The Soul Collector - By Tamela Quijas Page 0,52
world, he wanted the peacefulness of death's slumber.
Now, he wanted her.
Lucien lifted her hand to his chest, pressing the limb to his thudding heart. She stared at him, an unspoken question in her eyes as she felt the thunderous pounding. He lowered his head toward her, his serious expression softening. Unable to control the urge, he brushed the lightest of electrical kisses across the tempting flesh of her lips.
“I only said to play the boyfriend.” She whispered against his mouth, peculiarly breathless. Eva pretended to embrace him, the appearance of an enraptured couple tantamount.
“Boyfriend,” he chuckled the ironic word against her mouth. The unfamiliar warmth of his lower lip glided across the flesh he knew was rapidly becoming as sensitive as his own. “I'm not familiar with this word.”
“Lucien,” she scolded, determined to keep up appearances. “Beau, intended, whatever you guys used to call it in your day.”
He hummed deep in his throat, the sound erotic. The pressure of his lips was quivering and teasing, unconsciously tempting her with the same fire she sent through his heated flesh. He’d never had the opportunity at any of what she whispered.
Show me life, he wanted to whisper, unable to speak the words. Show me what I’ve lost, Evangeline. Show me everything.
Dazed, he pulled his mouth away, and frowned. He realized she might accomplish what Julian wouldn't, all with just a touch.
She was capable of killing him, slowly, but surely.
Perhaps he shouldn't have come to her parent's house. He understood she’d be unable to visit the state without making the most casual of entrances for the holidays. He simply wasn’t prepared for the method in which she enlisted his assistance.
“Boyfriend,” he whispered against her forehead and pressed a light kiss to the furrow between her brows. “I imagine the moniker has a slightly demeaning intent behind it.”
“Demeaning?” She attempted to pull away, but stopped, realizing the action could be misconstrued as a lover's spat.
“I'm far from being a boy.”
She blushed and he detected the grimace of discontent lingering within her.
“If it’s any consolation, Reese is siding with you on this.”
A short bark of rusty laughter erupted from Lucien, drawing all eyes to them. “I forgot he remains with you.”
It was a startling admission to make, and Eva smiled. For the briefest moment, while she held his hand, Lucien forgot the spirits lingering at every twist and turn in his world.
“I'm not as fortunate.” She grimaced and leaned closer, her words a soft whisper. “He’s here, and I hear everything he says. Let's just say, despite the fact he wanted come, he's not pleased.”
“You could have arrived, alone, in sorts.” He attempted to placate. “This fiasco was unnecessary.”
“Lucien D'Angel.” She admonished, the fullness of her lush breasts pressed to his chest, and her titter of laughter breathy. “This is a matter a man would never understand, no matter how old.”
“Explain this logic.”
“Feminine vanity,” Eva supplied airily, wishing to end the low-voiced debate.
“Ah.”
The sound was all encompassing, as if capable of explaining the celestial workings of the universe. Lucien nodded and looked around the room. He judiciously eyed her older brother's florid features and her mother's flushed expression of satisfaction.
“How is Reese?” He found himself asking and watched her living brother head toward them, his teenage son in fast pursuit.
“He's enjoying every moment,” she admitted with a withering glare before she eased back, tugging at her earlobe.
Her hand ensconced in his grip, they affected the most affectionate pose as her scowling brother approached. Eva rested her forehead of Lucien's shoulder, inhaled his crisp scent, and felt his breath trail across her neck.
“Damn, Evie, let the man breathe!” Frank muttered and halted. The suddenness of his stop nearly caused his son's gangly body to careen into his back. The youth drew up short and his faced flushed with pronounced eagerness.
Let the man breathe.
Instead of taking the offense, as she might have years ago, she fought the urge to giggle uncontrollably. She buried her face against the thin material of Lucien's sweater, attempting to muffle the sound, and failed miserably. Her brother would never understand she was permitting the man to breathe. She closed her eyes and struggled to contain her mirth, the warmth of Lucien's arm slipping about her waist. He pressed her close in what appeared to be his own denial of her brother's charges.
“Sorry, Frank,” Lucien responded congenially, his gaze serious. He watched the young man at her brother's side anxiously shift from one foot to another. “I fully urge Evie to hold onto