4. If You Don't Lock Your Door

Marie heard Lucas's voice drift from the front hall, smooth as aged whiskey and twice as dangerous. "Yes?"

His tone had snapped back to that polished, public-facing civility, the measured cadence he reserved for gallery openings and magazine interviews. But she knew him well enough by now to detect the storm still churning beneath that flawless surface. The kiss they'd just shared hadn't evaporated simply because the doorbell rang. 

A bright and flirtatious woman's voice answered, "Nicolas, baby! There you are! I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me!"

Marie's blood ran cold.

Another one.

Of course. After all, he was the infamous bad boy of the Miami art scene. Marie had known this for years. Everyone knew about Lucas Nicolas and his revolving door of women. She'd watched him cycle through women like he was collecting them, each one beautiful, disposable and utterly forgotten. But knowing something and feeling it were catastrophically different things.

She crept silently to the edge of the kitchen, pressing herself against the shadowed wall. Nicolas stood with his back to her. Facing him was a woman who looked like she'd stepped out of some fashion magazine - tall, impossibly curvy, with platinum blonde hair cascading over her shoulders and a barely-there dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

Sasha. 

Marie had seen her before, draped over Lucas at some gallery event last spring. She was a model or an actress or some other beautiful nobody who existed only to warm his bed for a night. 

The woman was gazing up at him with a deeply possessive smile, her red-tipped fingers already reaching for him, her manicured fingers sliding up his chest like she owned him.

“She doesn't. She never will.” Marie mumbled, gritting her teeth. 

"I've been thinking about you all day. The things I want to do to you tonight..." she purred, leaning in close and then, without hesitation, she pulled him down for a kiss.

Marie didn't wait to see if he kissed her back. Her stomach twisted into a knot of hot, venomous fury. That should be her touching him. That should be her hands on his chest, her lips against his lips. She had waited for this man since she was fourteen years old, had dreamed about him, fantasized about him, obsessed over him through every awkward teenage year and every lonely night since.

And some random blonde bimbo thought she could just waltz in and claim him?

Not when Marie had finally tasted him.

Before her brain could form a coherent thought, she stepped out of the shadows. Her bare feet padded softly against the hardwood floor, the silk shirt still clinging to her thighs like a lover's memory. She raked a hand through her tangled hair and softened her voice into something drowsy and innocent.

"Nicolas? Is everything okay? I was waiting for you to come back..."

Sasha's head snapped toward her, her eyes widening before narrowing into something sharp and calculating. Her gaze swept over Marie's disheveled appearance - the oversized shirt, the bare legs, the flushed skin, the lips still swollen from being thoroughly kissed and her expression flickered with barely concealed alarm.

But it was Nicolas's reaction that made Marie's chest constrict with dark satisfaction.

He pulled away from Sasha immediately. When he turned, his dark eyes locked onto Marie with an intensity that made her breath catch. A flash of something dark and possessive crossed his face that made her heart race.

"Who the hell is this?" Sasha demanded, her voice sharpening with territorial aggression. She grabbed Nicolas's arm, staking her claim. "Nicolas, I thought we had plans tonight."

Nicolas's jaw tightened, a muscle ticking visibly beneath his skin. But when he spoke, his public mask slid back into place, the charming playboy sliding into his role with effortless ease. "Sasha, this is Marie. Andrew's little sister. She's staying with me for a while."

The words were a knife to Marie's chest. After everything, after that kiss, after the way he'd looked at her like he wanted to devour her, she was still just Andrew's little sister!

Sasha's eyes narrowed, raking over Marie with undisguised contempt. She looked thoroughly irritated. A flash of genuine alarm crossed her face before her lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

She recognized Marie as a threat. 

"Seriously, Nicolas! You're babysitting now?"

Marie felt the insult land like a slap. But she kept her expression innocent, her voice soft and uncertain. "I'm sorry, did I interrupt something? I just… I heard the doorbell and I thought maybe Andrew had dropped by as he promised..."

She let her voice trail off, letting the implication hang in the air. She was just a helpless girl, alone in a strange house, waiting for her brother to show up randomly.

It was a masterful performance.

Sasha's lips curled into a sneer. "Well, you can go back to whatever you were doing. Nicolas and I have grown-up plans." Then she reached for him again. "Well, darling, we really must leave if we're going to make our reservation. I don't want our evening ruined by... distractions."

Marie watched Lucas. She waited for him to look at Sasha with the same wild hunger he had just shown her. She waited for that same desperate fire to ignite in his eyes. But as he looked down at Sasha, his expression shifted into something bored and indifferent like she was just another warm body he'd already grown tired of.

Typical. She was nothing but another random chick to him. But Marie? Marie was different. She was living in his house. She was the girl he had just kissed like he was starving for her.

The realization hit Marie like a tidal wave and she had to fight to keep the triumphant smile off her face. 

"Give me five minutes to change, Sasha. Wait for me in the living room."

"Of course, baby," Sasha purred, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before sauntering past Marie. As she passed, she deliberately drove her shoulder hard against Marie's, leaning in to whisper a cold, quiet warning. "Know your place, little girl. He'll never want someone like you."

Marie's eyes flashed with a dangerous fire. “We'll see about that.”

The moment Sasha disappeared into the living room, the silence in the hall became suffocating. Marie turned to flee back to her bedroom, her heart pounding with a toxic mix of fury and desire. But before she could take a single step, Nicolas's massive hand shot out of the darkness. He gripped her wrist, spinning her around and slamming her back hard against the hallway wall.

"Let go of me. Go get changed for your slut," she choked out, tears of anger burning her eyes. 

He didn't let go. Instead, he stepped into her space, trapping her body between the cold wall and his burning chest. His eyes were completely black with rage. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear as his grip tightened on her wrist until it almost hurt.

"You did that on purpose," he said, his voice a low growl.

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Did what? I heard the doorbell and…"

"Don't." His voice was terrifying."Don't lie to me, Marie. I know exactly what you're doing."

Her breath hitched, but she didn't look away. He was so close she could taste his scent, feel the heat radiating from his body, see the dark hunger blazing in his eyes.

"I don't know what you mean," she whispered, letting her voice tremble just slightly. 

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear. "You wanted to chase her off and wanted me to choose you." A low, dangerous laugh rumbled from his chest. "You're playing games with me, little girl. Do you think you can win?"

"I'm not playing games," she breathed. "I just…”

Nicolas pulled back just enough to look at her. His eyes roamed her face, her lips, the marks on her neck. "You wanted me to notice you? Great! I've noticed you."

She tried to pull away, but he held her firm, his body a wall of heat and fury.

"But don't you ever dare interrupt my life again." His voice was rough, strained. "I don't belong to anyone. I never have and I never will. You understand?"

He leaned closer, his scent completely wrapping around her that made her head spin. His breath was scorching against her skin and she could feel the violent pounding of his heart against her chest.

"Fix your clothes and lock your bedroom door tonight," he said, stepping back, releasing her.

"Why?" she asked, her voice soft and challenging.

He paused at the base of the stairs, looking back at her over his shoulder. "Because if you don't, when I get back from dinner tonight... you and I are going to finish exactly what you started."

Then he was gone, ascending the stairs with measured steps. Marie leaned against the wall and sat there on the cold floor, her wrist still burning from his grip, her lips still tingling from his kiss, her heart shattering into a thousand jagged pieces, but a slow smile curved across her lips.

From the living room, she could hear Sasha's cheerful voice, chattering about reservations and wine lists and some gallery opening they were supposed to attend. 

Marie pulled herself to her feet, her legs trembling beneath her and wrapped her arms around herself and crept back toward the staircase, avoiding the living room entirely. She reached her bedroom and closed the door behind her, leaning against it as her breath came in ragged gasps. She walked to her bed and sat down, staring at the door with a determined smile.

He was hers. He didn't know it yet, but he was and she would make him understand, no matter what it took.

“When you come back tonight, Nicolas…” She let the silk shirt slip from her shoulders, pooling at her feet. “You’ll be surprised.”