muscles, thick and heavy—masculinein the extreme—bunched under his fine white shirt.
She held her breath, held hostage by the moment—the grief and anger had a knife to both their throats.
But then, he closed his eyes, and his shoulders relaxed. As if he’d put out the fuse, the moment was gone. Controlled.
She sucked in a deep breath. Ice Man, indeed.
“We should go,” he said, turning away. “They’re waiting on us.”
“Go on.” She kicked her legs off her chair and pulled herself up to her desk as if she were about to apply her nose to the grindstone, when really she was going to Hoover as much sugar and comfort as she could the second he was gone. “I’m working.”
“You’re worried about Maman?”
Perceptive bastard.
She ran her tongue over her fuzzy teeth, felt the puffy skin on her face without having to touch it. She was a bona-fide mess and those women in there—the regal Celeste and the heartbroken Victoria—would turn their noses so high up in the air, they’d get dizzy.
You’ve been judged by better than them
, she reminded herself.
“No.”
“You should be,” he said with a wolfish, messy smile. “She’s gonna eat you alive.”
Lord, the man was pushing her buttons.
“Then let’s go.” She stood, jamming her feet into her ragged bunny slippers.
She stepped out from behind the desk and suffered Luc’s slow perusal.
He stepped closer. Closer again. Until she couldn’t take a deep breath without her breasts touching the wide white plains of his chest. Her brain fizzed and popped. Her skin screamed at his nearness.
It hurt. And it was the kind of pain she remembered, back when she felt things. Like poisonous heady desire. The kind of pain that felt good, like a summer night so hot it melted your reason down to instinct.
A deer in the headlights, she didn’t even see his hand come up, couldn’t brace for it. His touch against the corner of her mouth was electricity and her skin, every inch of her body, was water. The heat of his flesh, the calluses on the tips of his fingers, pulsed through her. Pooled in her stomach.
She gasped. Flinched. Her carefully constructed life cracked and hunger flooded in.
“Chocolate,” he breathed and then licked his thumb.
Lust was an avalanche through her body, eradicating villages and people. Little skiers minding their business.
She stepped away, breaking the contact, and her mind jerked out of pause right into fast forward.
A million years ago, men and the way they could make her feel were her favorite candy. The best kind of sweetness. But no longer. That woman was gone. Never to be seen again.
She was stronger than desire. Tougher than want. She wouldn’t be brought down by a man again.
Never. Again.
“I keep wondering who the hell you are. Jane Simmons? Tara Jean Sweet? I never get any closer to an answer.”
“I could ask you the same thing. Wayne.” She pulled herself up by her spine. By her muscle and sinew.
His smile was feral and calculating. A predator sizing up his prey. “Depending on how things go in the den, I might be your worst nightmare.”
That was better. She was safer with anger. More comfortable with hate.
“Then let’s go.”
chapter
8
Victoria traced her fingers around Jacob’s palm, over and over again. When he was sick in the hospital and she had to wear a hazmat suit just to sit by his side, this was what she’d do. She’d draw hearts and smiley faces. Numbers and letters. She’d spell her name on his skin, a map to bring him back to her.
The tension in the den was sickening, and if it weren’t for Jacob telling Celeste scene for scene about the
Iron Man
movie he’d watched against Victoria’s better judgment, it would be intolerable.
A powder keg.
As it was, Victoria had to stomach Queen Celeste smiling down at Jacob as if he were just another part of her kingdom.
He’s mine
, she wanted to hiss and yank him away. But Jacob liked Celeste. And Celeste was kind to Jacob in
She held her breath, held hostage by the moment—the grief and anger had a knife to both their throats.
But then, he closed his eyes, and his shoulders relaxed. As if he’d put out the fuse, the moment was gone. Controlled.
She sucked in a deep breath. Ice Man, indeed.
“We should go,” he said, turning away. “They’re waiting on us.”
“Go on.” She kicked her legs off her chair and pulled herself up to her desk as if she were about to apply her nose to the grindstone, when really she was going to Hoover as much sugar and comfort as she could the second he was gone. “I’m working.”
“You’re worried about Maman?”
Perceptive bastard.
She ran her tongue over her fuzzy teeth, felt the puffy skin on her face without having to touch it. She was a bona-fide mess and those women in there—the regal Celeste and the heartbroken Victoria—would turn their noses so high up in the air, they’d get dizzy.
You’ve been judged by better than them
, she reminded herself.
“No.”
“You should be,” he said with a wolfish, messy smile. “She’s gonna eat you alive.”
Lord, the man was pushing her buttons.
“Then let’s go.” She stood, jamming her feet into her ragged bunny slippers.
She stepped out from behind the desk and suffered Luc’s slow perusal.
He stepped closer. Closer again. Until she couldn’t take a deep breath without her breasts touching the wide white plains of his chest. Her brain fizzed and popped. Her skin screamed at his nearness.
It hurt. And it was the kind of pain she remembered, back when she felt things. Like poisonous heady desire. The kind of pain that felt good, like a summer night so hot it melted your reason down to instinct.
A deer in the headlights, she didn’t even see his hand come up, couldn’t brace for it. His touch against the corner of her mouth was electricity and her skin, every inch of her body, was water. The heat of his flesh, the calluses on the tips of his fingers, pulsed through her. Pooled in her stomach.
She gasped. Flinched. Her carefully constructed life cracked and hunger flooded in.
“Chocolate,” he breathed and then licked his thumb.
Lust was an avalanche through her body, eradicating villages and people. Little skiers minding their business.
She stepped away, breaking the contact, and her mind jerked out of pause right into fast forward.
A million years ago, men and the way they could make her feel were her favorite candy. The best kind of sweetness. But no longer. That woman was gone. Never to be seen again.
She was stronger than desire. Tougher than want. She wouldn’t be brought down by a man again.
Never. Again.
“I keep wondering who the hell you are. Jane Simmons? Tara Jean Sweet? I never get any closer to an answer.”
“I could ask you the same thing. Wayne.” She pulled herself up by her spine. By her muscle and sinew.
His smile was feral and calculating. A predator sizing up his prey. “Depending on how things go in the den, I might be your worst nightmare.”
That was better. She was safer with anger. More comfortable with hate.
“Then let’s go.”
chapter
8
Victoria traced her fingers around Jacob’s palm, over and over again. When he was sick in the hospital and she had to wear a hazmat suit just to sit by his side, this was what she’d do. She’d draw hearts and smiley faces. Numbers and letters. She’d spell her name on his skin, a map to bring him back to her.
The tension in the den was sickening, and if it weren’t for Jacob telling Celeste scene for scene about the
Iron Man
movie he’d watched against Victoria’s better judgment, it would be intolerable.
A powder keg.
As it was, Victoria had to stomach Queen Celeste smiling down at Jacob as if he were just another part of her kingdom.
He’s mine
, she wanted to hiss and yank him away. But Jacob liked Celeste. And Celeste was kind to Jacob in
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