Page 4 of Lucas

Lucas leans against the wall. “You need me to talk to your boss about what happened tonight?”

My lips twitch. “Worried he might not believe me otherwise?”

“It’s possible.” He shrugs, oblivious to my growing amusement about his assumptions. This kind of workplace misogyny has become old hat—most days it slides off me, but tonight I’m on edge and looking for a fight.

“I’ve got it under control.”

Lucas’s shoulders visibly slump, and I could swear I spot disappointment in his eyes. He’s clearly the kind of guy that gets a kick out of rescuing damsels in distress. I admit, it was fun at first, thrilling even, but now that the adrenaline has worn off, I’m not into the role play. So, I drive the point home with bite. “There won’t be a problem, because I am the boss.” Or, at least one of them.

Lucas blinks, obviously surprised, which just pisses me off more.

“You let your employees walk all over you like that?” He shakes his head in disgust. “Shitty business practice, if you ask me.”

“Which I didn’t,” I snap, full-on annoyed now. The guy might be hot as hell, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t fast-climbing the dick-o-meter. My pulse quickens.

Lucas holds up his hands in the universal symbol of surrender. “Hey lady, I was just trying to help.”

Lady? Jesus, that’s rich. I avert my gaze, easing some of the tension that’s pulled my chest into a knot. I’m wound up tighter than a cuckoo clock. “Bad assumption that I needed your help.”

“Clearly, I don’t know you,” he says.

Or what’s going on at my office. Obviously. If he did, or understood anything about me at all, he’d realize how off kilter I am. Confused because even though I’m vibrating with anger, another, less familiar, emotion ripples through my blood: liquid desire.

That realization rattles me, and I brace myself against the wall. I notice someone has happened to spray paint the word “Slut” on the wall near my head, thick lettering visible in the glow from a nearby streetlight.

The word is strangely appropriate, maybe, given the direction of my thoughts about this tattooed sexy beast.

Lucas takes a step forward and my chest tightens. I should retreat, run like hell, but he’s like a damn magnet, drawing me closer. I am powerless to the pull. He deftly weaves his arms around my waist and cradles me to him. “Or maybe I know you better than you think?”

A fresh lump grows in my throat, making it impossible to respond.

He tilts his head, mouth hovering so close to mine I can feel his hot breath against my lips. I wasn’t imagining it before—a definite electrical current runs between us, buzzing like a livewire. “We shouldn’t do this,” I hear myself whisper.

“Give me one reason why not.”

There are a million, but I can’t think, can barely breathe, because my heart is like a kick drum, furiously beating against my rib cage. The fluttering in my stomach crawls up my esophagus, pushing out a weak response. “It’s been a bad week.”

His lips press against mine, soft and slow.

My knees give way and I practically fall into him, succumbing to his mouth as it moves against mine. His tongue darts between my lips to pry them open. My body tingles to life.

He pulls me closer and for some inexplicable reason I stiffen. As if my mind and heart are suddenly engaged in a cruel game of tug-o-war, each equally matched in strength.

“Give into me, Eden. What have you got to lose?”

He’s right. There’s no harm in this. People do it all the time. Not me…ever. But some people, lots of people. And tonight, after everything that’s happened, I want—need—the escape. “Things have just been…tense…lately.”

Lucas burrows his hand in my hair and tilts my neck back. “I’m very good at relieving tension,” he says.

And I know that I’m going to find out if he’s all talk or not, one way or another.

Chapter 3

The instant we step into the lobby of Lucas’s luxurious apartment complex, I realize every assumption I’ve made about this man is dead wrong. This place is that fancy.

Mahogany furniture—a reception desk, coffee table, and sprawling bookshelf—add a layer of warmth to cream-colored walls and sweeping metallic accents. Giant swirls of copper cover the ceiling, framing the deep-set pot lights that give the room an effervescent feel.

“Whoa.” I cup my hand to my mouth, embarrassed by the outburst. “You live in this building?”