Sacrifice (The Venus Chronicles #1)

Chapter 22

Twenty-Two

When Eve awoke the next morning, the dent in the pillow beside her was still warm, but Lucien was missing.

She stretched like a cat and rolled over to find her watch on the table by the bed. 9:30—a far cry from her usual 6 AM alarm. She smiled.

Winter sunshine warmed the heavy embroidered fabric of the bedroom drapes to a golden glow that pervaded the entire room. It would likely be freezing outside, a thought that made this beautiful warm room all the more glorious.

This was not the blue room. Lucien’s then. The bedclothes felt wonderfully soft against her naked skin and as she lay there luxuriating in the suspected high thread count; she tried to remember how she’d got there.

Memories of the night before drifted into focus. The odd uncomfortableness of dinner had been forgotten in the bizarre location of the club. Madame Laveau and her collection of artefacts, the rum, the dagger. Laveau had called it the Venus Dagger , called her the ‘daughter of Venus’ . At the time Eve had assumed it to be some quirky compliment, you had to be in the know to understand. Now she wondered if there was more to it.

There was something about that dagger that had reached into Eve. If she’d held it much longer, its desire to be used would have been very hard to resist.

Desire. That whole club had been pulsing with it.

She remembered the people gyrating. People half naked and flaunting with sex, some undeniably engaged. Christ, Lucien had played with her right there, on the dance floor. It was shocking. She should have been more shocked.

Why wasn’t she more shocked?

Inexplicably, it felt like the only way she could have behaved. In the moment, there had been no thought of anything else, just his hands on her skin. Her memories wandered on to the parking garage, being fucked over the Porsche . That gave her pause. She bit at her lip and quelled laughter.

Christ. Who am I?

The bedroom door opened and brought her out of her reverie. Lucien backed into the room, holding a breakfast tray.

“You’re awake, excellent,” he said and set the tray down on the bed. A dark wave of hair flopped over his forehead, and he brushed it back. Eve’s gaze ran over his olive skin and the gentle shadow of stubble on his chin. God, he was handsome. He directed her gaze to the tray. Coffee, orange juice, and croissants. “I have plans for you,” he said.

“Is that right?” Eve raised a single eyebrow at him.

“Not that kind of plan. These require clothes.” He settled next to her to lean against the headboard. He took up both glasses of orange juice and passed one to her.

Eve shuffled up the bed to join him. She’d have to keep a lid on her desires for a while. They both sipped at their juice.

“As we had such a successful evening, I thought today we ought to celebrate with a little rest and relaxation,” Lucien said.

“It has been terribly hard work,” Eve replied, almost managing to keep her face straight.

“Hard for one of us, anyway.” He was definitely holding back a grin. “I really do need a rest from all your demands,” he said with a feigned sigh. “Thought I’d show you the sights and buy you a little lunch.”

“Very civilized,” Eve said with a nod. “I shall try to control myself.”

Lucien kissed her forehead and got up from the bed. “Driver’s coming in half an hour, so chop chop.”

“Half an hour?” Christ.

“What? You don’t need to do much. A splash about in the shower. Run a brush through your hair…”

“Do you know anything about women?” She said, incredulously. Then she saw his impish expression on his face. “Never mind.”

Paris at Christmastime was a winter wonderland. The previous evening’s rain had become a sparkling frost along the Champs-élysées, which stretched away into the distance toward the Arc de Triomphe. Quite a view.

They strolled arm in arm through the Tuileries Garden, festive lights twinkling all around. It was magical. Eve hugged at herself. She felt like she’d stepped into a fairytale.

“This way I think,” said Lucien, “The Allée Centrale .” He guided them down a broad, paved walkway that thrummed with people. Shoppers and tourists jostled for the speediest route to their destinations, but Eve and Lucien were in no such hurry. They took their time, Lucien dictating the leisurely pace, pointing out statues or distant landmarks as they wandered. He was quite at ease—a very different person to the driven businessman she’d come to recognize, or the fierce lover of the night before. He put an arm around her.

”Are you warm enough?”

The chill Eve had been feeling was a small price to pay. “I’m fine,” she said, “More than fine.”

He eyed her suspiciously, and it felt to Eve like he was scanning her for any discomfort he could fix. He picked up the pace a little. “I know what you need.”

“Really, I’m fine,” Eve insisted.

“Shopping.” He grinned.

“Oh well, in that case.” She matched his stride.

A big wheel cut a disc into the skyline ahead and the soft lilt of carolers rode the air with the scent of dry caramel. Somewhere chestnuts were roasting.

“There’s a Christmas market!” Eve said, delighted. They approached it around the fountains and stopped to browse the stalls. Eve didn’t notice that Lucien had stepped away until he returned, clutching two steaming cups of mulled wine.

She laughed. “It’s kind of early, isn’t it?”

“Six o’clock somewhere.” He pressed one into her hand and tapped his own gently against it. “ à votre santé .”

She took a sip. It was rich and cinnamony. “Mmm.”

He gave her a wink. “Anything catch your eye?”

Eve turned back to the stall. It was packed with the prettiest little ceramic Christmas ornaments that were lit by candles from within. One reminded Eve of a park she’d visited with Gran when she was small. “This one’s cute.” She pointed to it.

Lucien immediately engaged the stall holder in French for a jovial back and forth that concluded with Lucien paying and Eve being presented with her chosen item in a pretty gift bag tied with a golden ribbon.

It was sweet and disarming. Lucien pointed at his cheek and she kissed it.

He stuck out his elbow for her to take, and she slid her arm into his. At that moment, she felt happier than she could remember. They felt so in tune, so relaxed. Absorbed in each other’s company, they strolled on. The market was delightful. Stalls sold everything from tinkling music boxes to sizzling sausages served in soft onion-laden rolls. They dined on street food and drank from Styrofoam cups, but to Eve it was better than any fancy restaurant. They browsed their way around the stalls, Eve clinging to Lucien’s arm as they explored and pulling him closer to ward off the winter chill.

“You are cold,” he stated emphatically after half an hour’s more wondering. “Come on, in here.” He swept her toward a grand stone porticoed building which turned out to be a gallery. Hot air blasted down on them as they crossed its threshold and immediately Eve felt the hunch in her shoulders relax.

It was a total change of pace from the bustling market outside. Only a handful of people were taking in the art on the walls. Lucien took her hand and led her through to a large, oval room. His hand was as warm as ever and the gentle buzz of contact hummed in Eve’s palm. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to it.

The gallery space was clean and bright. Monet’s Water Lilies stretched in vast murals around its gently curving walls. It was so beautifully serene, a complete step-change, that it took Eve’s breath away. They sank to a bench to gaze at the paintings.

“From the depths of winter to the heady days of summer,” Lucien said, “I’ve always loved the way this place transports you.”

Eve nodded. It felt like they’d left the cold of winter outside.

“Do you see how the light shifts, how the colors breathe? It’s as if Monet captured the very essence of eternity—the most beautiful things are never static, always changing. It is catching them at the right time that is the magic.” He moved to kiss her, and Eve’s breath hitched.

He got up and moved to another bench facing another of the murals. Eve followed him.

“Do you see how the water isn’t really water? It’s light and shadow, reflections of something above. There’s so much more to this than meets the eye. We are how we react to the things around us, Eve. Grasp every opportunity. Look for every beauty. It’s all around us, but if we don’t take the time to look, we’ll miss it.” He snapped his fingers.

Eve raised her eyebrows at him.

“You think I’m crazy.” He looked down into his lap.

“No, I think you’re incredible.” He made her heart sing.

He smiled broadly, got up and took her hand this time to lead her to the next. He didn’t sit down.

“Do you notice how the lilies seem to float between two worlds—part water, part light, but timeless? Monet didn’t paint them for one season or one moment; he painted them to endure, so their beauty is preserved forever, seen by us now. Isn’t that the most extraordinary thought? That some things, like beauty… like love… can transcend time?”

Eve gazed at the mural. “I’ve seen these images before. I mean, they’re so famous, but I had no idea that they were really like this. Now I can see what all the fuss is about. I’ve never seen art quite this big before.”

Lucien nodded enthusiastically. “The first time I saw them, they were unlike anything I’d ever seen before too, but they were familiar. Does that make sense?” He shook his head. “I’d never seen anything by Monet, but they felt like a familiar friend. Like an image I’d always had inside me, that was part of my fabric of existence.”

“Like meeting someone for the first time and feeling like you’ve known them all your life.”

Lucien looked down to meet her gaze and brushed his fingertips along her jaw. “Exactly.”

The cafe was full of conversation and heat. Glorious heat. They squeezed into seats at a little table by the window. Condensation misted the glass to obscure the world outside.

Eve shucked off her coat and rubbed her hands together. “You’re a very surprising man, Dr Knight.”

“Am I now?” Lucien settled into his seat on the other side of the table and caught the eye of a waiter across the room.

“You are. All the fancy restaurants we’ve passed by today, and this is the place you want to come into.” She cast her eyes around the room. Its murky paintwork, dark and nicotine stained, its wooden furniture mismatched and chipped. The floor was tiled in an old-fashioned checkerboard tile and the art on the walls was unrecognizable, by the look of it, the work of the owner’s children.

The place was packed. Locals squeezed around tables, their coats draped backward over their chairs. They sipped at café and chocolat chaud and munched their way through slices of tarte au citron.

“I like the atmosphere,” he said and then to the waiter, “ Francois, comment vas-tu?”

“ Je me suis précipité. Je ne peux pas me plaindre .” The waiter shrugged. “ Chocolat chaud? Deux? ”

Lucien looked at me. ”I assume hot chocolate is acceptable?”

“Oh, yes.”

“ Deux, merci .”

The waiter shimmied back through the forest of tables to the counter.

“Is there anyone you don’t know?”

Lucien shrugged. “People warm to me. What can I say? I’ve been coming here for a long time.”

By the time they returned to the Chateau, night had descended in earnest and lights burned at its windows. Their approach along the drive, flanked by lawns that sparkled with frost, felt to Eve like the arrival at a fairytale castle. Its beautiful architecture and tall windows oozed with the magic she’d felt building all day.

Sweeping up the steps, hand in hand with Lucien felt ridiculously surreal. It was the kind of moment where people talked about pinching themselves. She wasn’t going to do that. If this was a dream, Eve had zero desire to wake up.

Lucien led her upstairs to his suite and popped the cork from a bottle of champagne that had been waiting for them in an ice bucket. Cogs had been moving behind the scenes. He had to have messaged ahead. He really had thought of everything. She drifted to the window and looked out over the stunningly illuminated grounds and he came to her side to kiss her softly on the neck.

“This place is beautiful,” she whispered.

“ You are beautiful,” he sighed into her hair. Lucien’s hands moved to the back of her neck and his fingers entwined in the hair at the nape of her neck. He kissed her jaw, her cheek, the tip of her nose, her lips. Softly. Searching. She tipped her head to kiss him back.

Light faded around them. Shadows stretched and darkness washed over them. Lucien filled the space. He wrapped himself around her, her consciousness wrapped as if by the wings of a bird. He carried her to the bed.

They kissed more fiercely now, and her clothes just seemed to melt away. Skin on skin. Heat and energy flowed between them. Their bubble of intimacy shut out the world and absorbed her utterly. Lucien filled her vision and her thoughts.

“I’ve spent my life collecting treasures, Eve, yet none have ever left me breathless. And now, here you are, undoing me with every glance. Tell me, how is it you’ve stolen every last shred of my self-control?”

Eve sighed as he sank to kiss her neck, her collarbone, her breast. He ran his tongue around her nipple, tightening it into an electrified bud. “Being here with you is like a dream. It’s like nothing else exists, just us.” She’d thought it but hadn’t had the confidence to tell him. Until now.

His hands ran over skin, his breath on her stomach, soft lips kissing a trail from breast to hip. Lucien’s fingertips played along her inner thigh, tracing circles that his tongue followed close behind. He brushed his hand over the mound of her pussy, pressing down the heel of his palm to find her pushing back.

“Tell me, Eve... what do you feel right now?”

Eve closed her eyes and tilted her head back into the pillow. Lucien’s whole body pulsated with energy, producing a thrill of vibration wherever their skin touched. His hand pressed against her sent a wave of sensation outside to in. She spread her legs wider to open herself up to him.

He growled his approval and bent to caress her with his mouth. Tongue lapping against her clit, he dipped fingertips inside. Heat and desire thrilled at her core. She moaned at the intensity. His mouth closed over her clit to suck, gently as first, but in rising pulses. Her hips rose without command to meet him and his fingers slid inside, brushing against her need for him. The combination spun her senses.

Lucien seemed to know the sensations he created within her, could predict the climb of pleasure in the exquisite twists and turns of their union. He knew what she wanted before she could imagine it. He plucked at her strings like a musician united with his instrument at a cellular level, and the music they created was unlike anything Eve had ever experienced before.

The raw heat of their previous encounters was replaced with a tenderness that flickered deliciously with undeniable passion. Eve was lost to his power, consumed by his will. She was his instrument to play.

Lucien’s question remained unanswered and suddenly she became aware of it again. He had asked, ‘ What do you feel?’

The answer was plain. It was there, like a truth she’d always known.

“I love you,” she said. “I love you.”