Страница 108 из 222
The door opens at Lucian’s office, and just like when I arrived this morning, I’m greeted by the delicious scent of cologne and leather. A masculine aroma that naturally waters the mouth.
With his feet kicked up on the desk, Lucian is leaning back in his chair, watching me approach, a glass half full of what is probably liquor beside an actively burning cigarette he holds over the ashtray.
With the top of his shirt unbuttoned and his tie loosened, the sight of him sends butterflies to my stomach, the way he watches me like a predator eyeing prey.
“I see your balls haven’t shrunk in the last hour.” He flicks his cigarette before taking a drag, never taking his eyes off me.
The comment brings a smile to my face, and I bite the inside of my cheek to hide my amusement. “It seems I owe you an apology.”
“You owe me more than that, as I recall.”
“The doll.”
“Rand is having a fuck of a time gluing its small hand back in place. Keeps falling off.”
A snort of laughter escapes me, and I slap a palm to my face and clear my throat. “I’m sorry. You’re welcome to take the cost of repair out of my wages.” Exhaling a shaky breath, I cross my arms over my chest so he can’t see the shallow breaths of my anxiety. I’m convinced the guy feeds off fear. “My aunt contacted me to let me know that Franco returned my mother.”
Reaching forward, he grabs the drink from the desk and takes a sip. “And?”
“And he apologized. She said Makaio was with him, so I’m assuming you had a hand in that.”
“It’s possible. A lot of weird shit’s gone down today.”
Again, I find myself biting the inside of my cheek to stifle the urge to smile. “I just wanted to thank you. I don’t know what you told him, or what you did, but I appreciate it.”
“Franco is a long-time associate of mine.”
A drug dealer? Why the hell would he be associated with a drug dealer?
“His family, I should say.” Something about his voice always carries an air of boredom. “He’s dabbled in some less than admirable hobbies, as of late. At any rate, he’ll no longer be an issue for you, or your family.”
Gaze glued to the floor, I breathe in the relief once again and nod. “I feel that I owe you something for all of this … mess.”
He reaches for the decanter of liquor, filling his glass while he shoves the cigarette between his lips. “Consider it payment for saving my life,” he says around it.
“What?”
“The other night. On the roof. Had you not been there, well, I’d probably be a spatter of bones and blood.”
Grimacing, I swallow back the visual of that. “It was nothing special.”
“Saving my life, or what followed?”
“The, um … the kiss was … very good. I enjoyed it very much.”
Leaning forward again to flick his smoke, he tips his head, as if to study me. “You found enjoyment in a drunken kiss?” His cheeks cave with a long draw of his cigarette, before he stamps it out in the ashtray. “You’d have to be quite inexperienced to fancy something so meaningless.”
Ouch.
“I guess I didn’t consider it all that meaningless.”
“I guess you haven’t been kissed enough to know the difference.”
What the hell is wrong with this guy? “Is it your intent to constantly insult me? Here, I’m trying to thank you for helping me out, and suddenly I’m feeling under attack.”
“Attack?” He chuffs a laugh, and his tongue sweeps across his lips before they curve into a mocking smirk. “No, I don’t intend to constantly insult you. Your gratitude is noted.”
“Good.”
“I trust you’ll be back to assist my mother tomorrow. She’s asked for you, as I understand.”
“I promise. No more shenanigans.”
“Fantastic. If that’s all, I have some pressing matters to attend to.”
“That’s all.”
I never know how to take Lucian Blackthorne. He’s an enigma to me. Even as I make my way back toward the elevator, having accomplished what I came up here to do, I feel unraveled. As if I’ve spent the last twenty minutes spi
The elevator door opens, and I step inside, keeping my attention glued to the red paisley carpeting. It’s only when they begin to close that I look up and catch him staring back at me. The eyes of the devil, burning right through me, and if not for the thick silver doors shutting him out, I’d probably crumble into a pile of ash.
On the first floor, I exit past Makaio and Rand escorting a man I’ve never seen at the Manor before. Dark hair, and equally dark eyes beneath bushy eyebrows that lower with a scowl, he doesn’t divert his gaze as polite people do when passed.
Like he recognizes me, or something.
I don’t recognize him, at all. Should I?
Confused, I turn around as Makaio leads him onto the elevator, and when he turns to face me again, his eyes pop wide.
“Wait!” He lurches forward, held back by the massive Hawaiian beside him, and the doors close shut.
In that moment, I wonder if I’ve just come face to face with Franco.