When I'm with You (Because You Are Mine #2)(29)

Enthusiastic, deep affection.

Oh no. She shut her eyes, but Lucien’s stare continued to score her. She hadn’t seen who had walked in on her tryst with Langier; she only knew someone had. Knowing that someone was Lucien made her feel light-headed with shame. How could she have been so impulsive—so stupid—at times?

No. She wouldn’t think of it. She wasn’t that person anymore.

“I doubt you’d like what I did to your paramour when he came into Renygat two nights later,” Lucien muttered. “Slimy sod.”

“He wasn’t my paramour,” she bit out, but then she fully absorbed what he’d said. “Did you hit him or something?” Lucien gave her a bland glance. “You got in a fight with a senator?”

Over me?

He didn’t comment further, but she saw the way his nostrils flared, a sure sign he was subduing his anger. What he’d referred to had occurred during the height of her careless self-indulgence. There’d been a time when she found life meaningless, when everything had been a joke. Her only concern was to have as much fun as she could, and damn the consequences. Acquaintances in Paris—not to mention her parents—had looked the other way during her wildest, most desperate, period.

Wasn’t it better that Lucien was angry versus uncaring?

“I know you believe in me, Lucien. Even if only a little bit. I know you’re not so callous as you behave. I wish you’d quit putting on the act,” she said, plucking up her façade of confidence.

“What do you mean?”

“Ms. Riordan told me that you specified that her job was provisional upon her taking me on as a stage.”

A silence stretched between them. She’d been stunned and pleased when Ms. Riordan had revealed that morsel of information during their discussion.

“And I told you, if you are to live in this city, I’d just as soon have you nearby where I can monitor you. Speaking of which,” he said, talking over the disgusted sound she made. She knew very well he’d just sidestepped her revelation that he’d done something kind for her. “I’d like to escort you tomorrow evening to Ian and Francesca’s party.”

Her heart leapt. Denise Riordan had been hired. Francesca was no longer his employee. Lucien would feel freer now to act on his proposed relationship. A thought struck her, deflating her ballooning excitement like a dead-on torpedo.

“You want to supervise me, don’t you? I told you I wasn’t going to tell anyone that I know you from before. Don’t you trust me?”

“Let’s just say that I’d rather be in close watching distance so that I know where I stand.”

“You don’t, in other words.”

“Trust is something that has to be earned, Elise,” he said quietly. “And don’t play the martyr. I know that you don’t trust me completely, either. Not yet, you don’t.”

His intensity took her by surprise. She absorbed what he’d said, feeling unsteady.

“Where shall I pick you up?” he asked after a moment, his quick topic change only increasing her sense of being off balance. “At the address you put down on your application?”

“No.”

She realized how abrupt she’d sounded. The last thing she wanted was for Lucien to see the rundown extended-stay hotel where she was living. It would only affirm his belief that she was scatter-brained and impulsive. She did some quick thinking when she noticed his narrowed gaze on her. “Can we meet here? In front of the Noble Tower building?”

His handsome face settled into an unreadable mask. “Of course, if you prefer it. Seven thirty?”

“That will be fine,” she said, starting to back out of the office. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Elise?” he asked sharply when her hand was on the door.

“Yes?”

“Your employment with me has ended now that I’ve hired Denise.”

She held her breath.

“Just remember. My rules,” he reminded significantly. “Denise being here means your salary will stop as well. You do have adequate funds to live here in the city, correct?”

“Of course. Didn’t you tell me that Papa would never see me starve?”

He raised his eyebrows slowly. Not liking the suspicious expression settling on his features, she hurried out the door.

Chapter Four

Lucien remained seated and unmoving once the door closed behind Elise. He thought of how pale she’d gone when he’d mentioned catching her in flagrante delicto with Hugh Langier, illustrious member of the French senate and renowned womanizer. He regretted embarrassing her, but the memory was still volatile to him; it still made something hot and unbearable swell in his gut, not to mention what it did to his cock.

He’d been looking for her that night five years ago, having noticed her luminous face from a distance during the opera. It had been a year since his father had first mentioned the possibility of him marrying Elise. He’d flat-out refused to even discuss the idea, of course. No one was going to choose his future wife but himself. But the idea had lingered in his consciousness: not heavily, but lightly, like a radiant, teasing smile, the prospect of a stolen summer day or a sip of the perfect champagne—light-filled and effervescent . . .

. . . like Elise herself.

He couldn’t help but be curious about what sort of a woman that smart, funny, sad girl had become.