Page 15 of Lucas (The Valeur Billionaires #2)

It’s late when we arrive at Lucas’s house after the wedding. As the limousine winds its way up the long, tree-lined driveway, I gaze at the mansion appearing before my eyes through the tinted window. Even in the dark, it’s clear to me it’s enormous.

Splendorous and impressive. Exactly as I expected.

The car comes to a stop before the grand entrance, a wide set of stone steps leading up to ornate double doors. The driver hurries to open the car door for me, bowing slightly.

Lucas gets out first and strides inside while I struggle to extract myself from the vehicle with the voluminous skirts of my dress. The corset digs into my ribs, not allowing me any range of motion.

I should have taken a more loose-fitting dress for the party, as Cora suggested. But it’s too late for regrets now.

I get out, nearly tripping on the hem as I ascend the steps.

I enter the foyer and pause, my eyes widening as I take in the opulent space.

The ceiling soars high above, a glittering chandelier casting a soft glow.

The walls are adorned with large, gilded frames housing what look to be original oil paintings.

Lucas has already taken off his suit jacket, and he’s now removing his cufflinks and handing them to another man who takes them and disappears from sight.

“Who was that?” I ask.

Lucas turns, one eyebrow raised as if he’s surprised to see me standing in his house. “That was Hugo. My house manager. He’s here to fulfill any request. I’ve instructed him to respond to your needs as well, of course.”

“Of course,” I echo, trying not to bristle at the implication that I’m just another task for his staff to manage. “Are there any other staff members I need to know about?”

“Yes, but only Hugo is here all the time. The rest come and go during the day as needed.”

“He lives here?”

“Yes, but not in the mansion. He has a house attached to this one.”

I nod, stifling a yawn that threatens to crack my jaw. The events of the day are catching up with me, the adrenaline that had been sustaining me ebbing away. “Could you point me to my room? I’m pretty tired.”

Lucas points to the left. “You’re at the end of the hall.”

“And you?”

Lucas points in the other direction. “I’m there. In the room farthest from yours.”

“Great,” I mutter, unsure whether to be relieved or offended by the clear message in the distance he’s putting between us.

“Your belongings have already been brought to your room.” He walks over to a side table where several cut-crystal decanters and matching glasses sit on a silver tray. He pours himself a generous measure of amber liquid—whiskey, judging by the color. “Want some?”

“No, thanks.” I wrap my arms around my body. “It’s not a problem that Hugo knows we’re sleeping in separate rooms?”

Lucas shrugs, seeming unconcerned. “All of my staff are loyal to me and have been with me for years. None of them are aware of the specifics of our arrangement, of course, but even if they were, nothing would be leaked. I trust them.”

He raises the glass to his lips, his eyes roaming over my body in a way that makes me aware of every curve hugged by the tight bodice, every inch of skin revealed by the low neckline. His gaze lingers on my cleavage before rising back to my eyes as he takes a slow sip of his drink.

I fight the urge to cross my arms over my chest, refusing to show discomfort under his bold perusal. But in truth, I’m too exhausted to deal with whatever game he’s playing right now.

“I’m going to head to my room, then. Goodnight.”

The double doors are already open, welcoming me into the space that will be my private domain for the foreseeable future.

I step inside and pause. The room is vast. A massive four-poster bed dominates the center, swathed in a plush comforter and piled high with pillows.

Across from it, a stone fireplace takes up most of the wall.

Two floor-to-ceiling windows flank the fireplace, their rich brocade curtains drawn back to reveal the expansive grounds. In the moonlight, I can just make out the shapes of manicured hedges and the glimmer of a reflecting pool.

I step further into the room, my feet sinking into the thick carpet. To the right, a sitting area is arranged around a low coffee table, complete with a tray holding a steaming pot of tea and a plate of small, precisely cut sandwiches.

Someone has already organized all of my belongings, placing my clothes in the armoire and arranging my toiletries on the marble vanity in the en suite bathroom. Even my beloved vintage record player has been set up in the corner, a stack of my favorite albums waiting beside it.

With a sigh, I slip off my sky-high heels, wiggling my toes into the plush carpet.

My feet throb in relief after hours of confinement.

I pad over to the corner where Cartman’s cage sits, covered in a cloth as per my instructions.

I peek underneath and see he’s sleeping.

I’ll have to find a more permanent spot for him later, but for tonight, I want him close.

Who knows what Lucas might do if left alone with my foul-mouthed feathered friend?

A splash of color catches my eye, and I walk over to the sitting area, where a profusion of flowers spills from several crystal vases. I pluck the small white card nestled among the blooms.

Congratulations on your wedding, Jill .

I have no idea who Jill is. I don’t know why all these are here and who sent them, but I don’t have the energy for it right now.

I cross to the armoire, opening the ornate wooden doors to reveal all my clothes, pressed and hung with care. I trail my fingers over the familiar fabrics, taking comfort in the presence of something known in this foreign place.

I open the top drawer and pause. Even my undergarments have been folded and arranged, laid out like delicate origami. The thought of a stranger handling my intimates makes my skin crawl. I slam the drawer shut.

I turn and stride toward the bathroom, pushing open the door and stopping short.

The room is palatial, all gleaming marble and gold fixtures.

A huge tub takes pride of place in the center, big enough for two people to lounge comfortably.

The vanity is larger than my entire bathroom at home, stocked with every luxury toiletry imaginable.

I consider running a bath, but the exhaustion pressing down on me makes the idea of relaxing in a tub feel more like a chore than an indulgence. All I want is to free myself from the confines of this dress and fall into bed.

I reach behind me, contorting my arm to unfasten the long line of tiny hooks holding the bodice closed. But after several minutes of frustrating attempts, I realize it’s futile. The corset is too tight, and the hooks too small and numerous. There’s no way I can undo them all myself.

I stand in front of the full-length mirror, twisting this way and that, trying to get a grip on the fasteners, but the dress fits like a second skin, molded to my every curve. There’s no slack, no way to maneuver.

In a fit of desperation, I even try lying on the bed and rubbing my back against the frame, hoping to pop the hooks open. All I manage to accomplish is to jab myself painfully with the metal and tangle my hair in a hook or two.

I flop back on the bed, staring at the ornate canopy above me. There’s no use. I’m well and truly stuck.

I have two choices. I can either resign myself to sleeping in this torture device of a dress, unable to breathe, let alone relax, or I can seek someone to assist me.

And by someone, I mean Lucas. The only other soul in this vast house is Hugo, and I’m not about to go rapping on the door of the hired help in the middle of the night to ask him to undress me.

No, for better or worse, my new husband is the only option.

I lie there for a long moment, weighing my embarrassment against my desperate need for freedom and comfort. In the end, there’s really no choice at all.

With a heavy sigh, I heave myself off the bed, my dress rustling around me as I make my way to the door. The hallway is dimly lit, the plush carpet runner muffling my footsteps as I pad in the direction Lucas showed me earlier.

I feel like an intruder, creeping through this sprawling, silent house. It’s hard to remember that this is my home now, too. That I have every right to roam these halls, to make noise, to take up space.

I navigate the twists and turns of the long gallery until I turn a corner and find myself in a shorter hallway with several doors. Only one has light spilling out from beneath it.

I take a deep breath, steel myself, and let my knuckles rap against the heavy oak .

The door swings open as if he’d been waiting on the other side, and there stands Lucas, completely and utterly naked.

My eyes go wide, a strangled sound escaping my throat as I avert my gaze, heat rushing to my cheeks. But not before I get an eyeful of broad shoulders, chiseled abs, and a dark trail of hair leading down to?—

No. I slam the door shut on that thought, fixing my eyes firmly on a spot over his left shoulder.

“I...I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...to interrupt,” I stammer out, my tongue tripping over the words. Fuck, what was he doing?

He looks like the devil himself, with a body made for sin. For temptation.

Lucas leans against the doorframe, seeming completely at ease in his nudity. A slow, wicked smile spreads over his face as he takes in my obvious discomfort.

My heart hammers against my ribs, my skin feeling too tight, too hot. I can’t seem to form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence.

My eyes betray me, darting down to take in the expanses of tanned skin, the ripple of muscle under the surface. He’s magnificent, like a statue carved from marble, every inch of him honed to perfection.

A bead of sweat trickles down my spine, my body reacting to his even as my mind recoils.

This is a mistake .

I wrench my eyes away, forcing myself to focus on his face. His expression is hungry and predatory, those blue eyes devouring me like he’s already imagining me out of this dress.

The words fail to come out of me. This is not appropriate. He’s naked. I’ll manage. I’ll sleep sitting up or something.