Living in Shadow (Living In…) (8 page)

He’d always told himself he wouldn’t cross that line again and hurt someone, impose his will on them, yet the part of him that hadn’t left the army behind, that was used to being in charge, had taken over.

And so it hadn’t come as any great surprise she’d told him no. He’d fucked it up. Lost his head and forgotten what he should never forget—keep yourself detached.

That didn’t mean the anger went away, though. He’d done a lot of running that week and punching the bag he’d strung up in his apartment. And he’d thought he had it handled.

Until she’d called him in here to fucking apologize. And not only that.

To finally give him the truth he’d been wanting a whole week now.

More anger flared, and along with it, frustration. “You’re telling me this now?” he demanded. “After denying it?”

She was motionless, fingertips resting on the edge of the desk, her color high. “I shouldn’t have said it at all.”

“So why did you?”

“Because you were honest with me and I feel…bad about what I said to you. I was only…trying to protect myself.”

Of course she was. He’d seen that the moment he’d told her what he wanted from her and recognized the fear in her eyes. A fear he didn’t want. A fear that shouldn’t be in the eyes of such a strong, passionate woman.

Someone had put fear there. Which meant someone needed to take it away.

Him.

“Why?” he demanded, trying to detach himself from his anger and frustration. “What are you protecting yourself from? Is wanting me so fucking bad?”

Her jaw went tight. “Of course it’s bad. It’s wrong on every level. Jesus, even having this conversation puts my job at risk, not to mention your degree.”

Shit no. She wasn’t going to bring it back to that again. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Professor. It’s not about the job. Or at least it’s more than that. You’re afraid of me and I want to know why.”

She straightened, folding her arms. “We’ve already had this conversation, Lucien.”

“Then give me a straight answer.”

Anger flashed in her gaze. “Why the hell should I? I’ve already given a piece of myself to you. Why should I give you anything more?”

And just like that, his frustration overflowed. “You really want to know? How about because of this.” He dropped his backpack on the floor with a thump, kicked the door of her office shut. Then he came around the desk, intent, yet giving her a chance to move away if she wanted. A chance to say something. A chance to stop him.

She didn’t do any of those things, standing completely still, her eyes widening as he came closer. Reached for her. Curled his fingers around the back of her head, silky blonde hair against his skin. Her pupils dilated, gray deepening into charcoal. She was wearing a light-pink gloss and he’d never seen anything so delicious in all his life.

He didn’t hesitate, bending and covering that delectable mouth with his own.

The kiss was a hammer blow, exploding through every single one of his senses. She tasted of coffee, the faint mint of toothpaste, and something hot and deeply sensual, like sun shining on bare skin. His fingers twisted in her hair as he deepened the kiss, wanting more. Chasing that heat, only to find something far more intense—her response. She opened her mouth beneath his and desire, explosive and all-consuming, roared through his veins like a match to dry tinder.

He cradled her head in his hands, tilting it back, angling her so he could kiss her harder, taste deeper. Stroking his tongue over hers, exploring further. Her hands came to rest against his chest, palms pressing against him, but there was no force pushing him away, only her mouth as hungry as his. Only that small-boned, elegant body of hers millimeters away, the faint, sensual scent of her driving him crazy.

The taste of her was everything he’d been fantasizing about. Everything he’d been dreaming about. Dimly, in some forgotten recess of his brain, he knew he was trying to prove something, but he couldn’t remember what it was.

She made him forget every single fucking thing.

He put his hands on her hips, pushing her against the desk.

For the first time in years he felt warm and he wanted more, wanted her heat all over his skin. Wanted to draw her around him like a blanket and bury himself inside. Let pleasure cancel out the numbness that gripped the heart of him, melt the ice that surrounded his soul.

Her fingers stiffened on his chest, a subtle pressure. “No,” she gasped against his mouth. “Stop, Lucien. Stop.”

Luc went still, dizzy with need, lust surging through his veins. He hadn’t felt this out of control, this hungry before. Dangerous, so dangerous. There was a reason he had to detach himself, why he had to stay numb. He needed it.

Eleanor’s hands pressed harder, the pressure not so subtle now, her voice thick with fear. “Stop!”

Fuck. He sucked in a breath, grappling with his self-control. Then he pushed himself away from her.

Eleanor straightened, her face flushed, eyes dark. Her mouth looked swollen, full and red from the kiss. She looked away, hiding her expression. With a precise motion she put her hands on the edge of the desk, appearing casual, but he could see the slight tremor in her fingers. She was steadying herself.

Jesus Christ. What the hell had he done? He’d heard the fear in her voice. He knew he’d frightened her. And yet she’d responded too, her mouth opening under his. Kissing him back.

There were so many fucking contradictions to her. She was like a puzzle that kept getting more and more complicated the further into solving it you got. And he wanted to solve it. He wanted to solve her.

“I’m not sorry,” he said roughly, before she could say a word.

“I don’t want you to be sorry. It wasn’t like I didn’t enjoy it.” Her throat moved. “Can you stand on the other side of the desk, please?”

He didn’t move. “One night, Eleanor.” It was all he could think of to offer. The only thing she might want.

She kept her gaze down on her desktop, unspeaking.

“One night. You and me. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Lucien, please. Stand on the other side of the desk. I can’t…think with you standing there.”

He didn’t know what instinct it was that made him move. Perhaps it was the instinct of the soldier, the commander. The one that told him what his men needed in order to reassure them. He’d tried to suppress that urge as much as he could since he’d escaped the army, because having the power of life or death over people changed a man, and not for the good.

But he didn’t suppress it now. Something in her voice was desperate and he wanted to give her that reassurance, so he went with it, raising his hand and gripping the back of her neck. Not hard, but so she knew he was there.

She went utterly still, like a cat gripped by the scruff of its neck, all the tension in her shoulders bleeding out. Almost as if she was relaxing into his hold.

He leaned forward, so his mouth was near the perfect shell of her ear. “Perhaps
not
thinking is what you need, Professor.”

A shiver went through her, but she answered without hesitation, her voice a mere whisper of sound. “Yes.” And there was no trace of fear in the word at all.

Her skin was silky beneath his fingers, wisps of golden hair brushing against his hand. And he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this time if he pushed her down, with his hand on the back of her neck, she’d let him. That she wouldn’t protest if he wanted to fuck her right here on her desk, the way he’d told her he would.

But he wasn’t going to. Because now he had a new mission.

Someone, somewhere had betrayed her trust. And he was going to give it back to her.

“There’s a bar downtown, the Reading Room,” he said quietly. “I’ll be there tonight at eight. We’ll talk. And afterwards you can go home by yourself if that’s your choice. But know this right now: I want a night. And I’m not going to make it easy for you to walk away.”

He removed his hand, letting his fingers brush over her skin a little.

She didn’t move as he stepped away, standing there bracing herself on the desk, her head bent. Neither did she speak.

But that was okay. He didn’t need a response.

She’d be there or she wouldn’t. The choice was up to her, always.

Chapter Six

Eleanor stared at the door to the bar. She’d been standing on the pavement outside for at least five minutes already, palms sweaty, heartbeat out of control, unable to make herself go in and yet unable to walk away.

She didn’t even know why she was here, considering she’d spent the whole day telling herself she wouldn’t be.

You know why you’re here.

A kiss that had blown her mind. Then his hand on the back of her neck. A firm grip, strong and yet gentle. That’s all it had taken for those long-buried instincts to kick in. Instincts that clearly weren’t going to stay buried.

Yeah, she knew why she was here. The time for denying herself had passed. That kiss had made a lie out of her every denial and if that hadn’t, the way he’d held her certainly had.

Maybe it was a bad decision, but she couldn’t go on the way she had been. Couldn’t bear the fear that lurked in her gut. That had consumed her the moment she’d first spoken to Luc, if she were being completely honest.

One night,
he’d said. They’d talk and then it was up to her what she did.

Perhaps she owed it to herself to at least talk.

Perhaps it’s not thinking you need, Professor.

Ah Jesus, how he’d spotted that, she had no idea, but the moment he’d said it, she’d felt everything in her want it. She missed that not-thinking space. Missed it desperately.

But in order to have it, she was going to have to trust and that was the thing she just didn’t know if she could give.

Maybe that’s why she was here, ultimately. To find out if she could trust him.

Sick of second-guessing herself, Eleanor put her hand on the door and pushed it open, stepping into the bar.

Friday night in the middle of the city and the place was crowded with a mix of people: suits escaping their offices for end-of-the-week drinks, a group of media industry types who looked like they’d been there since lunchtime, a crowd of art students hanging out around a large table.

The bar was done up to look like a library, shelves of old books against the walls and old wingback armchairs everywhere. A few couches and low tables for larger groups too, even a few desks with reading lights over them. It was eclectic and cool and exactly the kind of place she’d pick Luc liking.

She gave the room a quick scan and when she didn’t immediately spot him, moved straight to the bar, ordering herself a glass of wine because, Christ, she needed it.

It was only then that she saw a small alcove off to the side where there were more shelves of books and, right at the back, a long couch. The space was small and intimate, set apart from the rest of the bar. And it didn’t surprise her in the least to see Luc leaning back on that couch, long legs stretched out in front of him, talking on his phone.

A helpless ache gathered low in her gut and she allowed herself a moment to look at him while his attention was on his conversation and while she waited for the bartender to get her wine.

There was no denying the fact that he was beautiful, all lean strength and fierce masculinity. One arm lay along the back of the couch, the tattoos winding up his smooth, dark skin displayed like pictures in a gallery. Lines and dots, a sprinkling of stars, and a snarling tiger following the lean strength of his forearm and curve of his biceps.

He was wearing what he’d had on earlier that day, dark jeans and a red T-shirt, nothing special, and yet all she seemed to be aware of was the way the denim pulled tight around his thighs and how the cotton of the T-shirt did nothing to disguise his broad chest.

She hadn’t felt the urge to admire a man in years and now she couldn’t help herself.

It’s a slippery slope.

Yeah, well, she’d already fallen down it, hadn’t she?

Cursing under her breath, she tore her gaze away, turning to pay for her wine as the bartender pushed it over to her. Picking up the glass, she began threading her way through the tables toward the alcove. Luc spotted her, dark eyes glittering, as she came closer. But he didn’t smile, the lines of his beautiful face hard.

“You’ve displeased me, Eleanor. You need to be punished.”

Oh God, what the fuck was Piers doing in her head? She didn’t want him there, like she didn’t want that old curl of lingering fear.

By the time she reached the couch, she’d managed to push Piers to the back of her mind and Luc had finished up his conversation, leaning back and shifting in his seat as he slid his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. She tried not to notice the way his hips moved as he did so, the cotton of his T-shirt lifting enough to reveal a strip of smooth, brown skin.

Her fingertips itched, wanting to touch, but she looked away instead, holding tight to her wineglass as she approached him. Pity there wasn’t another chair, only the other end of the couch.

“Well, this is very cozy,” she said dryly, putting her glass down on the table and sitting down, trying to keep a good amount of space between them. “Are you sure you couldn’t have chosen a spot more out of the way?”

“I wanted privacy.” He watched her intently, like a predator. Like a man who’d made a decision and was going to go ahead with it, no matter the cost.

Eleanor couldn’t hold his gaze, looking away under the pretext of smoothing down her skirt then reaching for her wine, swallowing a mouthful to steady herself. It felt like he was different than before. Even more intent, if that was possible. Focused on her to a degree that unsettled her at the same time as it…

Makes you wet?

She shivered, swallowing more wine, the alcohol sharp in her mouth. Trying to relax, she leaned back against the couch, only to feel the brush of his fingertips between her shoulder blades. Goose bumps rose, a prickle of heat sweeping through her.

“Lucien,” she said.

His black eyes met hers. “I told you I wouldn’t make it easy for you.”