Chapter 6 Lucien
Lucien
The morning sun is just coming over the horizon when I walk out onto the balcony of my bedroom, coffee in hand and my mind full of questions.
I glance up at the sky, mind still relaxed with sleep, and see that it’ll be a beautiful day.
No clouds in sight, and the chill of the morning gives me hope that we’ll have cooler temperatures.
Good for doing some badly needed reconnaissance.
Because if my calculations are correct, we’re running very short on time.
I go quickly through my mental notes, shuffling the pieces until I have a clear picture of where we were before I was–ahem–called to New York to help a ‘friend.’ I’d been hearing rumors about girls disappearing, and friends of ours were coming up missing.
My sister lost her best friend and was working with me to make lists of the girls we hadn’t seen in some time so I could check on their whereabouts.
I’d heard rumors about a trafficking ring but didn’t have anything solid, and was in the middle of trying to shore up my contacts.
I’d even gone so far as to start asking pointed questions about trafficking and whether anyone in the city had their thumb in that pie, yet, or if it was a niche I could fill.
The memory of it makes me cringe. Everything about that world is dark and tainted, including the people who run it, and having contact with them–even through intermediaries–left a bad taste in my mouth.
I’d felt as if I had a film of grime on me all the time, and the pictures I’d seen made me want to bleach my eyeballs.
Then Brooks showed up in New Orleans, all damsel in distress and speeding through the streets on what I thought was probably a stolen Ducati, and my red flags went up.
When Daniel came to me and said she’d been spotted at the airport, I had to admit that part of me had been expecting it.
I’d been edgy all evening, my skin itching as though I’d walked through something sharp, and it hadn’t made sense.
I was working on something I didn’t like and the city was thick with intrigue and danger, but that was nothing new, and it shouldn’t have brought my instincts to the surface.
But I’d felt as though someone was standing behind me, whispering my name against my neck and then disappearing when I turned around to catch them.
For several moments, I’d entertained the suspicion that someone was playing a trick on me. Using voodoo to get under my skin. In a town like New Orleans, it’s not as unbelievable as it sounds. I have a witch doctor on my staff for that very reason.
Then Daniel told me about Brooks being in town, and the pieces slid into place like a puzzle neatly finished off.
Of course she was. My body had always known when she was around, like she was a battery and I was her perfect match, attracted to her whenever she got near enough. She was the gravity to my moon, the pull to my push. My brain might not register her presence, but my instincts always did.
I’d also known she would come back, at some point. I just didn’t know when–or why.
The thought takes my eyes down to the garden outside the mansion, and I breathe out slowly.
She’s down there now, barefoot and drinking coffee like her life depends on it, her steps quick as she paces.
She’s in the rose garden, turning sharply around the bushes and muttering to herself, and I glance around the grounds, wondering if anyone else is there with her.
The yard isn’t big enough to hide anyone–nothing like the grounds of my father’s mansion up the street–but it’s well appointed.
A wide lawn full of bright green grass, the rose garden, and a small outbuilding done in gray stone.
A forested patch that features twisted magnolia trees and so much dripping Spanish moss that I wonder if I need to have someone out to take a look at it.
The pool and hot tub, surrounded by hand-picked sculptures that match the gothic, Romanesque architecture of the house itself.
Some would call it overdone. Maybe even gaudy.
But to me, it’s just home. New Orleans at its very base: gothic and built of stone and moss. Showy when it should be subtle, and hiding in plain sight. I bought the estate when I was only twenty-one and finally able to escape my father.
Brooks has never seen it. She was long gone by that time.
I pull my brain back to the leggy redhead currently wearing a path in my garden. She’s agitated; that much is obvious. She’s had more than enough coffee, if her actions are anything to go by, and if I know the girl, she’s already planning something.
Probably something that will get her in trouble. She’s always thought she was capable of more than any other human.
A smile touches my lips at the thought, and I glance at her face.
She’s frowning in concentration, and it makes her features even harder.
She’s gorgeous, but there’s something sharp about her, like she’ll cut you with her eyes if you get too close.
Lithe and graceful, she’s also poised for action, and one look at her quick fingers will tell you she’s lethal.
No man would survive a close encounter with her.
And holy devils, do I adore her.
I give in to the urge for just a moment, allowing that emotion to run through me.
I don’t often give in to it–partially because I haven’t seen her in so long–but here, in my own home where I don’t need to maintain any masks, I can admit to myself that she’s held my heart for longer than she realizes.
Not that I can trust her with it. She’s run from me before without a backward glance, and I learned my lesson then. Brooks Landry isn’t a girl to be trusted. She’ll sell her soul for the people she loves, but getting into that inner circle is nearly impossible.
I put my emotions away and force cold, hard logic onto the problem.
Brooks isn’t here for me, anyhow. She’s here to solve the mystery of where her friend’s cousin has gone, and I’m not stupid enough to think I can stop her.
Hell, I’m not even stupid enough to get in her way.
I’ve seen her on a mission before, and once she has a direction, she won’t change it.
She’ll sell every organ in her body to get it done, and kill anyone who tries to stop her.
Which makes it lucky, I guess, that for this moment, she and I want the same thing.
And as long as she’s in town...
Well, I wouldn’t be a man if I didn’t take advantage of it, would I?
I put my coffee cup down, smile to myself, and saunter back into my room, the hazy idea of Brooks trapped in my house and at my mercy drifting through my head.
***
When I get to her, Brooks takes about half a second to start making demands.
“I need access to your network,” she says abruptly, as if we’re in the middle of a conversation I didn’t know we were having. “I’ll need all the files you have so I can start searching for Aislyn. And the name of anyone you’ve made contact with who knows anything.”
I pull a cigarette from its pack and slide it into my mouth. “Don’t ask for much, do you?”
She grabs the cigarette and tosses it over her shoulder. “This isn’t a joke, Lucien. And stop smoking. It’s terrible for your lungs. And your skin.” She glances at me and lifts one brow. “Actually, that might be why you’re looking so old these days.”
“I’m not looking old,” I say, caught off guard and strangely offended by the off-hand comment. “I’m only four years older than you!”
She kicks the cane out from underneath my hand and huffs. “And yet you look ancient and are using a cane. That doesn’t say much for your health, old man.”
I fall forward when the cane disappears–partially an act–and when I come up again, I’m close enough to feel every inch of her body against my own.
Her breasts press against my chest, her nipples rock hard under the sheer blouse, and her hips fit neatly between my own, just as they always have.
Brooks is tall for a woman but I’m taller, and I’ve got at least a full head on her these days.
I put a finger under her chin and tip it up so she’s looking at me, and her eyes go dark with something I don’t recognize. Fear. Lust.
Expectation.
Something rears its head inside my chest, and I forget to move for several seconds with the force of it.
I thought on my balcony that the house was home, but I was wrong.
The house is a structure where I lay my head and find safety, but home?
Real home? The security of knowing you’ve found a place here your soul will always belong, and where you can always feel safe?
That’s staring up at me right now, barefoot and smelling of coffee and vanilla, her lips parted and hair still messy with sleep.
Those eyes are the same ones that met mine when I was only sixteen and so intent on conning my friends that I hadn’t even realized anyone was watching, until I looked up and found blond hair and blue eyes and a face so beautiful I’d thought I was dreaming.
She was home to me for so long that when she left, I tore the world apart trying to replace her.
That thought brings me back to my senses and I step away from her. She might have been home once, but that was a long time ago. These days, she’s just a girl who needs my help and called on our history to secure it.
“You have a plan, then?” I asked, turning back to the conversation we started. To my annoyance, my voice comes out husky and full of something I don’t dare name.
“Of course I do.”
She grins at me, and it’s the first time I’ve seen that smile in years. It does something strange to my stomach.
Something I don’t like.
I narrow my eyes at her. “Of course? Why am I afraid that means it’s a very bad, very dangerous idea?”
“Because it probably is. But it’ll work. I just need access to your network. And your contacts. And transportation.”
I shake my head. “No. You’re not leaving here on your own.
That’s non-negotiable.” It’s out of the question, honestly.
Now that she’s here, I’m not letting her out of my sight.
I might not trust her, and I certainly don’t need her, but I would kill myself if anything happened to her.
She can get in trouble on her own time. If she’s with me, I’m going to keep her safe. Hard stop.
Her gaze narrows to match mine. “I’m not here as your captive, Lucien. I’m not going to play that game.”
I lean forward and brush my lips over hers, unable to stop myself, and find her lips soft and coffee-flavored. Hotter than I could have imagined. Smooth and perfect. The kiss is a quick one, barely a brush, but when I pull away, I feel as if I’ve been branded.
The world is on fire. And I’m burning along with it.
“Not a captive,” I breathe. “We’ll call you a guest.” I turn and start walking away, desperate to put some space between us, and toss the rest of my answer over my shoulder.
“I’ll get you access to the network. And I’ll help you with your bad idea.
But only because it happens to match with mine.
Don’t step out of line, Brooks, or I’ll change my mind. Consider yourself warned.”