8. Lucien
Ihad forgotten how fucking beautiful she was.
Actually, that’s a lie. I hadn’t forgotten. I still dreamed about her most nights. But I’d never thought I’d see her in person again.
I stood for a moment longer, just to take her in—and keep her off her guard. Eyes so deep a blue they could have been purple in the right lighting. Lips that begged you to kiss them. Teeth sharp enough to scar you if you got too close. Wide cheekbones that were somehow offset by cheeks too full for a grown woman.
She could have been a model, except there was something too sharp about her. Too wicked, or maybe too intelligent. She’d always been beautiful, even as a kid, but if you looked long enough, you saw that there was more to it than just beauty.
Something dangerous that stopped you short.
I’d always been attracted to that danger. Entranced by what it might become—or what I could use it for.
And then she’d bitten me with those teeth and scarred me for life. I still hadn’t recovered.
I also hadn’t thought I’d ever get the chance to bite her back.
I sank my teeth into my lip to hide my grin at the thought and took another step toward her, watching her eyes widen in both surprise and desire.
“This is new,” I said, taking a red curl in my fingers and spreading the hair across my skin. “You used to be blond.”
“And now I’m not,” she spat. “What’s it to you?”
“Tsk, tsk. Now Brooks, is that any way to treat a friend?” I strolled in a circle around her, fighting the urge to take her in my arms. Turn her and slam her against the wall while I claimed her mouth as my own. I wanted to feel her under me, writhing as I ground my hips against her and reminded her that I was the one in charge here.
I wanted to remind her of what we’d once been to each other.
Instead, I took a step backward and watched as she tossed a heated look over her shoulder. “Since when have you been my friend, Lucien?”
My fingers twitched with the need to touch her, and I clenched them shut. Now, though, I did take a step toward her, and then another, until I was standing right behind her. Close enough to lean forward and let my breath brush the back of her neck. “Would you prefer if I called myself your lover?” I whispered.
I watched as the goosebumps spread from her neck up to her chin, my own flesh prickling with the same desire. God, being this close to her again was going to drive me insane. I couldn’t tell whether my blood was rushing too close to the surface of my skin or pooling in my cock, but either way I was hard and chilled at the same time. Hot and cold. Needy and enraged in equal measure.
Just like I’d always been when it came to Brooks.
Which was only one of the reasons I’d sent my men to nab her the moment I heard she was in town.
This brought me back from the edge of need and I stepped back, forcing myself to remember that there were other people here. My men, who had no idea what had passed between Brooks and me ten years ago, and who saw only the Landry heiress in front of us.
It wasn’t going to do me any good for them to realize the depths of the feelings we’d once harbored.
“What are you doing here, Brooks?” I asked quietly. “I thought you’d decided against New Orleans and all it had to offer.”
At this, she finally turned to look at me, her chin lifted and her eyes challenging. “I did. But my friends in New York need help. I came here to collect on a promise, Lucien. Are you man enough to pay up?”
A promise.
My mind flew back to the nights we’d spent together when we were little more than children. Eighteen-year-olds whose hands were being forced... and who were desperately in love with each other. I’d loved Brooks since I was twelve and had never bothered to try to hide it, no matter how many times my father—and hers—threatened to have my back skinned for it. We’d been born on opposite sides of the city, born to men who hated each other and did everything they could to kill each other. But from the moment I saw her, out with her cousin and her mother and shopping in one of our districts, I’d known she was the one for me.
Sure, she was a Landry and I was a Boudreaux. But my father had told me early on that I could have whatever I wanted—take it, if necessary—and I hadn’t seen any reason not to apply that to the sassy blond daughter of my father’s enemy.
When I learned that my father had made a deal with Dominick Landry that included combining some of our rackets with his, and that the virtual handshake to seal the contract would be my wedding to Brooklyn Landry, I’d been out of my mind with excitement.
And the first thing I’d done was go find her and start courting her.
The second thing I’d done?
A promise that I would sell my soul—or anything else I had on hand—to help her if she ever needed it.
Of course, that was before we fell in love and actually started to figure each other out. It was also before she realized who her father was and decided she didn’t want anything else to do with him.
Or New Orleans.
Or me.