging you. You’ve been acting weird since last week.”

  “I know and I’m sorry. I had a lot on my mind, but I decided last night I needed to get over myself.”

  “What does that mean, get over yourself?”

  “It means I was being an ass and I’m over it. We have this whole week here and I want to leave everything else behind and make the best of it.”

  “You say that like things were terrible before. If you’re not happy—”

  “No, Evelyn. I’m happy. I love you and as long as you know that, even when I act like a jerk, we can get through anything.”

  “It just seems like something’s changed. I . . . I heard you on the phone the other day, talking to someone.”

  He frowned. “And?”

  “I . . .” She wasn’t a weakling. She had never been the type to beat around the bush, but the pain of actually imagining he was seeing someone else cut deep. “I . . . I just want you to be honest with me.”

  He waited for her to go on.

  Looking away she bolstered her courage and the words rushed out. “Are you seeing someone else, Lucian?”

  “What? Why would you ask me that?”

  “I don’t know. You’ve been so distant lately. I don’t know what to make of all these mood swings you’ve been having. I just want things to be the way they usually are. If you want to see other people—”

  “Evelyn, I do not want to see other people. God, how could you even think that?”

  She looked at him. He appeared genuinely shocked she could assume such a thing. In a small voice she said, “What if I’m not enough?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She shrugged. “Before . . . you and Slade and Monique.”

  He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “That was nothing compared to what we have. It was totally different.”

  “I know. My point is, maybe that’s the problem. You never talk about her. You’ve pretty much shunned Slade since we’ve been together.”

  “Slade is a regrettable part of my life on more levels than I can explain.”

  “He was your friend.”

  “Was.”

  She swallowed. “What about Monique?”

  “What about her?”

  They never talked about her. “Did you love her?”

  Lucian leaned back in his chair, but looked away. “In a way. She was with me for so long she became a part of my life, but it isn’t the same as what I feel for you. It never would’ve been, either. With Monique it was . . . different.”

  “Because of Slade?”

  “Because of a lot of things. Monique was work. She was materialistic and loved me for my name. Sometimes I think if I had been just an average Joe she would have left me and run off into the sunset with my partner.”

  “I don’t understand how a relationship can work between three people.”

  “It doesn’t. If Monique were still alive I don’t think we would have been together at this point. I’m too possessive to share. I think I could only share her because I knew deep down she didn’t love me and I didn’t love her. I cared about her, but that was it.”

  “Do you have any pictures of her?” She needed to see what this woman looked like.

  “Of course I do, but Evelyn, why do you care?”

  “She was a part of your life for several years. I feel like I’m not entitled to ask about those years because they belonged to another woman.”

  “I never belonged to her.”

  Silence settled around them. She didn’t think the topic of Monique would be one to come up again anytime soon, so she asked, “How did she die?”

  No matter how much he claimed not to love Monique, he clearly felt responsible for her. His expression melted into etched lines of regret.

  “She loved fast cars. Slade spoiled her. One day he brought home a beautiful Harley Davidson. None of us had ever ridden before, but Monique was impatient. I hated that bike the minute it was delivered. It was too big for her. I told her she was not to ride it and she threw a fit. I think Slade enjoyed that she often went to him for sympathy when I was too firm. Luckily, he also told her she needed to learn how to ride before she went off on her own. We arranged for a professional to come to the house and teach her the basics. He was supposed to come back the following day to give her a lesson.

  “Monique didn’t wait for him to return. I had a meeting and Slade was in the shower. He didn’t hear her pull away. Dugan was driving me back from the city when we hit some traffic on a road that was never busy. I think I knew the moment I saw the flares lined up along the shoulder and the strobe of red lights flickering against the windshield.

  “She died on impact. Slade bought the bike, but I think he blames me for not having the foresight that she would ride no matter what. What was I supposed to do, take the keys? I forbade her to ride that damn thing, but she didn’t listen. Monique liked to play the submissive, but she had more control issues than any woman should. I’m still mad at her for being so damn stupid.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He looked at her. “I think that’s why I have no interest in games. I need to have control and know I have it without question. I don’t want a puppet, but I need to be with someone who has the faith in me to give me final say. All this guilt I have from Monique and Slade, I know it’s misplaced, but knowing that doesn’t take it away.”

  They were quiet for a while, and Evelyn finally said, “All of my life I’ve had to make decisions. I’ve had to decide how we would eat, where we would sleep, and constantly worry if my mother was going to get stoned or die trying. I’ve been making those decisions since I was a baby, and I’m tired. You could be an average Joe for me, Lucian. I don’t want you for your money. But I have to admit, the way you take control, the way you decide for me—maybe I should find it offensive, but I don’t. I love it. I trust you to never intentionally hurt me. I believe you love me and will always do everything in your power to protect me. I can’t surrender my free will completely, but I can almost guarantee if you told me not to do something I would listen, because I think you are one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. And, after this past week, I don’t ever want to disappoint you again.”

  The side of his mouth curled up in a half smile. “And what if I told you to do something?”

  She recognized that playful look in his eye, found relief in it, as the tension seemed to fade with its presence. “That’s fun too.”

  “Come here.”

  He scooted his chair back from the table and parted his knees. Standing, Evelyn moved between his spread thighs. His hands gripped her hips and massaged. “You’re looking very sporty today, Ms. Keats.” His finger dipped in the elastic band of her pants.

  Leaning forward he pressed his face into the flat apex of her thighs. Through the fitted cotton, moist heat of his breath warmed her sk
in. “I want your pussy, Evelyn.”

  Her shoulders rolled with a reverberation from her center that tickled up her spine. Her voice was a mere rasp. “Have it.”

  Without needing more of an invitation, he shoved her tight pants over her hips with her panties, beneath the rounded curve of her ass. The cool air of the kitchen chilled her folds. That was all it took; one look, one command, one touch from Lucian and she was ready for him.

  The thrill of their intimacy touched on so many levels. Physical transcended to emotional and back again. Her feelings for him ran so deep, a strong ache burst inside her chest at that look of need in his eyes, sending chills over her flesh and shivers up her spine.

  His grip returned to her now nude hips as he yanked her close. Leaning into the apex of her thighs, he drew an audible breath at her arousal followed by a satisfied groan. The heat of his tongue had her cocking her hip to the side as heat trailed up the crease of her thigh just before his teeth nipped at her waist.

  Her breath quickened as long fingers bunched the material of her shirt, pressing it up and over her belly. His tongue traced the concave slope where her ribs stretched beneath her flesh.

  Nipples drew into two taut little buds. An urge to rip off her top and demand he suckle her breasts until they felt bruised and satisfied built within her, but he was in charge and taking his time. Sharp teeth bit at her side in a superficial nip, causing her to jerk. He brought her body to attention in the blink of an eye and could keep it poised along the sharp edge of something decadent for ages, drawing out every lick, kiss, and touch to such an acute sense of pleasure it blended with pain.

  “Lucian . . .”

  “Yes,” he said slowly as his mouth worked its way back down to her other hip.

  “You’re torturing me on purpose.”

  “Yes.” His agreement was tinged with assumed arrogance. Evelyn smiled over his dark hair. Cocky bastard.

  “Let’s go upstairs.”

  His tongue made slow work of teasing its way to the delta of her pussy. He was purposely avoiding her clit, which was now straining against her flesh, begging for attention. Her pants formed a tourniquet about her thighs, adding to the pressure building in her body and hampering her ability to squirm and add friction in hopes of some relief.