Page 95 of Coveted

Exhaling, I go after him.

Lucan takes me to a living room of stone, matte-black steel, and smoked glass. It smells faintly of his cologne and nothing else.

While he pours whiskey at the drinks cart, I gravitate to the spartan concrete shelving, which holds mostly abstract ornaments.

But I also spy a battered paperback tucked behind a black granite cube, the yellowed pages barely peeking out. My heart warms at the familiar, comforting sight of a book, and I pick it up to read the title.

“The Stranger.” I flip to the back to skim the blurb. “I haven’t read this one, but it’s about a guy who goes on trial for randomly murdering a man, right?”

Lucan gives a one-shoulder shrug as he passes me a crystal tumbler. He sits on the leather lounge and takes a lazy draw of his drink.

“Yeah,” he says.

“You’ve read it?” I ask.

“Once or twice.”

“But why? Why do you like it?”

He shrugs again. For some reason, irritation nips at me.

Drinking the burning whiskey, I begin to understand why. “You never tell me anything real about yourself. You have no problem invading my privacy, but you’re a total mystery to me. It’s unfair.”

Lucan’s a billionaire. He can do anything he likes, whenever he likes. Judging by the worn pages and cracked spine of this book, he elected to spend many hours with this story.

I want to know why.

Placing the book on the coffee table, I perch on the edge of the sofa. My bag’s still on my shoulder, because I’m mostly sure I won’t need to use the stun gun on him tonight, but mostly isn’t definitely.

Lucan removes his cufflinks and puts them on a side table with a clink. He rolls his shirt cuffs over his forearms, the cords of his muscles visible under his skin. The shadow-filled room is so quiet I’m sure he can hear my pulse thudding.

“You’re right. You should know more about me.” He stares at The Stranger, inhaling through his nose like he’s gearing up for something. “You really want to know why I’ve read that book so many times?”

CHAPTER 23

Sadie

“Yes,” I reply. “I really want to know why.”

Lucan keeps his gaze on The Stranger’s cover. “I was trying to understand something.”

“And did you?”

“Eventually, yeah. It made me think deeply about feelings of guilt.”

Frowning at the book, I chew the inside of my cheek and think.

The story’s about a murder. Why does that resonate with him, particularly?

Juliette and Clara told me about rumors of Lucan flying in his jet to different cities to hunt and kill people.

Goosebumps prickle my back. That’s just a rumor though, right?

“Guilt about anything specific?” I ask.

I’m no longer sure I want to know, but I’ve opened this can of worms now. I need to look inside.

Lucan’s eyes bore into mine, as if he’s trying to decide how much to say. How much I can handle.