He saw her throat convulse as she swallowed.
“And Elise? The time will be of my choosing. Never think otherwise.”
Rebellion flashed in her eyes, but she quickly cast her gaze downward, hiding it. Much to his surprise, she contained her pique sufficiently not to reply. She dressed fleetly before helping him pack up her belongings.
* * *
His condominium was everything Elise expected it to be, given it was Lucien’s lair—sensual, rich, masculine décor set within the ideal backdrop of the lake facing the east, and the labyrinth of sparkling high-rises to the north and the west. Of course, since it was Lucien, he was on the top floor of the building, occupying the premier penthouse.
When they first arrived in the hushed, luxurious residence perched high above the city, Lucien took the suitcase she’d been rolling along with the one he’d been carrying. “Why don’t you relax for a moment here in the living room,” he said, nodding toward the large, breathtaking expanse of space before floor-to-ceiling windows. “I’m going to get your room ready for you.”
“My room?” Elise said, startled.
He studied her from beneath hooded eyelids. “I told you, we will do this at my pace. Are you willing to accept that?”
She bit her lower lip, trying hard to disguise her disappointment. She’d been hoping to lie next to Lucien’s body, absorb his heat, his strength, tease him until he couldn’t deny her the delicious explosion of his male power. She longed to be taken, to be claimed. She craved having her fill of him—of letting him take his fill of her—of falling into an exhausted sleep only to awaken and begin all over again. . . .
She’d never been so hungry, so starved for a man in her life.
When she noticed he waited, his eyebrows raised, she nodded reluctantly. Apparently, Lucien had different ideas as to how he wanted things to proceed.
“Say you accept that we’ll do this at my pace,” he said, and she realized he expected her to put the promise into words.
She vanquished her frown. “I accept.”
“Good. Just give me a moment to get things set for you.”
She murmured with pleasure a few minutes later when he led her into a large bedroom suite decorated with toasty brown shining antiques, beige walls, and decadently soft-looking ivory bed coverings and furniture. Silk and fine wool curtains draped elegantly from the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“It’s a far cry from the Cedar Home Hotel,” she murmured teasingly as she tossed her purse on the luxurious four-poster bed.
“I should hope so.” She glanced up curiously when he paused a few feet away from her. What would he do now?
“There are fresh towels in the bathroom. My maid comes on Saturdays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. If you have any special requests for food or other products, just leave her a note on the board in the kitchen. She shops on Tuesdays.”
“Okay,” Elise said uncertainly.
“I’ll say good night. It’s been a long day. I’d imagine you’re tired.”
“Lucien?” she called when he started to walk out of the room.
He turned.
“Thank you. I’ll . . . I’ll pay you back for this. Someday.”
“You’ll pay me back by being good.”
But I want to be bad.
For a panicked moment when he narrowed his gaze on her, she wondered if he was practicing his mind-reading tricks again.
A few hours later, Elise cautiously turned on the light in the sleek, modern kitchen and padded silently across the white alabaster marble floor.
“Yes,” she whispered triumphantly a moment later when she spied a pitcher of iced tea in the refrigerator.
After Lucien had left, she’d showered, read, and turned on the television in her suite and flipped distractedly through channels. Then—once she suspected Lucien slept—she had made a quick reconnaissance of the penthouse. It was larger than she’d thought, including a good-sized office, an elegant dining room, and a cozy, windowed breakfast area off the kitchen. She’d even discovered behind a closed door some stairs that led to a stunning private terrace on the roof of the building. The only room she didn’t peer into was Lucien’s, of course. She assumed his quarters were behind a closed, carved wood door at the end of the hallway. The door reminded her a little of the one that led to his office at Fusion.
So like Lucien, to possess so many thick, elaborate closed doors in his life, she mused as she found a glass and began to pour herself some tea. The better to keep his secrets.
“What are you doing?”
She splashed some tea on her wrist when she jerked her chin around. She stared, her mouth gaping open. He stood at the entrance to the kitchen, wearing a scowl, a pair of ivory drawstring pants that hung low on his hips, and nothing else.
Very clearly nothing else.
“I . . . I was just getting some tea,” she said, flustered by his unexpected appearance . . . by his appearance in general—the gleaming caramel-colored skin tightly gloving bulging muscle and cut, ridged abdomen. The ivory pajama bottoms set off his coloring to perfection. His chest was smooth, but there was a thin path of dark hair that began at his navel and disappeared beneath the waistband of his pajama bottoms. If she’d had to describe his physique with one word, she couldn’t decide if she’d say lean or muscular because he was both—all sleek, coiled, primal male power.
“It’s almost three o’clock in the morning.”
“I know. I’m a night owl. I had trouble sleeping—I always have,” she admitted when he just studied her with an incisive stare and didn’t comment for several seconds. “Lucien?” she prompted.