Lucius (Acquisition Series #4) - Celia Aaron Page 0,33

go glossy as he pervs out in his imagination.

“Good chat.” I turn and stride away from him.

“Watch your back, Lucius,” he calls. “Evie’s not some innocent princess anymore.”

That’s what I’m counting on. I pull my phone out as I head to my corner office. It’s similar to Sin’s but bigger. After all I’m the sugar magnate, and he’s my second in command when it comes to the business.

Tyrone: Boss, she’s got someone else watching her.

I frown at the text from the tail I put on Evie.

Lucius: Have you been made?

Tyrone: No.

Lucius: Keep an eye on them, too. If they leave, follow. I’ll handle Evie tonight.

Tyrone: Will do.

Another tail. Hmm. Though I suspect Evie’s made a handful of enemies during her rise to corporate power, I don’t think any of them would be interested in following her around New Orleans. Nothing to gain from it.

However, there is one particular organization that I’ve no doubt wants to keep tabs on her. Those bruises on her arms are practically a calling card. My blood turns scorching at the thought of it. Some asshole thinks he can put his hands on my woman.

I stop at my window and watch as the sun sets. Sin was right about my lack of emotional maturity. Because as I stand here, I can’t put into words what I’m feeling for that spitfire with the murderous intentions. I can’t say love, because I’ve never truly known what that is. A sensation? A knowing? A what? What the hell is it?

I don’t know, and I may never know. There’s one word, though, that comes to me as I stare out at the fading light and bustling city below. One word that encompasses my world since Evie has been in it these past few days.

Want.

I want.

Her body, her mind, her passion. And maybe, yes, maybe her love. I don’t deserve it, and I certainly don’t understand it. But all the same, I want it, whatever it is.

My phone buzzes.

Tyrone: Evie returned from her afternoon meeting with the tail on her 6. Once she entered her building, the tail took off.

Lucius: Follow.

Tyrone. On it.

I glance at my laptop and the multitude of emails that I’m certain await me. Contracts, counter-offers, reports on my sugar cane holdings in Cuba and South America. This empire was built on blood and sacrifice. My family depends on me, and I won’t let them down. It’s one of my few good traits, I suppose. Grabbing the computer, I stow it in my leather bag and head down to my car.

Watching Evie and working—piece of cake. Like I told Sin, I’m a multitasker. I’ll stay in my car and keep an eye on her place until Tyrone returns.

Solid plan.

18

Evie

It’s late when I hear the knock at my door. But it’s not as if I’m sleeping. With the Acquisition party tomorrow night, I can’t focus on much besides my ever-growing dread. The knock shakes me out of it, and my skin crawls when I realize it’s probably the man from earlier.

I can’t deal with him again. How did he even get up here? What idiot would buzz him in? I don’t move, just stare at the door as my panic mounts. Where’s my gun? I glance at the empty bottle of Pinot and force myself to my feet. Unsteady, I lurch toward the couch and my bag. My gun is gone. Shit, I must’ve put it under my pillow already.

The knock sounds, more insistent this time. I can’t pretend I’m not home. He knows. They all know. They’re always watching.

More knocking, louder and louder.

“Leave me alone!” I scream and grab the nearest thing—the empty bottle—and hurl it at the door.

It shatters on impact, wine-coated glass raining down onto the wood floor.

“Evie?” His voice is muffled, but I’d know it anywhere.

“Lucius.” I stand and wobble to the door. The glass is everywhere. My fuzzy slippers manage it fine until I step on a particularly large piece. “Fuck, ouch!”

“Evie, open the door.”

“For you? No way!” I pick my foot up and try to look at the bottom, but I almost lose my balance.

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Says the man who hurts me every chance he gets.” I snort a laugh.

“You’re drunk.”

“What?”

“You’re slurring your words.”

I could swear I hear him mutter “lightweight.”

“Go away.”

“Who did you think it was? The man who put his hands on you?” The edge in his voice is sharper than the glass beneath my feet.

“Just leave.”

“Let me in.”

“No.”

“Evie, I’m asking nicely.”

“This is your ‘nicely’?” I laugh, and