LUCI (The Naughty Ones Book 2) (67 page)

It was a strange place to be.

I had to wonder if maybe my mistake during my first stint in New York City was moving too quickly. The city did function at a blistering pace, and perhaps I hadn’t been ready for it. I should’ve been patient last time, weighing my interests and options, taking the time to do some research before wasting daylight and energy by walking in, often unannounced, with a resume in hand, to cold call people for jobs. With one of my legs encased in plaster, I was forced to slow down, to consider each of my steps. It made me analytical, realistic, and successful all at once.

And when the second-month mark finally rolled around, I had something more to celebrate than just getting my cast off. I could celebrate a job in a skyscraper at an office that I’d gotten on my own merits — working for an online fashion retailer as part of their social media and marketing team.

When the knock came on the penthouse door, I threw it open, beaming.

“Well, I’m chuffed to get the cast off today, too, but you seem extra excited,” Peter observed, dressed casually in jeans and an overcoat that barely fit over his plastered arm. Beads of water on his coat told me that it had finally started snowing. The gray clouds had been threatening it all day.

“I have a new job,” I informed him. “I’m starting on Monday.”

“Well, bully for you,” he said. “You’d better have a coat in here. It’s freezing outside.”

I would’ve been hurt that he was being so dismissive of my excitement, but I was too thrilled to care. I hopped to the closet and borrowed one of the winter coats hanging in there.

I prattled on and on during the car ride to the hospital, regaling Peter with all of the specifics of my job, of the company, of what I’d be doing exactly.

“I’ve heard of them,” he said carefully when I asked what he thought. “They seem to be legitimate.”

“Of course they’re legitimate,” I said. “I’ve done my research. It’s all I’ve been able to do while being cooped up with this stupid cast. Ugh. I’m convinced that I could’ve gotten it off a week ago — two weeks, even.”

“The doctor knows what he’s talking about.” Peter stared out the window.

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked. “What’ve you been up to these past two months?”

“Just thinking a lot, and working,” he said. “And trying to scratch my blasted arm underneath this plaster. It itches fiercely.”

“Same here. I got a letter opener down part of it once…” I trailed off, my face flushing heavily. Peter and I had utilized a letter opener in his office one afternoon, the sharpness and inherent danger in our play heightening our senses, making it that much sexier. I’d been a fool to forget that, a fool to bring it up, and I tried to cover my tracks. “So, what’s new at work? Anything exciting?”

He looked at me, his blue eyes clear and bright. “Nothing’s been exciting at work since you left.”

I sighed. “You could hire someone else, you know.”

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“You could go out on dates,” I said impatiently. “We’re not together anymore. You deserve to be happy, to look for someone who can make you happy.”

“I don’t want anyone else,” he repeated, and then he kissed me.

It was wholly unexpected. I’d been so focused on getting hired over the last few weeks that it had banished all longing for Peter. But with a simple touch of our lips, everything was reignited. I realized just how badly I’d missed him.

I pulled away and touched my mouth. “Let’s focus on getting these casts off.”

“Gemma.” His voice was low and hoarse, and it sent a shiver through me.

“Don’t you want your right arm back?”

“Not as badly as I want you right now.”

“You’re going to have to wait.”

“How much longer? Eight more weeks? The rest of our lives?”

But I only smiled at him and accepted the driver’s help in getting out of the car. It was a strange thing to realize how much I wanted him physically, the depth of my caring for him, and, yes, the love. I’d loved him all this time. Loved him now, even more, even as he pouted and followed me into the hospital.

My feelings for him were just as strong, and just as magnetic as they had been before. But I’d gained valuable perspective while being forced to focus on myself, tucked away in Frank’s penthouse, a cast on my leg effectively disabling me and keeping me from running away from myself. I loved Peter, and I craved him, but it didn’t rob me of my reason. I knew that I could pursue my own dreams even if he was in them as well.

The cast coming off of my leg made me feel like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. I felt renewed, as if I had undergone some important transformation, and now I was going to be able to have everything that I’d ever dreamed of.

“You look cheerful,” Peter observed as I hobbled out, still using a crutch for support.

“I am,” I said. “I’m a butterfly.” I laughed as Peter shook my head at me. “Why are you so glum? You got your best friend back. How does it feel?”

Peter gripped his hand and swung his arm around. “Like it doesn’t quite belong to me anymore. I don’t know. I guess I just have to get used to it again.”

“Ooh, romantic,” I teased. “It’ll be like a stranger in your bed.”

“Very funny.”

“What are you doing right now?” I asked him. “Any plans?”

“The world is my oyster,” he said drily. “I’m sure you’d like to get back to preparing for your job on Monday.”

“Oh, I’m ready,” I said easily. “What I’d like to do now is celebrate. We have our health, you know, and we’re both gainfully employed.”

“Joy.”

“And we have each other,” I added, raising an eyebrow. “Unless you’d like to leave that behind. We could still be good friends, Peter. We’re step siblings now, after all.”

“I’d rather you not call us step siblings,” he said, grinning. “Not with the things I have in mind for us right now. There is much celebrating to be done.”

We barely made it into a hotel room with our clothes on, kissing and hobbling forward until we were safely out of sight with the door closed and locked behind us.

“You’re going to have to be gentle,” I gasped out as we fell onto the bed. “I don’t trust my leg yet.”

“We’ll be fine.”

It was almost as if it was our first time again — in a normal hotel room, no wealth or status or hang-ups on display yet. I was happy to remember it clearly this time. Our real first time had been after a night of very heavy drinking brought on by the stress of my mother coming to the city to visit me. This time, we explored each other. I kissed and caressed his newly revealed arm, paler than his other one, more delicate but more precious because of it. He massaged every inch of me, examining my matching pale leg, not caring that my leg hair spiked out of my skin after two months without a shave, interested only in getting reacquainted with my body, relearning all of its sensitive places.

It was like riding a bike. You never really forget what your lover likes.

Peter was like an extension of my own body. That’s how well I knew him. I’d always enjoyed sex with him — in the myriad ways it came — but right now was different. It was completely apart from the role playing we’d enjoyed in his office, different from the times we’d sought physical comfort outside of his office, in my penthouse. I slowly realized, as we ran our hands over each other’s bodies, both of us painfully aroused, that this was the result of two people loving each other inescapably, neither of us interested in fighting what was right anymore. We’d both tried to get out of this at different times, but it was inevitable. We were meant to be together. I didn’t have to guess at it, or analyze it any further. Our bodies had brought us together, but our hearts had just learned how to be together.

We touched each other for the longest time, both of us delighting in how equally we were able to make each other shudder. When he finally did enter me, we had to hold onto each other for dear life, the two of us almost swept away by sensation.

We moved in tandem. We didn’t have to say a single word, our eyes locked on each other the entire time. My body felt as if it had been reunited with its beloved, and my heart felt the same way. What we had was special and undeniable. What we had was forever.

We finished almost simultaneously, a testament to just how in sync we were with each other, and we might’ve slept for a while, exhausted and relieved and in love.

“Why don’t you come back to work for me?” Peter asked, hours later, tracing circles on my back.

“I already told you. I have another job.”

“But what about Paris? We were going to go there to buy up those hotels you lied about.”

I snorted at the memory. “Well, you don’t have to buy them.”

“Too late for that. They’re bought. I wanted them.”

“Then there’s no need for me to go to Paris with you on business,” I said, turning my head to face him. “But maybe when I find out what my benefits are going to be and what kind of vacation time I’m going to be getting, we can go for vacation.”

His face lit up. “Do you mean it? Do you really want to go to Paris with me?”

“Of course I do. I’ve been imagining it since you mentioned it.”

“Then let’s go. Let’s go right away. Right now.”

“Peter, I start my job on Monday. I want to do Paris justice.”

I disappointed him, but I would’ve disappointed myself if I’d not pursued my dreams.

“You know,” he said slyly, “most people would jump at the chance to live their lives without having to report to an office every single day. If you told them they could live the way they wanted to, doing whatever they wanted to do, with all the money they’d ever need, most of them would be grateful to have the opportunity to do so.”

“I’m not most people.”

“I know you’re not. I think I would be gutted if you were. I want you to say yes, to spend all my money and come be my plaything again, but I think part of me would be saddened if you did, if you gave up on what you truly wanted.”

“I mean, there’s nothing wrong with us continuing to play around.” I smiled suggestively, and Peter threw his head back, guffawing at me.

“Gemma Ryan, will you do me the honor of being my girlfriend once more?” he asked. “I’d get down on my knee, but I wouldn’t want you to think I was proposing and run away.”

“I don’t know how much running I’m going to be doing with this leg,” I said. “It still doesn’t feel like it belongs to me quite yet. But I think I’m ready to try again.”

“That’s excellent news,” he said, beaming.

“I think I never stopped loving you, not even when I was certain that I hated you.”

Peter’s face softened, and he kissed me, his stubble scraping my cheek. “I love you, Gemma. I ache for you, now and always. You have my heart. You are my heart.”

I was finally certain that this was my year when I kissed him again. I couldn’t ask for anything more.

###

Nico

He’s coming back to the United States, and I don’t know how to handle this new turn of events. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve known this was coming, that eventually I’d have to face the music and put a few plans into action, but I’d thought—hoped really—that the spoiled Law James would spend at least another ten years chasing tail and being a playboy in Europe.

But no, his father Jack, my boss, my best friend really, suffered a heart episode and his wife Minnie isn’t hearing of him going back to his high-powered, high-stress job.

I can’t say I blame Min, not when the poor woman has had to watch her beloved husband single-handedly run a multibillion-dollar company that happens to have so many offshoots that even I, as acting VP, sometimes have difficulty keeping it all in order.

So yeah, can’t blame her. I just wish they’d given me more than eight hours’ warning before the prodigal himself is set to return to the fold. If I’d known, I would have handed in my resignation and set Jared Fowler up as VP—as Jack and I had always discussed if anything should happen. Of course, it was not as if Jack ever intended on letting me go.

I am a kick-ass VP. I know my job like the back of my hand. I know how to delegate, and more importantly, I don’t cut fucking corners to get what I want.

I just go for it, balls to the wall, and watch the powerful men in my path scramble to get out of the way. I am one hundred percent the best VP ever acquired by The James Conglomerate, and they fucking know it.

That’s why I earn the big bucks. That’s why my boss is willing to give me slack where my son is concerned.

So, yeah, I’m the VP. The one who now has to spend many hours of every day working with Law, the one man I swore never to set my eyes on again. Ever. In this lifetime or the next.

And now I’m stuck.

“Jack, you know this isn’t a good idea.”

I hear a huff on the end of the line and roll my eyes because I can already see his expression. Smug. Satisfied.

“You knew this was coming, Nico. I understood and even agreed with you those first years because I saw what an ass Law was. I agreed that he needed time to grow up. I even understand your need to keep this secret; it’s just…you know this can’t go on.”

I snort at that because he’s right. I always knew this day would come, the day I would have to face my ex and somehow find the strength to stand tall after what he did to me, but as I said, I had planned on pulling a runner.

Now I can’t, and not just because I feel terrible about leaving Jack in the lurch, but because James is my life. I would never leave the company to flounder and fail. And it will, make no mistake.

After Jack collapsed and word got out, we had to scramble to keep things together. Hell, even the board had been gearing up to vote a “no confidence”—and that would have severely weakened us and had investors pulling out left, right, and fucking center.

Nothing spooks an investor like the thought of the Big Cheese taking a fall. And then, I am the VP, and believe it or not, no matter how good I am at my job a lot of men aren’t happy with the thought of a skirt taking over at the helm.

Hence the reason Jack had finally caved and called Law home. We need that son of a bitch at the helm to keep confidence and stop the board from pulling a fast one.

What does it say about society in this century that they’d rather have a no good, useless playboy at the helm than me, a very accomplished VP, who just happens to have a vagina?

Assholes.

“Look, Jack, you know I love you and Min, and that I would do just about anything for you, but this is a bit much. You know exactly what your asshole son did to me and why I don’t want him to be a part of my life.”

Another sigh, this one I know means he is tired and a little shamed because, as much as he loves his son, Jack is no fool. He knows that Law didn’t just hurt me, he publicly humiliated me. Crushed me in a way that I don’t think I would have survived if not for Brody and his unfailing support.

As a widow and a mother, I have more to think about now than what happened in the past. That doesn’t mean I can stop thinking about it and the very real fear that the minute I lay eyes on that douche I will plant my fist in his crotch.

“Just don’t kill him. I need you all in on this, Nico. He doesn’t have the first fucking clue about running one company…never mind all of our interests, and I can’t…just promise me you will help him keep things afloat. Teach him.”

Yeah, sure. Like he’ll even be interested. The only thing Lawson James knows how to do is gamble, fuck, and party till the sun comes up. Yeah, I read the tabloids; I know what my ex is.

“Fine, but you promised to talk to him. If I say something isn’t happening, he has to at least consider my expert opinion. I’ve worked too hard to see James fall because Lawson is a cocky little brat.”

That gets me a laugh that soon turns to a wheeze, and I hear Minnie on the other side, admonishing us both.

“I think you will be surprised by Law. He’s not as vapid as you’ve convinced yourself he’ll be, Nico. He’s my son; he was raised right—even if he’s taken the wrong path of late. Once he’s got a purpose, he’ll be good. You’ll see.”

“Yeah, sure. You get some rest now, old man. I plan on insulting you for many years to come, so stop worrying and let the rest of us minions take care of things.”

“I love you, Nico.”

“Yeah, yeah. Me too.”

Going back to work proves harder than usual, but they don’t call me Cy for nothing. It’s short for cyborg and a running office joke that most don’t know I’m aware of. I’m cool with it since I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what they all think.

I’m in the middle of nailing together a plan B for a cell phone company we just acquired—poor baby was going under from bad marketing—when my door burst open and in walked my very own worst nightmare.

And by nightmare, I’m not talking about that weird “I think I’m scared” shit that most people have, but the kind where some machete-wielding psycho is gaining on your ass and in the midst of taking a swipe at your body parts.

That kinda nightmare. Only this one is in over-the-top sexy clothes and so drop-dead hunkalicious that I feel my nether bits pop up for a quick look-see and a lot of hooraying.

Fortunately for me, I know how to control my hormones around Hannibal Lecter, so instead of seeing six four of buff, muscled perfection, golden-blond hair that falls
just so
over his forehead, and piercing, panty-dropping blue eyes, all I see is my arch nemesis.

Thank you, baby Jesus.

No way in hell will I ever revert back to that stupid young woman who’d allowed herself to fall prey to Lawson. It’s been ten years of bitterness that I have diligently festered and the pipe dream of never seeing him again.

So yeah, Mr. GQ is now standing in my doorway, staring at me with a flirtatious smile that makes my nails want to claw his face off, and all I can think is, damn, the man is all kinds of sexy.

With an effort, I kill my temper and decimate the stupid fool inside that’s screaming at me to jump on that, and I give him a raised brow, the exact same one I give to my son Cody when he’s out of line.

“Lawson.”

My use of his name and the deadpan tone seems to give him pause, and I almost cheer when his eyes blink for a few seconds before the cocky bastard closes the door and turns to me with a wide smile.

“Nic. You look great, babe.”

“That’s Mrs. Sharp.”