acceptable time limit? How long did you stare last night?”
Oh, no, no, no.
The blood rushed from my face in hot prickles of horror. A strangled sound escaped my lips.
Lucian leaned in, close enough that I caught a whiff of bitter chocolate and sweet oranges. Why did he have to smell like dessert? He sounded even better—hot cream and honey. “Did you like what you saw?” The question rippled over my skin, sank into my bones, a soft caress that dared me to answer yes.
Before I could, he went on, that smooth voice sharpened with cynicism. “Or are you just a perpetual snoop?”
My eyes snapped open. I hadn’t realized I’d closed them. Or that he’d drifted so near. I could reach out and touch him if I wanted. Rub my palms over the firm planes of his chest . . . then I registered what he’d said. The disdain, the snark.
A clean rush of anger surged forward. Because one other thing became perfectly clear. “You knew I was there from the start.”
He didn’t flinch. “Yeah, I knew.”
I didn’t want to find that titillating or hot. But I did. Damn it.
But I was an actress. I could fake it.
“Well, then I guess I have to ask, Did you really expect me to turn away from a show so freely offered?” When he blinked in surprise, I tutted in reproach. “Who would suspect you were an exhibitionist. Tell me—did it get you off knowing I was watching? Or would anyone looking on do the trick?”
Lucian huffed out a laugh, as though he couldn’t believe my audacity but kind of liked it. His lids lowered as his gaze slid back to my mouth. And everything went hazy, the air between us too heavy. The rumble of his voice rippled along my skin, licked up my trembling thighs.
“Do you really want me to answer that, Em? Knowing you might not like my reply?”
Oh, the arrogance. I sucked in a breath, ready to tell him off. His eyes glinted with hot sparks, as though he wanted me to lay into him, like it would be the excuse he needed to do the same.
But it wasn’t violence I pictured. It was sex. Frantic, sweaty, angry . . .
A lilting, amused voice broke through my unraveling thoughts. “How wonderful it is to see you two getting along so well.”
As if zapped by a prod, we both snapped straight and turned as one toward the voice.
Looking like a dark-haired, witchy Endora, Amalie stood in the open doorway with a small curl of a smile on her thin hot-pink lips. “Do stop panting all over our guest, Titou.”
When he growled low in his throat, she smiled wider. “My, but you are stirred up. Perhaps you both could use a little cooling off in the pool.”
With that, she twirled around and sauntered away, leaving us to exchange one more long unsettled look before Lucian stalked off. As soon as he was gone, my shoulders sagged, and I took a shaky breath. The man was too potent. And Amalie was right; I definitely needed a long swim to cool off.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lucian
What did they say about the best-laid plans? I’d blown my plan to keep away from Emma all to hell. Worse, Mamie had caught us . . . discussing . . . and thought she knew something that she really didn’t. She’d be relentless now.
I gathered my dough and kneaded it, pushing through with the balls of my hands, then gathering the cool, springing mass back with my fingers, over and over. It was hypnotic. Necessary.
Back when hockey was my life, I’d taken my frustrations out on the ice. Even if it had been only to lace up my skates and get out there on my own. I could spend hours on the ice, just flying.
Unable to help myself, I closed my eyes and remembered. I could almost feel the frosty air on my face, the subtle glide of my skates. I could nearly hear the clap of my stick on the ice, the way it felt to hit the puck.
My chest clenched. Hard.
Fuck.
Opening my eyes, I went back to kneading, picking up the dough to slap it hard onto the counter. I’d chosen a nice sourdough sandwich bread to make, knowing the dough would require a lot of kneading to get the gluten going.
This was my therapy now. Baking and, to a lesser extent, cooking. The precision and concentration needed to create something truly exceptional crowded my brain and didn’t leave