CHAPTER TWENTY
Even though Lucian has a hold of my wrists, I don't feel powerless. In fact, I feel like my defenses are more powerful than ever before. Not only have I been able to resist him, but I've also lashed out at him.
It's over between us. It's truly over. When I walk out his front door in a few minutes, I won't be coming back. Ever. The spell is broken. I'm free from the magnetic chains he's wrapped around me, pulling me in again and again.
"You're clever." He looks me over. I can tell that he's impressed by my emotional jab at him.
"I'm leaving." I apply force between his legs until he winces and lets me go, stepping away with an expression that suggests he's surprised I'd go so far as to hurt him to gain my freedom.
I wrap my hand around the doorknob and open the door, expecting the winds of liberation to sweep over me. Instead, I'm met by a woman. A gorgeous blonde bombshell in a short red dress and sunglasses.
"Oh," she sounds startled, her hand poised to ring the doorbell though she quickly drops it to her side.
I turn briefly to look at Lucian, and he's already standing behind me, his hand clutching the side of the door to open it wider while he smiles at her. For the shortest of moments, jealousy rages through me. But then I remember that I don't care anymore. I certainly shouldn't be surprised that he was sleeping with someone else the entire time that he was sleeping with me. That's just the kind of man he is.
"Hello, Lora," Lucian greets the woman. "Could you give us just a minute? I'll be right out."
"Certainly." She beams at him, her cherry lips parting slightly to reveal two rows of immaculately white teeth.
"It's fine," I begin to say, but the second my foot leaves the floor, Lucian is pulling me back into the house and closing the door behind us. I spin on my heels to face him. "What in the hell is wrong with you?"
"Amy, please." His expression is pleading. "Please stay. She's a client of mine. This will only take a moment. I really want to talk to you before you leave."
"We've already talked." I raise my hands as if I want to strangle him. I kind of do.
He gently places his hands on top of mine, curling my fingers. "Please. I won't advance on you again. I promise."
To be honest, I'm not sure if he's capable of talking to me without advancing on me. It's not exactly one of his talents.
"Please, Amy." His eyes meet mine, and I feel trapped all over again.
"Fine. Go talk to your...client." I pull my hands out of his grasp and gesture to the door. "But after she leaves, you get five minutes with me. That's all. Do you understand?"
He nods for half a heartbeat before opening the door, stepping outside, and closing it behind himself. A client. Yeah right. If she really is a client, then he wouldn't care about me listening in on their conversation. Not that it's any of my business.
Maybe I should listen in. What's the point though? I've made up my mind. And besides, he's probably not going to say anything inappropriate to her anyway, thinking that I'm going to be trying to listen in. My time is better spent just sitting and waiting for him...or....
I glance back towards the hall. A tight feeling forms in my chest, the feeling you get when you know you're about to do something really wrong—something you'll probably get in big trouble for.
I take a deep breath before my feet carry me quickly across the marble floor, down the hall, past so many doors to Lucian's bedroom. I flick the switch to turn on the overhead light. This is a dangerous place for me to be, but I have to see. I have to know.
My vision is laser targeted, my hand reaching out before I even get halfway across the room. I pick up one of the picture frames on Lucian's bedside table, the ones that are all facing down so I can't see them. The knot in my chest doubles as my eyes focus on the beautiful brunette woman and the little raven-haired boy smiling at the camera. There was another person in the picture, but they were ripped out of it.
My curiosity is not quite satiated. I set the picture down, standing it up facing me; then I reach for the next picture. It's far more telling, exactly what I expected to find. Lucian is in this picture. The raven-haired boy is on his shoulders, and the woman is standing beside him, reaching up to hold the boy's hand.
I spend the next few minutes circling the room, setting up all of the pictures. There are studio portraits and candid photos. The boy is in about half of them. The other half are just Lucian and the woman. Putting the nail in the coffin of my suspicions though is one photo of the woman in a gorgeous, expensive-looking wedding gown and Lucian in a tuxedo.
She's his wife. This is his family.
Once I've looked at all of the photos, I circle back around to the first one. I take it into my hands and pull myself up onto the bed, wondering why Lucian tore himself out of the photo...or if that's even him. It wouldn't make sense that it would be the picture he kept on his bedside table if it weren't him though. Perhaps they got into a fight, and he decided to destroy the picture.
My mind goes over various scenarios of why the pictures are still in the room. Perhaps they're having marital problems and are on a break. In that case, I've just been something to tide him over until she returns. That wouldn't explain why he works at Flesh though. Maybe she doesn't even know about it.
I hear the front door close, and my name being called. I don't move. I want Lucian to see me like this, to realize that I found him out.
The time for pondering is over. I grasp the picture tightly as Lucian's footsteps draw closer, coming down the hall. Every few feet, he calls my name. Maybe he thinks I tried to sneak out the backdoor. He's going to be sorely mistaken. I can only imagine that once he finds me with the pictures, he's going to wish I had sneaked out. If he thought there was any chance of salvaging what we had, this should be proof that there's not.
"There you..." Lucian's chipper voice quickly fades as he realizes I'm holding one of the pictures.
It takes everything in me to still the trembling that wants to break free to the surface. I'm getting upset, and I don't even know why. Somehow, I think I knew he was married all along. He's too gorgeous not to be. But at the same time, I just feel so horrible for everything we've done.
Lucian takes long strides across the room. I expect him to speak—perhaps to yell at me—but he says nothing. Far more gently than I could have ever imagined, he takes the picture from my hands, then sits beside me, staring down at it. His thumb lazily brushes over the empty spot where he should have been.
I feel like I shouldn't be watching this, like this is some secret intimate moment not meant for my eyes. Then again, none of this was meant for my eyes. That's why the pictures were turned down in the first place.
The room is so silent it's almost maddening. I wait for him to speak, for him to say anything. He doesn't though, and when I look over at him, I can see that he's completely fixated on the picture, the muscles in his jaw tensed.
"She's your wife," I offer. "The little boy is your son."
"Yes." He reaches across me to set the picture back down on his bedside table.
The knot in my chest gives way to hollowness. His admission makes me feel like the worst person in the world though deep down I know it's not my fault. Had I know he was married, I never would have slept with him. Still, there are some questions that beg to be answered.
"Does she know about us? Does she know about the things you do?" I can't even look at him when I ask.
He takes a deep breath. "I imagine she does. She knows everything I do."
"And she doesn't care?" I furrow my eyebrows in disbelief.
He licks his lips, staring at the picture. The subject obviously makes him incredibly uncomfortable.
"She's an angel," he says.
"I imagine so. She'd have to be to put up with your shit," I huff, pushing myself off of the bed to leave. I've had enough of his insensitive bullshit. As soon as I get home, I'm going to spend hours scrubbing every ounce of him off of me. He hasn't really touched me tonight, but just being in his presence makes me feel defiled.
I start walking towards the door, and Lucian catches me by the wrist. I'm so overwhelmed by emotions that my body moves reflexively. My palm stings as I slap him as hard as I can, the sound seeming to reverberate from the walls.
Instead of flinching back, Lucian grabs my other wrist, giving me a slight shake. "She's dead, Amy. They both are."
My heart drops to the pit of my stomach as I realize that his eyes are welling up with tears. I can't tell if it's because I slapped him, or he's incredibly grief stricken. Almost the second he catches the shift in my expression, he lets go of my wrists and wipes his eyes, retreating to the bed to pick the picture up again.
I'm absolutely shocked, not so much because he told me that his family is dead, but because of his reaction. I've never seen him so unsettled before—never seen him look so weak. Part of me thinks I should leave, but I can't seem to make my feet move. All I can do is stand there and stare at him as he looks down at the picture.
"You can go." He nods to the door, not even glancing up at me.
They're words I've been praying to hear all night. For once, he's not fighting me, not trying to keep me prisoner.
I pity him. It's a strange thing to think. Despite all of his wealth and success and beauty, I feel sorry for him. I can't even imagine what it would be like to lose a spouse and a child.
I wrap my arms around myself and take a few timid steps towards him. He doesn't even look at me. It's as if I'm not even there. Before I even know what I'm doing, I feel the soft comforter beneath my legs as I sit beside him. My eyes fix on the picture. I have so many questions that I know are none of my business, but I so desperately want the answers.
"What happened to them?" I ask, keeping my tone soft.
Lucian closes his eyes as if he's searching for the memory. "I don't like talking about it."
"I'd like to know." I lean against him.
"Why do you want to know?" He turns to look at me.
"Because I want to know you. I want to know who you are. Who you really are." It's not a lie. This is what I've wanted all along. Not exactly this per se—hearing about his dead wife and child—but just learning something about him. Something more than that he enjoys cooking, loves sex, and is obsessed with BDSM.
"Telling you this won't give you any insight into who I am." He shakes his head before returning his attention to the picture.
"No, but it might make you feel better."
"It won't."
"I'm just going to leave then," I sigh, realizing that, as usual, he's completely shut down.
I stand, and he gazes up at me with wounded eyes, big and round and oh so blue. Wetness clings to his bottom lids, but there isn't any threat of more tears.
"Don't go."
The desperation in his voice tugs at my heartstrings. The woman in me wants to comfort him. I know better though. I need to stop feeling sorry for him; otherwise I'll never find the strength to leave. This is a new twist on his manipulation. Isn't it? He's doing this on purpose, right?
"I'm sorry for your loss." I look to the door, trying to will myself to move towards it. "But I don't think we have anything left to discuss." I muster up all of my resolve and start walking away. The pain in my heart is unlike anything I could have expected. This time though, I think it's more from the thought that he actually needs me right now. He needs me, and I'm leaving him.
"Amy, stop."
I pause, glancing at him over my shoulder.
"I'll tell you what happened to her. Just come back." He motions back toward him. His tone sounds more annoyed than defeated, which makes me hesitate.
With a sigh, I find myself returning to the bed. I sit beside him, refusing to make eye contact. Looking at the picture is just as good as anything—looking at Lucian's dead family. It's such a morbid thought, but knowing that he's technically single does make me feel a little better about the things we've done together.
"We were madly in love," he begins, "but our marriage wasn't always perfect. No marriage is. We had our fights, our stupid arguments. I always thought they were trivial compared to what most couples fight about. I'd end up on the couch for the night, or she'd leave. We'd be mad at each other for a day or two, and then things would return to normal." I can see his fingers pressing hard into the frame of the picture, his hand trembling slightly. It seems like he's having a really hard time talking about it.
I place my hand on his forearm and rub it gently back and forth. "It's alright."
He cocks his head to the side for a moment but doesn't look at me. "I don't even remember what we argued about that morning. You'd think I would after what happened. In hindsight, I don't think it mattered. We could have argued about anything.
"She got mad, took Issac, and went to the store to cool off for a little while. They stopped at a gas station," his voice cracks, and I know he's about to lose it.
"Go on," I press.
He sniffles and turns away from me, probably trying to hide the fact that he's crying. "A man came in with a gun, wanting to rob the store for drug money. He grabbed Isaac. Leigh began to panic, causing a scene. The robber was waving his gun at her, trying to get her to be quiet, and the gun accidentally went off. At least, that's what the robber said.
"As soon as he shot her, people started running. He put a bullet in Isaac's head and then went on a killing spree. Four people died in the shooting."
I expect him to fall completely apart, but by the end of the story, his tone is hollow. I'm honestly not sure how to react or what to think. It's such a tragic story. I don't even feel like I'm capable of comforting him. And oddly, he doesn't really sound like he needs or expects it.
"Is that why you tore yourself out of the photo, because the two of you fought beforehand?" I ask, gesturing to the picture.
Lucian takes a deep breath. "I was angry when I did it. I thought it was my fault for arguing about something stupid. I blamed myself like most people do. I didn't feel like I deserved her."
"But you know it wasn't your fault, right?" I bend slightly to see if I can catch his gaze. It works. He finally turns and looks at me.
"I know it wasn't my fault. Even if we hadn't fought, she could have decided to go to the store. She could have stopped at the wrong gas station. It took me a really long time to believe that though."
"How long ago did it happen?"
His jaw tenses. "A little over two years ago."
I bite my bottom lip, not knowing what else to say. It wasn't very long ago, so it's understandable that he still has issues dealing with it. Still, I'm surprised that he didn't completely put the pictures away if he didn't want me seeing them. Surely, he expected that I'd eventually ask questions if our relationship got beyond...whatever it has been up to this point.
"You lie the pictures face down because you didn't want me to see them, right?"
"Yeah." He sets the picture back on his bedside table.
"Why not put them away completely? You had to have realized I would eventually see them."
"Do you know that you're the first woman I've slept with in this house?" He looks around the room.
"I didn't." My cheeks instantly turn pink, and my heart skips a beat. For some reason, it sounds like a romantic admission. I could be taking it all wrong though. I'm certainly good at that.
"I've never had to think about the picture thing before you because it never mattered." His eyes dance from picture to picture before circling back around to me.
"I'm not sure if I should feel flattered or not." I brush a loose strand of hair behind my ear shyly.
"You should," he exhales sharply, turning his attention back to the room. "This house..."
I wait for him to continue, but he doesn't. It feels like the air has grown thicker somehow, and I'm not sure why.
"What about this house?" I ask, following his gaze.
He turns back to me and shakes his head. "Nothing."
"It sure didn't seem like nothing." I arch an eyebrow.
"I turned down the pictures instead of putting them away because I didn't want her to think I had forgotten about her. I also didn't want her to watch...well, you know." He bobs his head, and I can't help but grin. For as vulgar as he is, this is the first time I've heard him be squeamish about mentioning sex.
I nod slowly, looking at Leigh's smiling face in so many pictures. "Well, I don't think there are many secrets about what we've been doing at this point."
"I know. I just...It didn't feel right. I guess I wasn't ready." He rubs the back of his neck. "And I honestly didn't think you'd be so nosy."
My smile falters as I remember why I came into Lucian's bedroom in the first place. I wanted to see that he was cheating on...someone. That's not what I found though. At least, not really. I open my mouth to tell him that I need to leave, but then I feel his fingers on my face, gently sweeping across my cheek. I turn to look at him, and his lips are quirked into a soft grin.
"You remind me so much of her," his voice is filled with such a sense of honesty that I'm almost taken back by it. The way his eyes rove over my face...He's looking at me in a way I've never seen before.
I bite back my craving to give in to him and pull away, scooting over on the bed to put distance between us. "You don't even know me."
"You're right," he admits, to my surprise. "I don't know you very well, but I do feel like I know things about you."
"Like what?" I huff.
"You're sweet. You're dedicated. You wouldn't have put up with me for this long if you weren't," he lets out a short laugh.
"I'm dedicated to my job," I correct him, hoping he'll take it as a slight.
"That's what I meant. You want that contract so badly," there's a touch of mocking in his tone.
"It is important to me. Not just me, but my company."
"I know. I don't want to talk about that right now though. And I wish it wasn't even a factor in what we have going on."
I wish it wasn't too. Then it would have been easier to walk away from him a long time ago. Having to see him on an almost daily basis makes things so much more complicated. My attraction to him is almost palpable. His gorgeous blue eyes, his chiseled body, the way that he takes what he wants with no regrets. He's amazing in bed. Passionate, dominant. I hate that I've allowed my lust to get in the way of my logic, that I've let it pervert a relationship that should be strictly business. Everything is a mess because I allowed things to go too far. You can't take back the past though. You just have to deal with the consequences of your mistakes.
"There's nothing going on between us, Lucian," I say weakly.
"You never let me finish telling you what I think about you." He doesn't even seem phased by my rejection.
"I'm not interested in what you think of me." It's a lie. A bold-faced lie. I'm not even sure if I sound convincing. I desperately want to know what he thinks of me, but I'm so afraid he'll tell me something that will make me drop my guard, and I don't want that.
"You're sweet." He ignores me again. "You're shy. You're beautiful." I feel his hand on my thigh. When I try to brush it off, he doesn't budge. Instead he just gives it a gentle squeeze, drawing my attention up to this face. "You're beautiful, Amy," he repeats. "You don't believe it, for whatever reason. Maybe men haven't treated you as good as they should have in the past. Maybe you don't have any sense of your own self-worth, but you're beautiful, both on the inside and the outside."
My eyes begin to water as I stare at him. His words are so earnest. They don't sound like lines at all. He's making me think that he truly believes what he's saying to me. I do think that he truly believes it.
"Lucian," I practically mewl, pulling out of his grasp and standing to make my way toward the door. "I've got to go."
His arms are wrapped around me in an instant. I'm his prisoner again, but things feel different this time. He's holding me from behind, hugging me, his face nuzzled against my hair.
"Please don't go, Amy. Please don't leave me. Not tonight," there's such a desperation in his tone that I feel my resolve cracking. Walls are crumbling inside of me. I wrap my fingers around his hand to pry it off of me, but instead I just clutch his hand, holding it against me.
“Please, Lucian.” Please what? I think I'm begging him to let me go, but I'm not even sure anymore.
“You're afraid of me. Of this. And that's okay because I'm scared too.”
He releases his grip on me, and instead of continuing towards the door, I turn around. Biggest. Mistake. Ever.
It's like a bomb was thrown at my protective walls. The way he's looking at me, with such an intensity. Not lust but something else. Adoration. Need. Honesty.
I let out a pathetic little gasp as he draws me closer, my soft body pressing into a wall of hard muscle. As a last line of defense, I drop my gaze. It lands on his parted lips, and I feel a familiar hunger building inside of me, pooling between my legs.
He tilts his head ever so slightly—as if he's unsure if it's okay to kiss me—as if he's silently asking for permission. Tears spill down my cheeks, my body trembling as I close my eyes and just give in. His lips meet mine, firm but gentle at the same time. There's no desperation in the way that he kisses me, no urgency to strip me down and fuck me raw before I try to run away.
I slide my hands up the front of his body. They're meant to act as a barrier between us, a way for me to separate us enough so that I can come back to my senses. But as soon as I feel my fingers slide over his rippling flesh, I'm lost.
I deepen the kiss. Not him. Me. I seek entry into his mouth. I wrap my arms around him and draw him closer, and he does the same, embracing me while our mouths move together. Kissing and caressing. He feels and smells so good. Tastes amazing. I'm drunk with affection from his sweet words. I want to make all of his pain go away. I don't ever want him to hurt again.
I'm falling. Oh so hard. My greatest fear is finally realized.
I'm falling in love with Lucian Reddick.