Page 16 of Lucas (The Valeur Billionaires #2)

Chapter Eleven

LUCAS

“ W hat are you doing here?” The words come out in a near growl.

“I–I...” Her cheeks flush red, and her eyes dart everywhere, including over my naked body, before she looks away.

I like that she’s looking at me. It feeds the hungry beast inside me, the one that wants to devour her whole.

“If you didn’t come here to do something about it, maybe you should leave.” For a moment, a glimmer of hope flickers in me, but I know there’s no chance she came here for the reason I’m hoping, so it’s better if she stays away from me.

“Never mind.” She turns to go.

Damn it. “Wait.” I grasp her arm, stopping her. Her skin is soft and warm beneath my fingers, and I have to resist the urge to pull her closer. “What did you want?”

Her eyes jump down again before snapping back up to my face. “I–I need help getting out of this dress. I can’t reach the hooks.”

I step back and open the door wider, gesturing for her to enter. “Come on in. Unless you want to undress in the hallway.”

Her chest rises and falls, emphasizing the fullness of her breasts straining against the bodice of her gown. She hesitates, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. The action draws my gaze like a magnet, making me wonder how those lips would feel against my skin, against my cock.

“I don’t bite.” I pause, my mouth curving into a wicked half-smile. “Unless asked.” Images of her beneath me, breathless and begging, flood my mind. I wonder what she tastes like. If she’s as sweet as she looks.

Shaking myself from my fantasies, I step aside, allowing her entrance. She brushes past me, her skirt swishing against my leg and sending a jolt of electricity through me.

She steps inside, standing in the middle of the room with her back to me.

I approach her slowly as if she’s a skittish deer that might bolt at any moment. I stand behind her, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her body, to hear the hitch in her breathing as I invade her space.

Unable to resist, I trail my fingers over the nape of her neck, brushing aside the few wisps of hair that have escaped her updo.

Her skin is like satin, soft and smooth and begging to be touched.

She shivers under my caress, a barely perceptible tremor that makes me want to press closer, to feel that shiver against the entire length of my body.

But I don’t. Instead, I force myself to focus on the task at hand.

My fingers glide down her spine, finding the top of the endless row of tiny hooks holding her dress together.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but it backfires as I inhale the heady scent of her—vanilla and jasmine and something uniquely Ava.

She looked stunning today at the wedding, and each dress she changed into was more beautiful than the last. So beautiful that I forgot my anger when I saw how much the wedding cost. That she spent way over the budget. A budget that could have sufficed for a small country.

All was forgotten when I saw her walking toward me, dressed in the white gown, her hair cascading over her shoulders, looking like an angel descended from heaven.

Beautiful. Elegant. Sexy.

I know our guests were impressed. She’s a suitable choice for me, and there’s no reason for anyone to doubt the authenticity of our marriage. Her trembling like a leaf was the only telling sign, but that could certainly be explained by excitement.

I begin opening the hooks, one by one, and her skin is revealed to me, white and smooth and so tempting. I linger on each movement, my thumb grazing her skin, even though I know I shouldn’t.

Fuck, this was a mistake. Doing this, touching her, while I’m naked and already half-crazed with wanting her. I grow harder by the second, my body tightening with need.

Down, Junior.

I try to distract myself, to think of anything else. Quarterly reports. The Hong Kong deal. The sound of my bank account growing. Baseball stats. Fuck, even reciting multiplication tables. Geometry. Triangles. Circles. Balls. Dick. Shit .

Nothing works. Every small sound she makes, every shift of her body, pulls me right back into the moment, into the overwhelming reality of her.

This is torture. Pure, exquisite torture. And I can’t take much more of it.

I’m a breath away from throwing her on the bed, consequences be damned when she lets out a breathy little sigh.

I step away, putting some much-needed distance between us before I do something we’ll both regret. I scan the room, my eyes landing on a pair of scissors on the desk.

Striding over, I snatch them up and return to her, determination quickening my steps.

She must hear me coming because she turns. “What are you doing?” Her eyes widen as they land on the scissors in my hand. Her lips part, pink and lush, begging to be claimed.

I don’t answer. I can’t. If I open my mouth now, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop the flood of filthy promises from spilling out. Promises of all the ways I want to wreck her, ruin her for anyone else.

Instead, I grasp the fabric of her dress at the top, the fragile material bunching in my fist. And then, with one swift, decisive motion, I cut.

The sounds of ripping fabric and her startled gasp fill the air as I slice through the dress from neck to hem, the scissors gliding through the delicate lace and satin like a hot knife through butter.

She’s not wearing underwear. My lips part as I see the curve of her ass, round and perfect, exposed to my eyes.

And I’ve lost the game.

A strangled sound escapes me, something between a groan and a growl. I’m seconds away from losing the fragile grip on my control.

Ava yelps, grabbing the fabric and pulling it up to cover herself. She’s still facing away from me, unaware of what’s happening with me down south, and I’m glad. I prefer she doesn’t see how she affects me.

“What did you do?” she gasps, her voice breathless and shaky.

“You wanted the dress off. I took it off.” I barely recognize my voice. It’s so low and rough with restraint. “I don’t have the patience to spend all night on these damn hooks. It’s not like you’ll ever wear it again anyway.”

I take a step toward her, my eyes raking over her, taking in every revealed inch of smooth skin. “Now, I suggest you leave. I need to get some sleep, and I can’t do that with you here, looking like a fucking wet dream come to life.”

Her mouth drops open, her eyes flashing with emotions—shock, outrage, and buried beneath it all, the unmistakable heat of arousal. For a long, charged moment, we stare at each other, the air between us crackling with tension and unspoken desires.

And then she’s gone, clutching the tatters of her dress to her body as she flees the room, the door slamming shut behind her with a resounding bang.

I head to the sunroom for breakfast. As I exit the hallway, I glance toward Ava’s wing, wondering if she’s awake. Should I invite her to eat with me?

I don’t know how to navigate this new situation, having her here in my space. I’ve never lived with a woman before, never had to consider anyone else’s needs or desires in my home. It’s unsettling, this intrusion into my carefully crafted solitude.

I can’t let myself forget what she is, who she is. A Gant, the enemy. Sure, I’m attracted to her. I’d have to be blind and dead not to be. But that’s all it is, all it can ever be. Just physical attraction, a biological response.

If I let myself see her as anything more, let myself befriend her, it will only make what I have to do that much harder, and I can’t afford any weakness, any cracks in my armor. Not when I’m this close to getting revenge. At the end of our contract, she’ll be left with nothing.

That’s not my problem. She’s a Gant. They shouldn’t have cheated and stolen from us if they didn’t want to face the consequences.

I scroll through the congratulatory messages on my phone, yawning and stretching as I enter the sunroom. The day is bright, and the transparent roof is dimmed to avoid glare.

Ava .

She’s here.

Wearing nothing more and nothing less than a robe.

What’s under that robe? God, I hope she’s dressed underneath, and this is about the first time I’ve hoped a woman would be dressed.

“I’d like two soft-boiled eggs,” she says to Hugo with a smile.

Hugo smiles back at her. “Of course, ma’am.”

“No need to call me ma’am. Ava will suffice.”

His smile widens. “Alright then, Mrs. Ava.”

She laughs.

Fuck. They’ve known each other for five minutes and they’re already laughing together ?

I stride over to the table, pulling out the chair opposite her with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. “Good morning.”

Ava turns to me, and just like that, the laughter dies on her lips, her expression shuttering closed.

“Good morning,” she replies, her tone a far cry from the warmth of a moment ago.

My stomach twists.

“The usual, Hugo, thank you,” I say, and he leaves the room.

“Did you sleep well?” I ask, more out of a need to fill the awkward quiet than any genuine interest.

“Yes, thank you.” She nods. “Do you have plans for today?”

“Yes.” I clear my throat, eager to change the subject. “I need to head into the office. I’m already late.”

Her head snaps up, eyes wide. “The office? Lucas, it’s the day after our wedding. You can’t be serious.”

“I’m always serious when it comes to work.” I frown, not understanding her reaction. “What’s the problem?”

“The problem,” she says slowly, as if explaining to a child, “is that newlyweds don’t typically rush off to work the day after their wedding. They go on a honeymoon, spend time together, bask in marital bliss. Any of this ringing a bell?”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “We’re not exactly typical newlyweds, in case you forgot. This is a business arrangement, not a love match.”

“I’m well aware.” Her smile is brittle, her tone icy. “But the rest of the world isn’t. If you go into the office today acting as if nothing has changed, it will only fuel the rumors that our marriage is a sham. ”

I pause, considering her words. As much as I hate to admit it, she has a point. The media scrutiny leading up to the wedding was intense, rife with speculation about my sudden decision to settle down. If I don’t at least keep up appearances in these early days, it could undermine the whole charade.

“Fuck.” I tilt my head back and gaze at the trees reflected through the tinted windows. “How long do you think we need to keep up this charade?”

She twists her mouth. “I don’t know, a week?”

“A week? I can’t be absent from the office for a week.” I blow out a frustrated breath, running a hand through my hair. “Fine. I’ll work from home this week. Happy?”

She leans back. “Ecstatic.”

“Don’t you have anything clever to say?”

“Nope.” She opens her phone and starts scrolling, ignoring me.

Is she angry about the dress yesterday? It really was for both our benefit that she left my room last night. Especially when I was tipsy from all the celebrations and not in control of myself. Not that I would have done anything to her, but it wasn’t appropriate.

Hugo chooses that moment to return with our breakfast, setting down plates piled high with fluffy eggs, crisp bacon, and golden toast. The scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the air as he pours us each a cup before excusing himself.

I stab my fork into my omelet as yesterday’s scene plays over and over in my head.

Ava clears her throat. “I noticed my things had already been unpacked,” she says, spearing a piece of melon with her fork. “And there seem to be some new additions to my wardrobe. ”

I shrug, not looking up from my plate. “Standard procedure. I had my personal shopper see that you’d have appropriate attire for any events you might need to attend as my wife.”

“And by appropriate, you mean?”

“Designer. Expensive. Sexy. The kind of thing a Valeur wife would wear.”

“Those dresses aren’t really my style. I don’t wear sequins or provocative dresses.”

“In your private time, dress as you wish. When you’re accompanying me, you’ll wear the dresses I bought for you. I?—”

“Think carefully about your next sentence.” She narrows her eyes.

I smile. There she is. I was beginning to think the wedding killed her fighting spirit.

“You agreed to this, Ava. You signed the contract. So if I say you need to show up to an event naked, you’ll damn well do it with a smile because that’s the deal.

During your weekly commitment, you belong to me. ”

Her green eyes blaze, and her nostrils flare. “I will never belong to you. You can buy my time, the way I dress, and even behave. But not me.” She stands and clenches her fists.

“Naked, you say?” She reaches for the tie of her robe, her fingers trembling as she undoes the knot. “If that’s what you want, Husband, far be it from me to deny you.”

And then, in one fluid motion, she shrugs the robe off her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet.

I go still, my breath freezing in my lungs as I take in the sight of her.

She’s wearing a scrap of lace that can barely be called underwear and nothing else.

Every glorious inch of her smooth skin is on display, from the elegant column of her throat to her rose-tipped breasts. Round and small and perfect.

I swallow hard, my breakfast turning to ash in my mouth as my body responds, hot and immediate. It takes every ounce of my control to keep my expression neutral, to not let her see just how much she affects me.

“Enjoy, and burn this moment into your memory because this is the first and last time you’ll have the privilege of seeing me naked.” She picks up the robe from the floor, puts it back on, and walks out.

“Fuck.” There’s no way in hell I’m ever forgetting that image.

I sit there for a long moment, my breakfast forgotten, trying to get my body back under control. It’s not easy, not with the vision of her burned into my retinas.

She’s gotten under my skin, into my head. And that’s dangerous.

This is going to be a long two years.