Page 11

ELLIETTE

L e Coq Gourmand had a Sunday breakfast buffet that ran right through the lunch hour. I had just sat down with my plate when Lukas walked in the door, looking like his typical storm cloud. His piercing, pale blue eyes scanned the restaurant before doing a double take and settling on me.

A shiver ran down my arms, but I steeled myself. No way was he going to unnerve me. I tugged at my skirt, stretching the hem closer to my knees.

Lukas crossed the restaurant, his nearly seven-foot frame taking long athletic strides.

Several pairs of eyes followed his agitated but powerful journey. Those patrons were probably surprised to see him stop at the chair directly opposite me. When Lukas was off the ice, the public was used to seeing him with an actress or a model, or at least someone who could be mistaken for one.

But then, if he wasn’t contractually obligated to be here, he’d be as far away from me as possible.

Lukas didn’t sit right away. He stood behind his chair and narrowed his eyes on my plate of French toast, an apple custard, and the remaining half of a chocolate croissant. “Carbo loading?”

I gave him a deadpan look. “I’m running a marathon later today.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “You are?”

“Does it really matter to you?” I took a big bite of French toast, dripping with syrup.

“Not in the slightest.”

I swallowed and wiped my mouth with my napkin. “So, why ask?”

He sat down, then leaned back in his chair and folded his annoyingly muscular arms over his abhorrently broad chest.

“Aren’t you going to get some food?” I asked.

“Sure. When the waitress comes over.”

“It’s a buffet.” I gestured toward the twenty-foot display of gastronomical delights. “You can help yourself.”

He just smiled and rocked back on the legs of his chair.

“You’re going to tip over.” I imagined the sound of his big body hitting the textured concrete floor.

“I’m a wolf and an athlete. I’ve got excellent balance.” He gave me a wink.

I ignored the wink. “Is that right?”

“You can put that in your first post,” he suggested.

“You’re really not going to get any food?” I was suddenly self-conscious about being the only one eating.

“Ask me your questions,” he said. “What info are you looking for?”

A waitress appeared at the side of our table. “Are you Lukas Bakken?”

He rocked forward, putting all four chair legs on the floor again, and looked up at her with a suddenly warm smile. “I am.”

She blushed. “I thought so. I was just wondering if there was anything I could get for you.”

“Could you load me up a plate? Same things as my friend here.”

“Friend?” The waitress jerked her head toward me as if surprised to discover that Lukas wasn’t alone at the table. Her gaze dropped to my plate. “Um. Of course. Back in a jiffy.”

I watched her go, then asked, “You’re waited on at buffets?”

He shrugged. “It’s like you said before. Women adore me.”

I scoffed. “I don’t remember saying that exactly, but if they do, it’s only because they don’t know you.”

To my amazement, he nodded and said, “We just found our first point of agreement.”

Well, that was an interesting insight, and it could be useful for the article too. “Does anyone really know you?”

“Your brother used to.” He picked up his water glass and took a big sip. The muscular column of his throat flexed as he swallowed. “He probably still knows me better than most.”

“As far as I’m aware, the two of you have only spoken once or twice since you were traded to Baltimore.”

Lukas pursed his lips in an expression of regretful acknowledgment.

“That’s not how you treat a friend,” I said, though in truth, Evan had never complained about it. I was the one who’d been bothered.

“People drift apart,” Lukas said with an unconvincing shrug. “I don’t think Rogue ever felt like I was blowing him off. He knows about the shit I’m dealing with back home, so he understood I needed some space.”

I leaned forward. “And what kind of shit are you dealing with at home?”

The waitress returned with a plate of French toast, apple custard, and a chocolate croissant. “I brought you coffee too,” she said. “Do you like it sweet?”

The insinuating tone of her voice had me jerking my head back to look up at her. Was she serious with that shit?

Lukas just chuckled. “Sure, babe. I like it sweet. Thanks.”

She snagged a sugar bowl off the adjacent table and set it in the middle of ours. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

She left.

I shook my head. “Are you sure you’re not part gancanagh?”

Lukas snorted. “I wish.”

That surprised me. Lukas got plenty of women without needing a gancanagh’s Irish charm. “You wish you were part gancanagh?”

“Being of mixed species would solve a lot of my problems back home.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Evan had told me Lukas’s dad was kind of a dick, but how much of a problem could the man be when he lived a thousand miles away?

Lukas just shook his head and unwrapped his silverware from the napkin.

“Come on,” I urged. “What problems could you possibly have? Besides your shoulder, that is.”

Lukas’s head jerked up, and he set down his silverware. He leaned forward and said low, under his breath. “Can I make a request that none of your posts mention my shoulder injury?”

I held up my hands in surrender. “Sure. No problemo. And anyway…” I smoothed my napkin in my lap. “That’s not part of my brief. I’m here to talk you up , not down. But I can’t guarantee a sports analyst won’t use your shoulder as a talking point.”

Lukas stabbed angrily at his meal, but as soon as his fork passed his lips, his shoulders relaxed, his eyes closed, and he groaned in appreciation.

My toes inexplicably curled inside my shoes, and I bit down on my bottom lip. This was a business meeting. I wasn’t a blushing teenager. Lukas Bakken wasn’t supposed to affect me anymore.

He lifted his thick fringe of lashes and looked me dead in the eye. “Maybe I’ll have to run that marathon with you. I haven’t had time to buy much for groceries yet, and this French toast is amazing.”

The tip of his tongue swept out to catch a drip of syrup on his bottom lip.

“Uh huh,” I managed to say. My god, was it hot in here?

“Now, where were we?” he asked.

“You were about to tell me about the shit you were dealing with back home.”

He grunted in a way that suggested a laugh. “Like hell, I was.”

“Not even a little insight? I have a job to do.”

“By the way,” he said, then stopped.

“Yeah?”

“This job. Or rather, your negotiation with O’Rourke. It was impressive.”

“It was?” A rush of pride made me feel flushed and slightly embarrassed .

“Are you kidding?” Lukas asked. “You got nearly double his original offer. And you were negotiating with a boar . Honestly, for a second, I was afraid for your life.”

“Literally?” I knew it had been ballsy of me, but I hadn’t considered actual, physical danger.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Shit.” I looked down at my mostly demolished French toast, and my stomach turned.

“Yeah,” Lukas agreed. “Maybe I should take some notes from you next time I go into contract negotiations.”

I smiled. I couldn’t help myself. That might have been the nicest thing Lukas had ever said to me.

Then I realized what he was doing. “Hey! You’re trying to distract me so you don’t have to answer my question.”

“What question was that?” He looked deep into my eyes again.

Steadfastly ignoring the electricity crackling across my skin, I leaned into the table. “My question about the shit you’ve got going on back home.”

He sighed and sat back in his chair, letting his arms dangle by his sides. “Do you know who my father is?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Bakken?”

“Cute. He’s the clan alpha.”

“All right.” Maybe we were finally getting somewhere. I leaned back in my chair, hopefully conveying the message that I was all ears, and he should feel perfectly comfortable sharing some of his story with me.

“And his days are numbered.” Those five words were full of complex layers that I didn’t fully understand, but the serious—almost ominous—tone of his voice sank into my skin.

“Are you saying he’s sick? Or are you hinting that there might be a coup?” Those were the only interpretations I could come up with on my own.

“No,” he said, “but there will be a succession.”

“Ah.” Now, I understood what he was getting at. “You. You’re his successor.”

“Me,” he said, and it didn’t sound like he considered his promotion to be a good thing.

“You’re going to be, like, alpha berserker?” I asked.

“Alpha of the Bakken clan,” he said. “Not of all berserkers. Not even of all the wolves.”

That didn’t sound so bad. It certainly didn’t explain why he’d put his friendship with Evan on hold. “And what does being alpha entail exactly?”

A dark cloud of emotion passed over his face, the same expression with which he’d entered the restaurant. “I’m not here to talk about that.”

“You kind of are,” I said. “Can you continue to play professional hockey and be alpha to your clan? Is it possible to do both?”

Lukas pressed his lips together and seemed to stare straight through me. It was a stare I was painfully familiar with. How many times had I felt invisible in his presence?

“This is important,” I pressed. “Does O’Rourke know? Does anyone?”

Before he could answer—and in truth, I wasn’t sure that he ever planned to—I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Three nymphs approached our table, their thin, inhumanly graceful bodies giving their identities away.

I knew the waitress wasn’t going to be a one-off fan and there’d be other admirers interrupting our conversation. But why did it have to be nymphs?

It didn’t matter what type they were—dryads, naiads, oceanids, or any of the others kinds I could never remember—their every word, every movement was a sexual overture.

Their mere presence made me feel small and plain, and they brought back Daniel’s scathing words: You’re too vanilla.

We both deserve someone who’s more compatible .