Until the Sun Falls from the Sky (The Three #1)(39)

Her hair was swept back from her face to tumble in a mass of curls down her exposed back. She wore no jewels because she didn’t have any.

She didn’t need them.

The dress was spectacular, elegant and enticing. The spike-heeled, aubergine satin, strappy sandals were delicate, sexy and significantly lengthened her already tall frame, making her striking and, he suspected, to any other man but Lucien, even intimidating. Her makeup was smoky and dramatic, heightening the mystery behind her stunning but expressionless face.

Her eyes caught his and there was no flash, no dancing, they were completely blank.

“Hello, darling, how was your day?” she asked as if she was a robot and this was a prerecorded message set to play at appropriately programmed times.

Suddenly angry, he stopped five feet from her and commanded, “Come here, Leah.”

Without hesitation she moved to him.

His body tensed at her uncharacteristic acquiescence.

“Put your arms around me,” he went on.

She did as he demanded but her eyes remained at his throat.

“Look at me, pet.”

She immediately tipped her head back and caught his eyes.

Trying to read her mood, Lucien sought patience, wrapped an arm around her and cupped her jaw with his other hand.

“You’re angry with me,” he murmured and she shook her head.

“No, darling, why would you think that?”

His patience slipped. “Leah, stop it,” he ordered.

Her head tilted to the side in an unnatural movement. “Stop what?”

His eyes narrowed as her intent came clear. “So, this is your game now?”

“My game?” she asked with what sounded like genuine confusion.

He watched her carefully empty face. Then he decided, so be it.

He could work with this.

In fact, he had a feeling he’d enjoy it.

“I need to change,” he informed her and she made to move away but his arm tightened and he said, “No.”

She stopped and regarded him.

“Kiss me before I go upstairs.”

Without delay she got up on her toes, pressed against him and touched her parted lips to his.

Then she pulled away and asked, as if she sincerely cared about his answer, “Was that okay?”

He thought she’d have trouble with that.

She had no trouble with that.

She was good.

Therefore his tests would need to be more challenging.

“It will do,” he let her go, “for now.”

He walked away but she called to his back, “What do you want me to do while you’re changing?”

“Whatever you want,” he replied and imagined her first thought was to search the house for gasoline and matches.

Upstairs he changed his shirt and was walking back through the bathroom to join Leah when his eyes caught on something. He halted.

Looking in the trash bin, he saw taupe wisps of shredded silk and lace, the lilac-flowered imprints barely nuances in the tatters. He reached down and allowed the obliterated material of the lingerie Leah wore the night before to sift through his fingers.

He straightened, his mouth tightening at the same time he felt a similar sensation in his gut.

Then something profound cut through him. He didn’t understand it and he didn’t f**king like it. It was a feeling he’d never felt in his very long life and a feeling he never wanted to have again.

Last night, wearing that lingerie, she had run to him. Flung herself in his arms Told him she liked it when he bit back a smile. Rejoiced in the gifts he’d given her particularly the camisole and panties. Smiled at him for the first time. And passionately enjoyed her bloodletting.

Now, that lingerie, what would have been a physical reminder to both of them throughout their Arrangement of the splendor of last night, lay shredded and discarded in a trash bin.

And he, and his unwise decision to carry out her punishment even after she’d given glaring indication of what Edwina called “settling in”, was solely responsible for the bleak emotion evidenced in that f**king bin.

“Fuck,” he swore, his stare riveted to the scraps, his mind consumed with what they meant.

Then he cleared his thoughts and walked downstairs to Leah.

Chapter Eight

The Feast

I sat in the Porsche as Lucien drove us to wherever the hell we were going. Ever his new, obedient concubine, I hadn’t asked and he hadn’t shared.

It was taking a lot out of me not to turn and claw out his eyes or throw open my door and toss myself bodily from the car.

The reason for this was not only because my Why I Hate Lucien Vault was so full.

That morning, he came fully dressed from the bathroom. This was luckily after I had plenty of time to dry the tears from my face and pretend to be sleeping. Still, even though he at least should have pretended to believe I was sleeping after he was such a big, fat, vampire jerk, he’d kissed the nape of my exposed neck softly before he left (the bastard).

I then spent the whole day mentally moving everything to a far, far, far bigger vault.

It was also because, ten minutes into our drive, Lucien’s hand had come to my leg. He’d slowly slid the gorgeous material aside exposing my thigh then, when he wasn’t shifting, he stroked the skin on the inside gently, leisurely, enticingly and, worst of all, constantly.