Page 28 of Lucas (The Valeur Billionaires #2)

Chapter Nineteen

AVA

I blink awake to the muted light of early morning filtering through the curtains. Rolling over, my gaze seeks the armchair where Lucas sat vigil over me last night.

A blanket lies folded over one arm, the plush cushions bearing the imprint of his body. The sight sends a strange little flutter through my stomach.

He stayed. He stayed the whole night, watching over me.

I ease out of bed, taking a moment to assess. No nausea, no cramping. Looks like the worst of this bug has passed. Thank God.

After a quick shower, I dress for work and make my way to the sunroom for breakfast. Lucas sits at the table, sipping coffee and scrolling through his phone. The moment I step through the door, his head snaps up, piercing blue eyes raking over me as if searching for lingering signs of illness.

“You’re dressed,” he observes, a slight furrow appearing between his brows.

“Ten points for those keen powers of observation.” I can’t resist taunting him. It’s too easy.

He ignores my snark, setting his mug down with a soft clink. “You’re not planning on going into the office today? You’re still recovering.”

I shrug, taking my usual seat and reaching for the carafe of coffee. “I feel much better, I assure you. It was just a little stomach bug.”

And I have a meeting with a certain stack of incriminating binders that won’t wait. The thought of facing the evidence of Father’s misdeeds makes my stomach churn. I have to deal with this. Preferably before Lucas gets his hands on those cooked books, and all hell breaks loose.

“You still look pale.” He levels me with a stern look, arms crossed over his broad chest.

“I’m fine. Nothing a cup of coffee and some dry toast won’t fix.”

Right on cue, Lilibeth appears at my elbow with a plate of bland, unoffensive breakfast foods. Crackers, a banana, a poached egg. I shoot her a grateful smile.

“I informed her you were under the weather,” Lucas explains, even though I didn’t ask. “She insisted on making you something gentle on the stomach.”

“That’s very kind. Thank you.” I nibble on a cracker, hyperaware of his hawk-like gaze tracking my every move. “You look tired.”

He scowls, scrubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw. “I’m fine. ”

“Uh-huh. So, you didn’t sleep sitting up in the world’s most uncomfortable chair all night, then?”

His scowl deepens, but he doesn’t deny it. There’s an odd little ping in my chest at the confirmation.

Huh. Who knew the big bad billionaire had a hidden sweet streak?

“Yes, well, I wanted to make sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit in the middle of the night. Finding your bride dead in the marital bed after less than a month is terrible press.” His tone is caustic, but it lacks the usual bite.

I hide my smile behind the rim of my coffee cup. “Well, as you can see, I survived the night, so your duty is complete.”

Draining the last of my coffee, I set down the mug and rise to my feet.

“Leaving already? You’ve barely touched your food.” Lucas frowns at my plate, at the measly few bites I managed.

“I told you, I’m fine. I’ll eat more later when my stomach has fully settled.” The thought of choking down anything more substantial makes my gorge rise.

He rakes a hand through his disheveled hair and fixes me with a look that’s equal parts exasperated and amused. “Fine. If you insist on working, at least let me drive you in.”

“You want to carpool? Seriously?”

“Why not?” He shrugs. “Saves on gas. Environmentally friendly. All that jazz.”

I narrow my eyes, sensing the excuse for what it is. He’s worried, my sweet, overprotective husband. It simultaneously irritates and warms me.

“Fine.” I’m not at my best, and I’ll be glad to have him drive the long way, even though I’m not sure how I’ll survive an hour with him in an enclosed space .

“Okay. Let’s go.” He rises and leaves without waiting for me.

What did I do now? I guess nice, caring Lucas’s time is up, and we’re back to grumpy, angry Lucas.

I gather my purse and follow him out, stopping short in the entryway. “What’s this?”

“My car.”

“But this isn’t the Jaguar.”

“No, it’s a Porsche. I’m impressed that you can tell the difference.” He walks to the passenger door and opens it for me.

It amuses me that even though he doesn’t like me, he still opens the door for me. “Where’s the Jag?”

He cocks his head. “Do you have some emotional attachment to it or something?”

“No.” I get in and buckle up.

Lucas circles the car and slides into the driver’s seat. “The Jag’s in the shop.”

Oh, he said something about that yesterday, but I don’t remember what. I wasn’t focused. “What happened to it?”

He shakes his head once. “Nothing. It’s fine.”

“Bullshit,” I retort, worry gnawing at my gut. “What’s going on, Lucas? Talk to me.”

A beat, two, stretches between us, heavy and fraught. Finally, he lets out a low curse and rakes a hand through his hair. “There was an incident.”

My brow furrows as I try to parse his meaning. “What kind of incident?” A thought occurs, sending ice water through my veins. “Oh God, did someone hit it? Was there an accident? Are you okay? ”

“No, nothing like that.” He hesitates. “Someone keyed it. Scratched something into the paint.”

I twist to face him. “Who did that? How did they get to your car? Wasn’t it in the office garage? What did they scratch?” I fire questions at him in rapid succession.

His knuckles whiten around the steering wheel, and a vein throbs in his neck. Whatever it is, it’s not some minor, unimportant thing like he’s trying to make me believe. Is someone threatening him? My stomach clenches.

“I’m handling it,” he grits out.

“I get that you’re ‘handling it,’ but that doesn’t answer my question. What was written? We’re married now. If someone is threatening you, they’re threatening me too. I need to know.”

He turns his head to me, his gaze flicking between the road and my face. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, Ava. I promise. You’re safe with me. You trust me, don’t you?”

I nod. I may not like him, but I do trust him. How did that happen?

“I want to know what it said.”

“Your turn now,” he says. “That’s what was written.”

A lance of dread pierces my lungs, sharp and cold. “Your turn? I don’t understand. What does that mean?” The phrase sounds ominous.

He shrugs, a jerky rise and fall of one shoulder. “Probably nothing. Just some punk kid causing mischief. I requested the garage security footage, so we’ll learn who’s responsible and put an end to it. In any case, if it is a threat, which isn’t even certain, it seems aimed at me, not you.”

“How is that not a threat? ”

“Perhaps they meant it’s my turn to get a new car?” He shrugs and smiles. “There’s no way to tell.”

I let out a snort of laughter.

We pull into the garage beneath Valeur Tower and I note that Lucas parks the Porsche in his usual spot. The one clearly marked with his name and title.

I place my hand on his arm. “Maybe you should park somewhere else? Just for today?”

He puts the car in park and turns to face me fully, one dark brow arched. “And why would I do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you just told me someone keyed a vague yet menacing threat into your car? Call me crazy, but it seems like tempting fate to park in your designated spot when you know you’re being targeted.”

“Careful, Wifey, that almost sounded like concern.” The ghost of a smile plays at the edges of his mouth, a bare quirk at the corner.

“Don’t call me that,” I snap, but my heart’s not in it. “And no, I’m not worried about you. I’m worried about the car. It’d be a shame for a pretty little Porsche to get caught in the crosshairs of whatever pissing contest you’ve got going on.”

The smile widens, a quick flash of even white teeth. Butterflies erupt in my stomach, a frisson of heat chasing down my spine. Damn him and his beautiful, infuriating face.

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” He reaches out, tucking an errant curl behind my ear. His fingers linger, the rough pad of his thumb tracing the hinge of my jaw.

I jerk back as if scalded, skin burning where he touched me. “I’m not lying,” I mutter, but the protest rings false even to my ears .

He hums a low, noncommittal sound, his gaze heavy on my face. I fight the urge to squirm under the weight of that stare, to bare my throat in submission or bolt from the car entirely.

The moment spins out, taut and charged. My hand twitches with the sudden, mad urge to reach for him. To smooth the furrow between his brows and trace the stubborn set of his jaw. To feel the warmth of his skin, the drum of his pulse beneath my fingertips.

It terrifies me, this need to touch him. To stake a claim on something I shouldn’t want.

I need to run.

I fumble for the door, desperate to put some distance between us. “As fun as this has been, some of us have actual work to do. You know, empires to run, meetings to chair, lowly peons to crush under our thousand-dollar heels. You understand.”

I twist out of the car before he can reply, his stare on my back like a brand between my shoulder blades as I beat a hasty retreat toward the elevator.

My phone beeps.

Michelle

Remember we made lunch plans today?

Fuck. Of course, I forgot.

I need to cancel. I’m not feeling well…

My thumb hovers over the send button, hesitating. It’s the third time I’ve canceled on her. She won’t believe me. She wants to hear gossip about Lucas and my married life. Better to get it over with.

Yeah, sure. Let’s meet near my office. I don’t have much time.

Michelle

Sure. You and your husband work at the same place, right? Bring him too, I still haven’t met him besides a quick hello at the wedding.

Shit. Now she wants Lucas to come too?

He’s busy.

I step out of the elevator and stride toward my office.

Michelle

I’m sure he eats lunch too. Don’t you two eat together? I bet you can convince him to join.