Page 18 of Lucas (The Valeur Billionaires #2)

An eternity seems to pass as I stand there, hardly daring to breathe, my pulse a wild throb in my throat. And then, just when I think I can’t take the suspense a moment longer, he turns away.

I watch as he strides off the terrace, disappearing into the house. Only then do I let out the breath I’ve been holding, my legs trembling beneath me as I sag against the tree.

That was close. Too close.

I make it to my room undetected, closing the door and leaning against it as I try to calm my racing heart.

Seeing Lucas like that, so cold and ruthless, it’s a stark reminder of the tightrope I’m walking. A reminder that, no matter what games we play, no matter what fires we stoke, I can never, ever let myself forget what this is. A business deal. A means to an end.

I spend the following days wandering outside, eating under a tree, or simply in the middle of the field, enjoying the sun and the breeze. My fair skin has even taken on a bit of color in these few days, and I love this new, healthy look.

I return to the manor at noon, my stomach grumbling with hunger. I pass through the kitchen, the scent of baking bread and simmering herbs making my mouth water.

“Lilibeth?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” She turns to me, wiping her hands on the apron at her waist.

I hesitate, feeling awkward and out of place amidst the organized chaos of pots and sizzling pans.

“I was wondering, could I prepare dinner today? It’s been so long since I’ve cooked, and I miss the kitchen.

” The words tumble out in a rush. “It’s just that we’re both supposed to return to the office tomorrow, and I know I won’t have free time for hobbies anymore, so I thought. ..”

Lilibeth’s smile widens, her eyes twinkling with understanding. “You miss the chaos?” She gestures to the controlled madness surrounding us, the ingredients scattered across every surface, the tower of dirty dishes in the sink.

I laugh, the tension easing from my shoulders. “Yes, actually. I do.”

“Then the kitchen is all yours, my dear.” Lilibeth steps back with a flourish, presenting the space to me like a queen giving a gift. “Have at it.”

“Please don’t tell Lucas that I made the food. ”

Lilibeth’s brow furrows. “Why ever not? Surely you want to show off your culinary skills. Men love a woman who knows her way around a kitchen.” She winks.

I shake my head. “No, I’d rather not.” He’ll only use that information against me, I’m sure.

“Alright then.” Lilibeth mimes zipping her lips. “My lips are sealed tighter than a jam jar in winter.”

With that, she bustles off, leaving me alone in the vast kitchen. I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders, and dive in.

The next few hours pass in a blur of chopping, simmering, and sautéing.

I lose myself in the familiar rhythms of cooking, the sizzle of meat hitting a hot pan, the fragrant steam rising from a bubbling pot.

Lilibeth pops in and out, offering guidance on where to find the best pans or the freshest herbs, but mostly leaves me to my own devices.

By the time I slide the roast pork loin, glistening with a lavender honey glaze and nestled amongst golden apricots, into the oven, I’m flushed and sweating but content. I glance at the clock, wiping my hands on a towel.

Shit. It’s later than I thought. How does Lilibeth manage this every day, cooking for a small army of staff and still getting dinner on the table in time?

Lilibeth appears at my elbow, her expression warm with approval as she surveys the feast laid out on the counter. “This looks divine, sweetheart. A real feast fit for kings and queens.”

I duck my head, pleased but embarrassed by the praise. “I just hope it tastes as good as it looks.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt.” Lilibeth pats my shoulder. “Now, you better run along and get yourself gussied up. Mr. Valeur doesn’t like to be kept waiting, you know.”

I bristle at that, my good mood evaporating like mist under the hot sun. Who cares what Lucas likes? I almost say it out loud, the words burning on the tip of my tongue. But I bite them back, reminding myself that I’m supposed to be playing a part.

So instead, I force a smile and a nod. “Of course. I’ll go freshen up. Thank you again, Lilibeth. For everything.”

Lucas and I agreed to eat our dinners together this week so as not to arouse the suspicions of the staff.

Just one more dinner. One more performance.

And then tomorrow, I’ll be back at the office, back to some semblance of my real life.

I’ll no longer be trapped in this gilded cage with no one but the staff for company.

I slip out of the kitchen and make my way to my room, then take my time in the shower, letting the hot water sluice away the sweat and the stress. By the time I emerge, my skin is pink and glowing, my muscles loose and languid.

I dry my hair, letting it fall in soft, tousled waves around my shoulders, and then turn to the closet. My hand hovers over the row of dresses Lucas’s stylist picked out, the sequins and bold colors glittering in the soft light.

No. Not tonight. Tonight, I’m going to be me.

I reach instead for a piece I bought on a whim a few weeks ago.

It’s a corset top, the fabric a rich silk that seems to glow against my sun-kissed skin. The bust is embroidered with gleaming seed pearls and beads.

I fasten the hooks, the boned bodice cinching my waist and lifting my breasts until they threaten to spill over the scalloped edge.

A pair of wide-leg trousers in a matching shade and a fitted tuxedo jacket complete the look, the sharp tailoring a counterpoint to the feminine allure of the corset.

I survey myself in the mirror, my red-painted lips curving into a slow smile. I look...powerful. Sensual. The kind of woman who can bring a man to his knees with a single glance.

The kind of woman Lucas Valeur could never control.

Lucas thinks a woman can only look sexy and attractive if they wear flashy dresses full of sequins? Well, I think I look good like this. I love dressing up.

With one last fluff of my hair, I make my way down to the dining room, my heels sinking into the plush carpet runner. I’m a few minutes late, but I can’t bring myself to care.

Lucas is already seated when I enter, his head bent over his phone, thumb swiping at the screen. He doesn’t look up as I approach, not even when I clear my throat.

“You’re late,” he says, his tone clipped and cool.

“I am.” I don’t deny or apologize. It’s not a crime against humanity to be a few minutes late for an in-house dinner.

Lucas’s head snaps up, his eyes widening as he takes me in. I watch his gaze travel over me, from the tumble of my hair to the rise and fall of my beaded bust. When his eyes meet mine, they’re hot and dark, filled with a hunger that sends an answering shiver down my spine.

“What,” he begins, his voice a low rasp that seems to vibrate through my bones, “are you wearing?”

I raise one shoulder in a careless shrug, and the jacket slips down to reveal the slope of my neck. “Clothes,” I say, all wide-eyed innocence. “Is there a problem? ”

His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “No,” he grits out, but I can see the way his fingers tighten around his phone, the way his eyes keep darting to the shadowed valley between my breasts. “No problem at all.”

“I know you don’t like my style, but we’re not at a mandatory event, and therefore I’m allowed to wear what I want.”

He tilts his head. “I never said I don’t like your style.”

“No? Then why did you fill my closet with completely different clothes?”

“The stylist I hired picked out the clothes, not me, and she chose them according to what’s popular in high society today.” His jaw tightens.

“According to what’s popular in high society today,” I repeat after him in a mocking tone.

“So what’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem.”

“Sounds to me like there is.”

I raise my head. “You took all my personal style, the way I dress, and buried it. You ignored everything that is me. So forgive me if I’m not pleased.”

“What did you want me to do?” He furrows his brow.

“I don’t know, maybe ask me to buy dresses? Or maybe, just maybe, inform your staff of my personal taste before you send them to buy piles of clothes?”

He twists his mouth. “I don’t consider the requests of my employees.”

I raise my face to his and look him in the eye, my teeth almost chattering with anger. “I. Am. Not. Your. Employee.”

He rises to his feet, the movement sudden and startling in the charged stillness of the room. In two strides, he’s around the table and looming over me, one hand braced on the back of my chair, the other coming to rest on the table beside my elbow, caging me in.

He brings his face within a touch of mine.

“No, you’re definitely not my employee.” He moves even closer, his lips almost touching mine.

My eyes widen, and I let out a small gasp of need. My body is burning, and his eyes are blazing as he glares at me as if I’m the meal being served on the table.

“Ready for the first course?” Hugo enters, holding a tray, and Lucas pulls away from me at once, straightening his shirt.

Hugo’s eyes widen. “I’m sorry, sir. Should I come back in a few minutes?”

“No need. We’re ready to eat,” Lucas says and returns to his seat.

I struggle to catch my breath. What just happened here? Was he going to kiss me? To punish me? I don’t know, but whatever he had in mind, I wanted it. My body wanted every moment and every touch from him.

We sit in tense silence as Hugo places the cheese and fig salad I prepared earlier on the table, the delicate clink of china the only sound in the cavernous dining room. I keep my gaze fixed on my plate.

Hugo, perhaps sensing the frigid atmosphere, makes a hasty retreat, leaving us alone in the suffocating stillness. I release the air trapped in my lungs in a slow, measured exhale, trying to ease the tightness in my chest.

“I’ll make sure my stylist picks out new clothes to your liking,” Lucas says, his tone icy enough to frost the delicate salad greens. He lifts his fork, stabbing at a fig.

“I don’t need?— ”

“I’m not arguing with you about this,” he cuts me off, his voice sharp.

“No, you’re commanding,” I shoot back, my tongue darting out to wet my dry lips. “I don’t think you know how to request or to ask. Not everything has to be an order.”

The muscle in his jaw twitches.

Did I hit a nerve?

But he doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he goes back to eating as if I hadn’t spoken, his movements precise and controlled. I purse my lips, something hot and furious unfurling in my gut at his dismissal.

That’s it? He’s not going to object? To fight back? Strange.

We finish the first course in strained silence, the only sounds the scrape of cutlery on plates and the occasional clink of a glass being set down. When Hugo enters to clear the dishes, it’s a relief.

“Tell Lilibeth that I very much enjoyed the salad,” Lucas says to Hugo as he hands over his empty plate, ignoring my existence.

So that’s how it’s going to be? The silent treatment?

I lean back in my chair, sipping my wine, as Hugo places the main course in front of Lucas with a flourish. “Roast pork loin with lavender honey-glazed apricots, sir,” he announces.

I hide a smile behind my glass, watching Lucas from beneath lowered lashes. If only he knew.

He brings his head close to the plate, inhaling deeply, appreciation flickering across his face before he can hide it. “Something new?” he muses, picking up his knife and fork. “The food smells wonderful. I can’t wait to taste it.”

Oh, it has more than a wonderful aroma. It also has a wonderful taste.

I should know. I tasted it at every stage of preparation, adjusting the seasonings until it was perfect.

But I’m sure if Lucas even suspected that I made the food, he’d spit it out and declare it inedible, accusing me of trying to poison him.

Now there’s an idea. I should have slipped some arsenic into the honey glaze and ended this farce of a marriage before it really got started. Although poison would direct the blame straight to me. Using poison is feminine.

I watch, my heart in my throat, as Lucas takes a bite. A low, almost obscene moan rises from his throat, his eyes fluttering closed in bliss. “Mmm...this is excellent. What’s in it? Apricot?”

A traitorous pulse of heat throbs between my legs at the sound, at the sight of his pink tongue darting out to catch a stray drop of glaze at the corner of his mouth.

I shift in my seat, pressing my thighs together, furious at my body’s reaction.

I need to get a grip on myself, this is getting ridiculous. I don’t even like him, for God’s sake .

“Apricot in honey and lavender,” I say.

Lucas’s eyes narrow, his gaze sharpening on my face. “How do you know?” he asks, suspicion threading through his tone. “Don’t tell me you’re an expert on gourmet cuisine as well.”

I lift one shoulder in a shrug, going for nonchalance even as my heart picks up tempo. “I know my way around a kitchen. Is that so hard to believe?”

He scoffs, letting out a harsh, ugly sound. “If you’re as skilled at cooking as you are at running a business, it’s a miracle you haven’t burned your house down.”

“Go fuck yourself,” I spit, shoving back from the table so hard my chair screeches across the polished floor. I’m on my feet and striding toward the door before I can think better of it, my vision blurred with furious tears.

I definitely should have poisoned him.

Bastard.

I understand business. I understand it better than he ever will. I’m breaking my back, sacrificing everything I have to keep Gant Construction afloat. I even sold myself to preserve the legacy my father built before his mistakes brought it crumbling down around us. I have nothing else to give.

Yes, Father screwed up. He made a few bad calls, but that doesn’t make him—make us—the villains of this piece. It just makes us human. Fallible.

And Lucas Valeur is the last person who gets to throw stones, with all the blood and dirt on his own hands.

I don’t intend to see him beyond what the contract requires.

Tomorrow I’m going back to the office, and the shared dinners are over.