Page 7 of Naughty or Nice

‘Of course, Lucas. Of course in business. What else could you possibly be suggesting?’

She watches me over the rim of her glass, the depths of her eyes alive with suggestion, amusement, confidence. And it’s the confidence that’s my undoing. It’s new. To me, at least. Where there was once a questioning innocence there’s now the maturity of a woman who knows her own mind, her own desires.

And where do those desires lie now?

Ten years ago she made it obvious, but now...

Hell, most women desire me—it’s par for the course. My money and power attract all sorts, even without the body I work hard to hone.

But you don’t care about other women. You only care for her.

Cared—not care. Because that would be damn stupid.

Ten years ago she was forbidden. As the sister of my best friend, as the daughter of the closest thing I had to parents—real parents.

But, let’s face it, here

I am now, her family’s worst nightmare, and all that loyalty no longer applies.

Just think what you can do with that.

I look her over, slowly, purposefully, and before I can hold back it’s out. ‘It wasn’t my intention—I came here tonight to secure a deal, to offer you a very lucrative contract... But now I find myself wanting a whole lot more.’

Her eyes widen and the glass quivers beneath her chin, not quite lowering but not quite lifting either. She’s shocked and I seize the advantage.

‘What’s it been, Evangeline—seven years?’

‘Six.’

She says it so certainly it makes me wonder. Has she counted it down to the exact day, the exact moment? Because I sure as hell have, despite my intentional miscalculation. And even then it had been a brief passing—a moment at the Beaumonts’ home before Nate and I flew out on business. But it’s ingrained in my memory. The sight of her with another man—her fiancé. Happy.

‘How is Peter?’

I don’t know why I even ask it. I can see she isn’t married—her bare finger gives that away. And there’s no reason for me to think he’s still on the scene, so why I need the added reassurance is beyond me.

‘I have no idea. We broke up not long after that night.’

My question hasn’t even jarred her, and that tells me enough. She remembers the occasion.

I don’t want to feel the pleasure-filled rush that comes from this, but it’s there anyway—as is the burning need to taste those lips that keep goading me with their illicit colour, their inviting sheen.

‘And Nate?’ I manage to ask. ‘I can’t see him here.’

Her lashes flutter at my change in focus. Moving from one unsettling topic to another. But the need to talk business, to get back to safer ground, is lost on me.

‘My brother had some work to tie up in Hong Kong. He’ll be back for Christmas.’

I nod and ignore the weird ache her mention of Christmas kick-starts inside me. Christmas at the Beaumonts’ was my tradition for so long. I never dwell on how much I miss it, but in that second I feel it. The cold, dull ache of what once existed but is no more.

And Nate still has it all, whereas I—

For fuck’s sake, Lucas, get with it!

‘Good for him.’ I crush the ache, but the bitterness is there in the chill of my tone.

Her eyes narrow and I look away, forcing my shoulders to relax as I sip at my drink, wanting to quash the past just as much as I want it brought to the fore and dealt with.

But what would that accomplish? Nothing.