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she landed her focus on Lucien sitting very quiet and lordly behind his desk, his nose deep in work. He rubbed his cheek and then pushed his fingers through his hair, lifting the thickness just enough for the light to catch a few strands of silver mixed in with the inky black.
    Sophie once again drank Lucien in during these few moments in which he didn’t realize he had an audience. Some might consider his features a little too sharply angled and his skin too pale to be considered traditionally attractive. And if they were just looking at a picture, those people might be right. A photo wouldn’t convey the barely contained power and authority constantly simmering around Lucien. He radiated a self-assuredness and control very few people possessed, and she could not deny that aura about him drew her to him too.
    Based on the sexual paraphernalia she’d discovered in those six rooms, Sophie could easily see Lucien Cabot in the middle of an orgy, commanding it and possessing the testosterone and endurance necessary to take every woman—or man—in attendance and leave them all equally satisfied. She could see it, yet something deeper clenched in her gut and told her that just because he could didn’t mean he would.
    He’s too solitary for group activities . With that silly thought, Sophie rolled her eyes. You don’t know him, yet you find him intriguing and attractive, so you’re projecting . Sophie knew better than to cross the line into personal involvement just to secure a story. Even as she reminded herself to step back to a place of professional behavior, she couldn’t forget the few hints—tiny, small hints—of chinks in Lucien’s armor. The nightmare he’d professed not to have had earlier. Then, more profound, sharing the loss of his father as a child, a man he clearly adored. His father’s death had obviously shaped him greatly. That slip of information showed a man with more going for him than confidence and a cock.
    “You’re part of the story,” Sophie murmured, absorbed by Lucien’s powerful aura. “I just don’t know how yet.”
    Lucien slowly lifted his attention from his paperwork. When he met Sophie’s stare, ice chilled his gaze. “No, I’m not.” The same freeze layered his response. “And if you insist upon making me a part of it, I won’t so much as allow a disposable camera on this island, let alone a journalist and an entire crew.”
    Drawn to him, Sophie got up and moved to his desk. “I don’t know if I believe you, Mr. Cabot.”
    “Lucien,” he corrected, his stare narrowing to amber slits. “And you should. Unless you don’t want the story about William and Jude for your station.”
    Sophie planted her hands wide on his desk. “I haven’t decided yet.” Dropping her voice to a whisper, she leaned oh so very close to his ear and said, “I might want to risk figuring you out more than I want a yes.”
    Lucien reared out of her reach, his chair rolling until it hit a wall of bookshelves. His face went hard as stone.
    Good . “Good night, Mr. Cabot.” Sophie grabbed her laptop from the conference table and tucked it under her arm. “I’ll start calling you Lucien when you start calling me Sophie, and when you’ve given me a little bit more about yourself than you have so far.”
    Sophie breezed out of the study, down the hallway and toward her room, hoping like heck she looked as light as air. Inside, her heart had jammed itself into her throat, and she thought she might throw up. She’d entered the dragon’s lair and lit a candle that she dared to present to him as something that equaled the wave of fire he could breathe back at her. I might be very crispy by the time I leave this place.
    Shaking her head, Sophie wondered what insanity had prompted her to challenge this man. His mouth did . The thought immediately filled her head. Yes, that’s it . His eyes held distance and were sometimes outright cold, but Lucien didn’t have a cruel mouth. He possessed a mouth