When I'm With You Part III (2 page)

“Yes, Martin's only child,” Lucien replied evenly.

“His heir,” Ian clarified, watching Lucien closely.

Lucien nodded.

Francesca shifted in Ian's arms, perhaps noticing the sudden tension in the air.

“I think I'll go down and check on Elise,” Francesca said, indicating she'd been thinking along the same lines as him. Lucien nodded, relieved. Elise would be more likely to allow another woman into that locked bathroom if she was upset than she would him. He knew that much about women.

In Francesca's absence, Ian refrained from asking him more questions about Elise, seeming to guess that Lucien wasn't inclined to gossip on the topic. Instead, they discussed the hotel Lucien was buying and his ideas for it. He straightened from his leaning position on the bar when Francesca returned five minutes later without Elise. He must not have been able to hide his worry, because Francesca spoke to him, not Ian.

“Elise wasn't feeling very well. I just put her in a cab.”

“What was wrong with her?” Lucien demanded.

“She said she felt a little sick to her stomach, that's all,” Francesca assured, her gaze on him.

“But you didn't believe her?” Lucien asked.

“I didn't disbelieve her, but . . . she did seem a bit upset,” Francesca said cautiously. Ian waited silently, watching him. Lucien set down his drink. Well, there was nothing for it now. Ian and Francesca, at least, both clearly knew he'd been dallying with Elise in the penthouse earlier. He was uncertain what else they understood or speculated about Elise and him, but that much they knew.

“I'd better go after her,” he said, buttoning his jacket. “Thank you for the evening, and again—congratulations. It gives me hope, seeing the two of you so happy,” he said, shaking Ian's hand and giving Francesca a kiss. He left without bidding good-bye to the rest of the party. He didn't want to put it in Justin's or Caden's head that Elise had left.

He didn't want either young man to track her down, because that's precisely what he planned to do.

* * *

Elise warily left her room at the Cedar Home Extended Stay Hotel and locked her door behind her before she hurried silently down the long, dim hallway. Her ears were acutely pitched for the sound of the door of Room 16 opening, but the nuisance that was Baden Johnson remained absent.

She didn't breathe a sigh of relief until she hit the landing on the staircase. The elevator in the rundown hotel had been broken ever since she'd moved in. She flew out the door of the stairwell into the dark night.

Unfortunately, her father and mother had high hopes about her returning to Paris and conveniently marrying Erik Cebir, Swiss heir to the Cebir pharmaceutical fortune. When she'd continually refused to go along with their plans, her father had cut off all her credit cards. Her first and only paycheck from Fusion wouldn't come until next Tuesday, so she was barely scraping by. Consequently, when she hadn't had sufficient cash to pay the cab, she'd been screwed. The surly driver had been impervious to her charm, insisting she must go upstairs and get the money or he'd put in a call to the police.

“Here,” she said, shoving her hand through the window of the driver's side.

“What's this crap?”

Irritation bubbled up in her. “It's a watch,” she said fiercely. “It'll cover the cost of the cab ride. About a hundred times over,” she added under her breath. It'd been one of the least valuable things she'd had in her jewelry box, given to her by her least favorite aunt who was renowned for regifting.

The cab driver first gave her then the shabby hotel a skeptical glance and handed back the watch. “No thanks. I'll take the twelve bucks, plus tip.”

“That's a Cartier, you idiot!”

“Right. Prince Charles himself has probably got one, but I ain't him. I want my money.”

“But you don't understand! You could take that to any pawnbroker and—”

“What's going on here?” a deep voice interrupted. She swallowed convulsively when she recognized the steel-gray hair and the large, hulking form coalesce from the shadows.
Shit.
Baden Johnson had clearly once been a very strong man, but he was going to seed in middle age. That didn't mean he didn't carry the vestiges of massive, brute power, however.

“You her friend?” the cabdriver called through the opened window single-mindedly. “Your girlie owes me twelve bucks plus tip.”

Elise backed away several steps as Baden approached. “What's this?” Baden asked, reaching for the watch.

She snatched her hand back, but too late. The platinum watch flashed between Baden's thick fingers. He held it up, examining it in the dim light. His gaze narrowed on her speculatively. She glanced up and down the dark street, but not another soul was in sight.

“It's . . . it's nothing, just a cheap knockoff. I'll just . . . I'll run back inside and get the cash,” she prevaricated, longing for the relative safety of her locked room.

“Don't worry about it,” Baden said, reaching into his pocket. He started to count off some crumpled, greasy-looking bills. “I'll get your fare. I'm interested in seeing more of these
cheap knockoffs
.”

“No, please—”

“Hey now,” he said, his teeth gleaming in the dim light, reminding her of dirty fangs. She'd discovered Baden was fond of what they called in the States
chew.
“I know you're good for it. You'll find a way to pay me back, right? I can think of a dozen or two things right off the top of my head,” he said, his downward gaze over her body feeling like he'd smeared greasy slime on her skin.

Her thoughts started to come a mile a minute.

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Baden,” she said. When he looked away, she turned and ran.

She couldn't think of what else to do. At least Baden was in the middle of finding the bills for payment. It would give her a few seconds to try to race to her room and lock herself in—better than waiting until he was unoccupied, the cabdriver had gone, and they were alone on the dark, deserted street together.

“Hey . . . hold up you little—”

But Elise didn't pause. She reached the door to the stairwell, lunging to open it. Before she ducked into the musty interior, she glanced over her shoulder and yelped in alarm.

Big Baden was stalking rapidly toward her, just twenty feet away. He looked furious, not to mention determined.

She hurled herself up the stairs, cursing the fact that she hadn't yet removed her strappy high-heeled sandals. Through the pounding of her heart in her eardrums, she heard the metal door slam shut and the sound of Baden's heavy boots hitting the first stairs.

“Slow down,
French girl
. I'm thinking you're keeping some secrets from your neighbors. That's not too friendly, is it? Time you learned how to be a little nicer, seeing as you're a stranger in this country,” he crooned, his quiet voice sending a shiver through her as it echoed in the empty, dark stairwell. Why had she ever exchanged a single word with him? She should have just avoided him, like any sane woman, instead of trying to charm away the threat of him. She heard his banging boots several steps behind her when she hit the landing and her heart jumped into her throat.

He was going to catch her.

Dear God
. Was this it? All those years she'd partied indiscriminately with fools and drunks and remained unscathed. Was she to be raped or beaten
now
,
when
she was finally trying to take control of her life? No. The thought was unbearable. She reacted instinctively when Baden caught her arm, wrenching it behind her. She spun around like a whirlwind and whacked him hard at the side of his head with her fist.

“
Brûle en enfer
. Let go of me, you greasy bastard!”

Her unexpected move and fierceness temporarily set them both off balance. After a brief struggle, however, Baden steadied himself.

“You little slut,” he hissed between ragged breaths. When she saw his face, terror tore through her like a tidal wave. She'd obviously hurt him, and he was as furious as a kicked junkyard dog.

“No—,” she protested when he grabbed her hair, but her voice was cut off when he jerked back her head, stretching her neck, making it so that she couldn't see the threat of him. Her breath caught in her lungs as she instinctively braced for pain.

A jolt went through her, but it wasn't from Baden's fist. She staggered and tripped on the stairs, abruptly free of the restraint of Baden's hold. She glanced around in confusion at the guttural
oomph
of someone taking a fist deep in the gut. It was followed by the sickening sound of bone against bone. Baden sunk to his knees.

“You fucking
—
”

“Lucien,” she muttered, interrupting Baden's curse, shocked and disoriented by his unmistakable tall shadow looming over both her and Baden.

“I'm assuming you live in this godforsaken place?”

“Yes,” she replied shakily.

“Go to your room this instant and lock the door.”

“But I—”

“Do as I say, Elise,” he said with eerie calm when Baden started to struggle to his feet.

She scurried up the stairs on her hands and knees before finding her balance to stand. As she flew through the door to the hallway, she heard again the unmistakable
thud
of a fist sinking into flesh, followed by a vicious grunt.

* * *

An hour and a half later, Elise closed the door behind the two police officers that had arrived after she'd called 911.

“Lock it,” Lucien said quietly from behind her. Only he and she remained in her room. Between Baden being taken away, and the police asking questions, she'd been too distracted to be embarrassed. It hit her now, full force. A flood of shame went through her as she considered him observing her shabby lodging firsthand. She triple locked the door and slowly turned to face him.

Baden was in police custody, although he'd been taken initially to Stroger Hospital for multiple contusions. Lucien, on the other hand, sported only a single cut over his right eyebrow. He wouldn't allow the EMT to attend to the small wound, telling him to attend to Baden. Later, he'd allowed Elise to wash it and apply a small bandage, never speaking to her the whole time.

In fact, Lucien had said very little to her in the past hour and a half, talking mostly to the police officers as he gave his report and listening intently while she gave hers.

In a million years, she wouldn't have guessed the evening would end this way. What if Baden had pulled a knife or gun on Lucien, and he'd died out there in that stairwell? She shuddered at the horrible thought. Now they were alone together, and Elise wasn't sure what to say.

“Are you all right?” she asked him, studying him closely where he leaned against a chipped dresser, looking calm, deadly, and downright gorgeous in his well-fitted pants and sports jacket. Somehow, the bandage above his right eyebrow appeared perfectly in sync with the rest of his appearance.

“I'm fine. It's you I'm concerned about.”

“Like I told the officers, the worst I got was grabbed.”

“You were lucky.”

She gave a shaky laugh and walked toward him. “That you came? Yes, I was.” Her gaze ran over his implacable features. “If I haven't thanked you yet, I will now. You have about a million more thank-yous coming.” She swallowed thickly when he didn't respond, just continued to laser her with those light gray eyes. “I'm sorry I left Ian and Francesca's party like that. I was feeling . . .”

“Rejected?” he said softly when she faded off.

She swallowed. It did sound silly when she heard Lucien say the word. But why didn't he want to take her in a heated rush like other men? Was she not as attractive to him as she'd hoped when he'd first expressed his desire? She felt helpless about how to deal with him.

Manage him.

“Because I am controlling the pace of this doesn't mean that I don't want you like crazy, Elise,” he said, seemingly reading her mind. He straightened and closed the distance between them. “I owe you.”

Her breath hitched when she absorbed his low, ominous tone. “What do you mean?”

“What in the name of all that is sinful do you think you are doing living in a flophouse?” he asked succinctly, his nostrils flaring with what she recognized as contained fury.

“It's not a flophouse! It's a perfectly respectable—” She paused midsentence when they heard a door slam loudly in the hallway and the sound of a woman cursing loudly and a man talking in rapid Spanish.
Ms. Inga. One of her johns must have stiffed her
. Elise noticed Lucien's frown as he glanced toward the hallway and quickly changed tracks. “I have to live within my means, Lucien. I am just doing the best I can.”

“Your
means
? You're an extremely wealthy woman.”

She sniffed and averted her gaze. “It just so happens my father doesn't agree with my plans for moving here. He's cut me off.”

A tense silence ensued in which she found it difficult to meet Lucien's gaze.

“I specifically asked you if you had enough money to live in this city.”

“I
do
have enough.”

“I meant do you have enough funds to live in this city in a safe, reasonable manner. You knew exactly what I meant.

“How was I to know what you
meant
?”

“Because I
meant
what most sane adults would mean,” he boomed, taking her off guard. She didn't step back or flinch in holding his stare, but it was difficult in those tense ensuing seconds. Something else entered his expression. Was it helplessness? He closed his eyes briefly and glanced away. “This is a dangerous neighborhood. I can't believe you've been living here.”

“It's not dangerous,” she said stubbornly, her glance bouncing away when he gave her an incredulous look. He reached into his jacket pocket. “I assume this is yours?” he asked, handing her the watch she'd tried to give the taxi driver for payment.