then, the sensual menace. It resonated between her legs, made her
breasts feel too heavy, brought her breath too quickly to catch in her throat.
He knew that, too—she had no doubt. His wicked, battered lips crooked to the
side. “ Ms . Carter.”
“So
you do, in fact, listen when others speak,” she said as if delighted and smiled
sharply at him. “One did hope. Perhaps next week we can graduate to knocking
before entering!”
“But
where’s the fun in that?” he asked, laughing at her. A real laugh—one that made
his eyes crinkle in the corners and his head tip back. One that lit him up from
the inside. One that seemed to make her chest expand too fast, too hard.
It
was a good thing she had resolved to ignore him, Grace thought dimly,
captivated against her will—or she might really be in trouble.
The
novelty of his brand-new office wore off quickly, Lucas found. It rather made
him feel like a caged animal, for all that it gleamed of dark wood and chrome
and featured no-doubt-coveted views of London from the floor-to-ceiling windows
that dominated the far wall. But while Lucas was many things, most of them
damning, covetousness had never been among his flaws. Why should he covet
anything? Whatever he wanted, he had. Or took. And yet he stayed in the grand
leather chair, behind the immense desk, and pretended he could convey some kind
of authority— become some kind of
authority figure—by doing so.
But
then, he was not sitting in his new office to feel good about himself or his
life choices. He was doing it to prove a point. A long overdue point that
should not have required proof, he thought, tamping down the surge of anger
that seared through him.
“Hello,
Lucas,” Jacob had said that early Thursday morning, freshly risen as if from
the dead. He had looked Lucas up and down from the great front door where he’d
stood, the restored master of Wolfe Manor, his black eyes flicking from bruise
to cut to disheveled shirt and making Lucas feel as close to ashamed as he’d
been in years.
The
very grounds around them had seemed infested with the malevolent ghost of
William Wolfe and all the pain he’d inflicted on his unlucky children and wives—or
perhaps that had just been the sleepless night getting to Lucas. Perhaps it was
Jacob himself, taller and broader than in Lucas’s memory—a grown man now, of
substance and wealth, if his fine clothes were any indication.
For
a long moment they had both stood there, the early-morning light just beginning
to chase away the gray, sizing each other up as if they were adversaries.
On
the one hand, Lucas had thought, Jacob had once been his best friend, his
partner in crime and his brother. They were only a year apart in age, and had
grown up sharing the brunt and burden of their father’s temper. If Lucas could
have been there that one fateful night to do what Jacob had done for their
family, he would have. Happily—and without a shred of the agony he knew Jacob
had felt for what Lucas had always viewed as a necessary act, if not long
overdue.
On
the other hand, Jacob had taken off without a word and stayed gone for well
over a decade. He had left Lucas in his place—a disaster for all concerned.
They had been boys back then, if much older than they should have been and far
too cynical, but they were grown men now and, apparently, strangers.
But
Lucas had not wanted to believe that. Not at first. Not after so long.
“It
is lovely to see you, dear brother,” he’d said when the silence had stretched
on too long. “I would have slaughtered a calf in your honor, but the kitchens
are in some disrepair.”
“I’ve
followed your exploits in the