Beneath This Ink (Beneath #2)(12)

“Con, you good, man?” Trey asked, as I realized I’d let myself drift.

“Yeah, just thinking about some shit.”

A tall, thin man took the stage and spoke into the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, dinner service will begin shortly. If you would, please begin to make your way to your seats.”

“That’s your cue. Better go find the head table, man.” Trey smiled again and took off toward the front of the room.

I looked toward my table, but a blonde heading in the opposite direction caught my attention. It didn’t take a genius to figure out which way I went.





I saw him watching me. But even if I hadn’t seen him, I would have felt him. Con was… potent. A heck of a lot more potent than the wine swirling in my glass as I stepped away from a group of society matrons. My one glass. Because that was all I ever allowed myself at events like these. Why? Because a lady was never tipsy in public. I broke that rule at my own peril. Like the anniversary of my mother’s death two years ago. I remember drinking three glasses of wine at dinner that night. Obviously that day wasn’t one my father handled well, and he handled it even more poorly when we stayed home. Something about sitting around the dining room table my mother had loved so dearly would set him off every single time. So, instead, we went out, and our quiet family dinner had deteriorated into my father asking me why I hadn’t brought a man up to snuff yet, and pointing out that my mother would have wanted me settled and having babies of my own by now.

Three glasses of wine had loosened my tongue and glazed over my good sense. I’d said something about Mother probably being too worried that my finally-skinny figure would be ruined by pregnancy and would have probably suggested I hire a surrogate. To this day, I could feel the sting of the back of my father’s hand as it connected with my cheek.

He’d never struck me before or since.

We’d both sat in stunned silence in our private dining room at his favorite restaurant and, face throbbing, I’d quietly excused myself from the table.

I’d never looked at my father quite the same after that night. Did any girl look at her daddy the same way after he backhanded her?

An hour later I’d found myself wandering the French Quarter. I’d lost myself in the revelry, and while, at first, it had been comforting, I’d started to panic as the crush had become overwhelming. Con had been a lone familiar face in a crowd of strangers. I’d tripped over a curb and crashed into him. Instead of being the too-good looking punk with a chip on his shoulder I’d remembered from high school, he’d been drunk and charming. His arms had been strong and steady when they’d wrapped around me and kept me from face-planting onto the dirty sidewalk.

His teasing had made me smile, when all I’d wanted to do moments before was cry. I’d needed more of that—more levity and lightness to smother the horrible darkness that had stalked me all night. I’d needed to forget.

So I’d taken an insane leap and let him lead me back to Voodoo and up the stairs to his apartment. Being laid out across Con’s bed and catching an eyeful of what he was packing in those ripped up jeans had sobered me up pretty damn quick. Good God. Even intoxicated, Con was… an experience. My cheeks burned just thinking about him.

The unforgettable night had given way to my hangover and the harsh light of morning: If my father ever found out… that backhand would seem like a love tap. My father’s judgment of Con had come down early—just after he’d arrived at the Leahy's as a foster and decided to test their boundaries. My father had found Con passed out drunk, lying against our fence, and their interaction hadn’t gone… smoothly. My father had thought he was trouble then and had never missed an opportunity to comment over the years about what a disgrace Con was to his adoptive parents.

“Vanessa, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” a smooth, deep voice said from a few feet away.

I jerked my gaze away from Con’s direction and looked up into the face of Lucas Titan.

Several inches over six feet, with thick, inky black hair cropped close to his head, Lucas Titan was an attractive man, especially when you added in his mossy green eyes, wide shoulders, and narrow hips. A diagonal scar slashing upward through his left eyebrow into his hairline gave his face character and kicked it from being classically handsome to dangerously gorgeous. His billions and philanthropic nature had made him a darling of the New Orleans charity scene, even if the old money crowd almost universally hated him. He didn’t play by their rules, or anyone else’s.

It was one of the things I admired most about the man.

He’d also bought himself a seat on the board of directors of the L.R. Bennett Foundation about six months ago.

“Mr. Titan, I didn’t realize you’d be here tonight.”

After all, the only name on the guest list Elle had bothered to mention had been Con’s.

“Then I’m guessing you didn’t read your invite beyond the plate price.”

I laughed politely. “You’re probably right about that.”

His smile revealed perfectly straight, white teeth. “I’m the keynote. I’ll be talking about the importance of getting technology into the hands of underprivileged youth at early ages to help level the playing field, and how organizations like this one are perfectly suited to accomplish that goal—if only it had the funding.”