Breaking Out Page 7

  Dugan was like a shadow, bigger than her, always there, always silent. She distractedly filled her basket with materials she hadn’t the slightest idea how to use. She’d made the trip. She might as well get what she told Lucian she needed. Dugan eyed the merchandise quietly.

  She turned when he cleared his throat. He held a packaged tool in his hand that looked like a drill.

  “It’s a solder gun,” he explained. “If you’re going to be making something with wire you probably want one to secure the ends.”

  She smiled at him. Dugan didn’t say much, but he also didn’t miss much. It was lonely sometimes, what with how often Lucian was pulled away on business. She liked to think that Dugan liked her. Moments like this made her believe he did.

  She held out her basket. “Thanks, Big D. Put her here.”

  He dropped the gun in her basket. “You’ll probably want gloves too. Wires have a way of beating up your fingers. Little girlie hands like yours . . .” his words faded off as his gaze darted back to the shelf. He cleared his throat.

  Big softy.

  They loaded her basket with so many things, Dugan eventually offered to carry it. She was distracted when they passed the poster section and she spotted black-and-white prints of the city. She flipped through the matted prints. It didn’t take long to find what she was looking for. Patras. The hotel stood like a god among kings.

  “Does Lucian have this photograph?” she asked Dugan.

  “I don’t usually take notice of what’s on Mr. Patras’s walls.”

  “Well, I think he’d like it, don’t you?”

  “I think he would enjoy anything you chose for him, Ms. Keats.”

  “Seriously, Dugan, call me Evelyn or Scout. No one even calls my mom Ms. Keats. It’s weird, especially considering how much time we spend together.”

  “Very well, Ms. Evelyn.”

  Her lips pursed. Narrowing her eyes, she tried to express what she thought about his compromise, but she let it go. “I’m gonna get it for him.”

  They visited the framing department, and Evelyn selected a cherry frame that reminded her of the wood of Lucian’s desk in the condo. An employee placed the photograph within a sheet of dark red matting.

  “Would you like to inscribe anything on the placard?” the clerk asked. “We have a machine that does it, so it only takes a few minutes.”

  “Okay.” She hadn’t thought about actually having the little bronze label engraved, but she liked the idea.

  The clerk slid a scrap of paper over the counter. “Here, write what you want it to say there. Make sure you write it exactly as you want it to appear as far as capital letters and all.” He turned to ready the machine.

  Evelyn swallowed and stared down at the blank scrap of paper. It was incredibly intimidating. Her hand slowly reached for the pencil, her fingers tightly wrapping around the six-sided piece of wood.

  Fuck.

  Breathing in, she pulled the paper close and poised the pencil at the edge. The tip snapped and she realized she was pressing too hard. “Um, can I have another pencil?”

  “Sure.” The clerk slid another across the counter.

  She knew she could ask Dugan to write something down for her, but she wanted it to be from her. She wanted to say something poetic and special, but she only knew how to spell small words.

  Her fingers slid over the smooth wood of the pencil as her palms began to sweat. She wiped them on her jeans, cleared her throat, and leaned closer. Her mind played over the words she knew how to spell until she finally thought of the perfect word.

  Carefully her fingers pressed down as the soft lead glided over the paper, one straight line, then another. She connected them. H. Next she formed a circle. O. Licking her lips, she turned the paper and began making the next set of strokes. M. Finally, she turned the paper again and made four neat lines. E. HOME.

  She placed the pencil down with a shaking hand, and Dugan leaned over her shoulder, observing the word she chose. “What do you think?”

  He smiled at her, a rare expression on his serious face. “I think it’s perfect, Ms. Evelyn.”

  She slid it to the clerk.

  As they returned to the limo, that same sense of hopelessness filled her. As Dugan pulled away from the dilapidated strip mall, it transcended into a physical ache. She’d come all this way and discovered nothing. The discouraging ache bloomed into panic as they eased out of that part of the city.

  “Dugan!”

  The limo slowed immediately. She hadn’t meant to shout. “Ms. Keats?”

  “Can we stop at the library? I think I want to get some art books.”

  His eyes narrowed, but the car turned, heading back in that direction. As he parked he didn’t immediately get out like he usually did. “We will have to be heading back soon. Mr. Patras made reservations for the two of you.”

  “I’ll be quick.”

  The moment they made it into the old library, her eyes combed the aisles. She deliberately headed toward the literature department, where Parker found most of the classics he enjoyed. Passing the children’s section, she paused, letting her memories comfort her. Only then did she realize how much she truly missed her friend. She didn’t expect the familiar smell of paper and books to hit her as hard as it did, bringing with it a sentimental twinge.

  “I believe the art section is this way, Ms. Keats.”

  Already he was back to the formal title. Reluctantly, looking one last time for her friend, she followed Dugan. She selected four books, one on jewelry making, one on wire sculpture, one on metal work, and one on architecture she thought Lucian would enjoy. She made sure to get books with lots of pictures.

  She had never actually taken a book out of the library so she needed to give the woman at the counter her information in order to get a card. It was the first time she ever told someone her address and hadn’t needed to lie.

  Before they left she looked back at the quiet library one last time. Parker was nowhere to be found and this was likely the one place he would be. The shelter wasn’t open until nightfall.

  Sighing, she returned to the limo. The ride home was made in deep thought, one resounding hope playing through her head. Please be okay.

  Chapter 5

  The Danger of Deception

  “Evelyn? Are you listening to me?”

  She looked up from her plate. “What?”

  Lucian tilted his head and frowned. “What were you thinking about?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “How did your trip go today? Did you get what you needed?”

  She nodded tightly. “Yes. I even picked up something for you. When we get back you can open it.”

  “A present?”

  “Yes. I hope you like it.”

  He placed his hand over hers and squeezed affectionately. “I’m sure I will. What else did you do today?”

  “I went to the salon and met Patrice for lunch.”

  “And I assume you two behaved yourselves. Or should I expect another four-hundred-dollar bar bill?”

  She rolled her eyes. Get drunk and buy a few rounds one time and she’d never hear the end of it. “Don’t be silly. It was lunchtime, not happy hour. I only spent two hundred on drinks for my admirers today.”

  All signs of amusement disappeared. Shit. She was only joking, but clearly her barb fell flat.

  “Did anyone else join you for lunch?” His whisper was dangerous, the kind that told her there was no room for sarcasm.

  “I was joking, Lucian.”

  “Jokes are meant to be funny, Evelyn.”

  She stilled and frowned at his snide tone. “No,” she said succinctly. “There was barely anyone else in the restaurant. Unless you want to nitpick over the waiter being male, I think I’m in the clear.”

  “Watch it, Evelyn. You’re mine. I have a righ
t to be territorial when your last excursion with Patrice ended with men drooling all over your shoes.”

  She rolled her eyes. He was being ridiculous. “Those men don’t matter, Lucian, and you know it.”

  “Are you sure about that? I think you underestimate your appeal.”

  She met his gaze and instinctively pulled back in her chair. “Yes and the same could be said for you.”

  He was in a mood. Lucian was an extremely possessive man, but she’d given him no reason to doubt her. It was a stupid joke. How could he have possibly taken it as anything more? Why was he looking at her like that? The fact that she’d been deceptive that morning was perhaps intensifying her guilt and making her a bit too prickly.

  No. He was being the prick. Picking up her fork, she defensively whispered, “God, forget I said anything.”

  The waiter came and refilled their glasses. The rest of the meal was eaten in silence. Maybe it was time to ask him about whatever was bothering him. He’d been extremely temperamental lately.

  “Lucian, is everything okay? You’ve been acting strange lately, like something’s been weighing on your mind.”

  His eyes softened. “I’m sorry. I’ve been . . .” She could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “I’ve been distracted over this deal I made a while back. It’s silly to worry. I’ll stop.”

  “But if you’ve already made the deal there’s nothing to worry about, right?”

  He placed his fork on the gold filigree rim of his plate and folded his hands at the edge of the table. “It all depends how things work out. Believe it or not, Evelyn, sometimes I make very stupid choices.”

  “Well, what’s the deal about?”

  “Finish your dinner. Let’s not waste the evening talking about things I can’t change at the moment. Everything will work out in time.”

  He was being cryptic and she didn’t like it. Her appetite had dwindled. Taking a few more bites of her vegetables, she pushed her plate away and leaned back as the waiter cleared the table.

  “Would you care for dessert?” Lucian asked.

  “No, thank you.”

  The waiter returned and Lucian said, “She will have a hot fudge sundae.”

  As the waiter turned, she scoffed and whispered. “I said, no thank you.”

  “You’re being stubborn.”

  The accusation was uncalled for and she didn’t appreciate it. His crappy mood had nothing to do with her. “You’re being thickheaded.”

  His eyes narrowed on her. Her mouth twitched. She couldn’t believe she’d just said that. With Lucian, she had wisely learned to choose flight over fight. She stood. “I . . . I need to use the ladies’ room. Excuse me.”

  Quickly, she turned to find the restrooms. What was wrong with them? It seemed like every word out of their mouths was a lie, her with her quest to locate Parker and him with his stupid deal—his words, not hers.

  The guilt she had over worrying about Parker was eating at her, and that was simply ridiculous. He was her friend. She was allowed to have friends, damn it.

  As she washed her hands she scrutinized her reflection. Her dark hair was down, its dark hues giving her skin an opalescent appearance. Her blue, nearly silver irises were darker than usual. She had too much eye makeup on.

  Evelyn suddenly wanted to scrub her face clean. Her dress was bloodred and fit her curves like a second skin. For some inexplicable reason she resented everything she saw in her reflection. She looked so different from the girl she was only months ago, but she didn’t really like her either.

  Irritably grabbing her clutch, she turned with a huff to leave the fancy restroom. She gasped and stumbled slightly on her death heels when she saw Lucian watching her. He stood, posture lazy, leaning against the door, studying her. How long had he been there?

  “Everything okay?” he asked in a monotone voice, face unreadable. He was being weird.

  “This is the ladies’ room,” she hissed, stating the obvious.

  “You seem upset. Something you want to talk about?”

  He was acting cold and distant. “You can’t be in here, Lucian.”

  “Who’s going to stop me, Evelyn? I practically paid for this bathroom in tips alone. No one has the balls to ask me to leave.”

  A humorless puff of laughter slipped past her lips. Arrogant much? “Well, whether they have the balls or not, it isn’t right. Come on. Let’s go back to the table.”

  Her heart beat too fast as she walked past him. He was making her nervous. As she brushed past him, he grabbed her wrist, pulling her in the opposite direction. Her body spun and the cool wood of the door pressed into her back. His arms fit on either side of her face, boxing her in, and the lock to the door clicked into place. She stared at him, waiting for an explanation.

  “I’m not ready to return to the table.”

  She couldn’t wrap her brain around his polar temperament. “Lucian—”

  “Take off your dress.”

  She gaped. “We’re in a public restroom.”

  “Are you telling me no? There’s a word for that.”

  Checkmate.

  She knew the word. They had an agreement that with all things sexual she would trust him not to harm her, to know what was okay and what wasn’t, but under no circumstances was she to tell him no. All she had to do was breathe her safe word and he would back off. That was acceptable, but the word no was not.

  “Lucian, why are you acting like this?” Her voice wavered and she hated showing that he was upsetting her, but why shouldn’t he know? He was being a jerk.

  “Are you mine?” he snapped and she flinched. “Are you?”

  Why was he behaving like this? “Yes! I don’t understand—”

  “Take off your dress.”

  Pressing her lips together, she drew in a deep breath. His scent was all around her. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her. He loved her. But for some reason he was not being himself, and that made her worry something bigger, something she was missing, was wrong. There was something he wasn’t telling her.

  Lowering her gaze, her fingers reached to the back of her dress and closed over the tiny zipper. The slow glide of metal teeth filled the quiet room as she pulled. She swallowed and slid the straps off her shoulders, exposing her breasts, her stomach, and then her hips. She wasn’t wearing panties. The dress was too tight. As the fabric passed her hips, she let go.

  Lucian bent to pick up the dress just as she stepped out of the red puddle. He tossed it to the seat by the door. “Go over to the vanity.”

  She blinked then did as he said. The vanity was built into the wall. A flat porcelain countertop with a gilded mirror bracketed to the wall. He used his foot to move the cushioned seat directly in front of her. Evelyn didn’t want to see her reflection in that moment. She was afraid if she saw the confusion in her eyes, paired with the antipathy in Lucian’s, something inside of her would crack.

  His hands pressed down on her shoulders. “Kneel.”

  She lowered herself to the cushioned stool, her palms automatically reaching for the vanity for support. The metal clank of Lucian’s belt coming undone made her shiver. Her body had a Pavlovian response to such things and, to her chagrin, her sex contracted.

  His palm pressed into the back of her shoulder, slowly easing her forward. She finally lifted her gaze to her reflection, needing to see his as well, and searched his expression.

  His gaze was directed at her backside. His expression made no sense. He appeared almost . . . rueful. Evelyn studied her reflection, trying to see what he saw. Her breasts hung like twin pieces of supple fruit fresh for the picking, and her dark, wavy hair draped over her lily-white shoulders. In that moment she had a flash of Eve driving Adam to madness.

  The queen has more power than any other piece. She can manipulate even the king to move from a distance.

  Lucian was
completely dressed, still wearing his suit jacket, his hard cock protruding from the opening in his pants. He stepped close and without a word, lined his cock up with her sex. As much as she wished she could claim she was unaffected, she couldn’t. Her body was ready for him, as always.

  Without preamble, he thrust into her and she reflexively grunted at the force in which he entered her. Looking up, she found his eyes boring into her. After pulling slowly out, he thrust again, hard, as if to convey a message to her.

  Her breasts swayed. His hands gripped her hips tight enough to leave bruises. He controlled her movements, sliding her body forward, coating his cock with her arousal as he withdrew, then slamming back into her deeply. It was as if he was once again showing her that she belonged to him. With each deep and purposeful thrust, he never took his gaze from her.

  Her brow pinched in confusion, but she never looked at her reflection. She kept her stare solely on Lucian. She didn’t come. Her body neared a point of pleasure that naturally came no matter how he touched her. Becoming more malleable, she went with his thrusts, but he never eased his grip on her.

  He made not a sound. Even the slap of flesh was absent, the material of his pants muffling each hard contact with her ass. His thrusts grew closer together, faster, and with one final, hard slam of his cock he was filling her. His rigid length pulsed within her channel as warmth coated her folds.

  She sucked in a breath as he suddenly grabbed her shoulders, pulling her back to his front. He gripped her jaw and turned her face to his shoulder, his mouth connecting with the curve of her throat. It wasn’t a kiss. He sucked her flesh between his lips and teeth so hard she felt the blood vessels rising. He was marking her.

  What did I do?

  He sucked on her neck longer than necessary. When he pulled away, there was a purple mark about the size of a small plum. Her hand covered the bruise and she looked at him in confusion.

  He swallowed. Uncertainty flashed in his eyes for the briefest second, and then his staunch confidence was back in place. He thrust one last time. “Mine.”