04

  She’d left her companions and sought out a private meeting with Lucien that Saturday night two years ago, nervous, but eager to reconnect with her childhood infatuation now that she was a woman. True, she’d known he was in Paris for a while, but her parents’ pushy desires about Lucien had made her standoffish about approaching him. She’d been embarrassed, lest he think she was just enacting her parents’ wishes like some kind of robot socialite, bent on marriage to one of the most eligible males in the country.

  She’d tapped lightly on the only door in the hallway, taking a moment to realize when she got no response that the door only led to a shorter hallway—an entryway of sorts. It led to the true door to Lucien’s office. The outer door had been shut, but as she went through it, she’d seen that the inner one was cracked open an inch. Standing in the entryway, she’d accidentally overheard that puzzling conversation between Lucien and a German-accented stranger.

  “I’ll need top-notch insider information on Noble—his background, his family, his financials.”

  “That won’t be easy. Ian Noble is known for being a control freak about security.”

  “That’s why I hired you,” Lucien had replied, sounding preoccupied. “You’re supposed to be the best.”

  There had been a grunt of acknowledgment followed by a pause.

  “What’s that expression on your face?” the German man had asked, sounding vaguely amused. “You’re not feeling guilty, are you? About what you plan to do with Noble?”

  “Subterfuge isn’t pretty, no matter how you dress it up. Sins of the father haunting me, I suppose,” Lucien had said in a subdued, sardonic voice. “We carry those ghosts with us, no matter what.”

  The man had given a harsh laugh. “Forget all that, and focus on your prize. Trust me. What you’re planning with Noble doesn’t compare to the crimes committed by your father.”

  “I’m not cloudy about that night, Lucien. I remember it all,” Elise said, hesitant to bring up the volatile topic in this delicate situation. His expression remained impassive, but something flashed in his eyes. She swallowed through a tight throat. “I don’t recall you saying anything about changing your name, though.”

  “I think you know why I changed my name and left France.” His quiet voice rolled over her like a sensual wave.

  “You shouldn’t let your father’s crimes taint you. You’re your own man,” she whispered, referring to the fact that his adoptive father, Adrien Sauvage—wealthy industrialist, hotel chain owner, and head of a media empire—had been sent to prison two and a half years ago for corporate espionage. She knew Lucien had been questioned by the police about the possibility of him colluding with his father in the stealing of high-level corporate secrets. Elise had never believed he was guilty for a second. She had firsthand experience of Lucien’s quiet, restrained disdain when it came to Adrien Sauvage. In the end, Lucien had never been charged with anything, but it seemed the taint still clung.

  “I don’t let his crimes affect me. I’m very aware that I’m not him.”

  His voice had gone quiet and husky as his gaze ran over her face. She stilled, the back of her neck prickled in anticipation. He reached up and touched her hair. She shivered at the sensation of his fingers sliding over it and gently tucking a lock behind her ear. Her entire body quickened, tingling with excitement. It felt strange, being so acutely aware of a man. She hadn’t let herself get close to many men romantically—let alone a man as attractive as Lucien—since she’d thrown herself into her cooking career and begun to support herself. She hadn’t ever let men get too close to her, truth be told. She’d had a major crush on Lucien as a girl, of course, even though he hadn’t known she’d existed in a romantic sense. But this was different. She was a grown woman now, one who was much clearer on what she wanted out of life.

  “I would have thought I wouldn’t like your hair short,” he murmured distractedly, his warm breath striking her temple. “But it suits you perfectly. Elegant sass.”

  “Lucien—,” she began breathlessly when she saw the heat in his eyes as he caressed her again. He interrupted her by stepping back.

  “I’ll help you to arrange moving back to your parents’ home in Paris, if you like. Are you set for money? Do you need any?”

  “No. I’m perfectly fine,” she muttered, jarred by his abrupt change of topic and the absence of his touch.

  “You can’t stay in Chicago,” he said so resolutely that she blinked in surprise.

  “Who are you to say I can’t live here? Did you buy the city or something?” she fired, forcing herself to ignore the flicker of delicious sensation between her thighs, a direct effect of his touch . . . his nearness. Her anxiety mounted at his droll, unmoved expression. “You need a chef! Let me fill in for you at least until you find someone else.”

  “No. That’s out of the question. I’m sorry.”

  Anger rose in her, stiffening her spine and making her stand tall. How could he sound so resolute? Was she that disgusting to him? “I won’t have you ruin everything I’ve planned,” she declared.

  “I won’t have you doing the same to me.”

  “What?” she asked, set off balance by his rapid-fire response. “How could I possibly ruin anything for you?”

  He leaned against the bar, displaying lean, honed muscles to optimal effect. “That night at Renygat? In my office?” he prompted significantly.

  She flushed with heat. After they were alone, she’d confronted him about what she’d overheard. He’d been furious about her eavesdropping, and their angry exchange had turned heated. The tension had segued to the sexual variety. She’d broken his rigid restraint that night . . . momentarily. He’d kissed her angrily and completely, fully acknowledging the fact that the girl he’d known was now a fu

ll-blooded woman. She knew she’d pushed him too hard with her flirtatious taunts. She just hadn’t realized how fearsome Lucien could be when his control broke. . . .

  How thrilling.

  She noticed Lucien’s narrowed gaze on her.

  “Of course I remember,” she said. She suddenly found it difficult to meet his stare. “I don’t see how that relates to me ruining anything for you.”

  “I have enough distractions in my life at the moment. I don’t need you adding to the mix.” Her heartbeat escalated. Was he suggesting he was attracted to her? Or was he referring to that overheard conversation she could make no sense of whatsoever? Elise couldn’t decide if she should be flattered or offended by his declaration.

  “I’m not going to distract you. I came to Chicago for one reason and one reason alone—to get the training I need to be an excellent chef. I’m very good at what I do.”

  “I have no doubt of it. But you’re forgetting one thing—there’s no longer a chef here to train you, ma fifille.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll find another chef in this city. I came to this place to start a new life, a fresh start, and I won’t let anyone—not even you, Lucien—set me off track. And I’m not a little girl,” she added fiercely, referring to the French endearment he’d given her as a child.

  His nostrils flared slightly as he shoved himself off the bar with a graceful, sinuous movement. Her heart started to throb in her ears as he reached for the silk wrap she’d draped over a stool earlier. He was going to send her away. Again. She remained frozen in place when he held up the garment, a challenge in his gray eyes.

  “You are a child. A beautiful, stubborn one, but a child nonetheless,” he said. “It’s time for you to go, Elise.”

  Fury ripped through her like lightening. “You bastard,” she hissed. She grabbed the wrap out of his hands. “I should have known you’d never help me. You’re as selfish and narcissistic as your father . . . as any of our darling, beloved parents.”

  He caught her arm in an iron grip as she stormed past him toward the doors. “I’m not like my father,” he grated out. Elise balked at the evidence of his sudden, potent anger, but she rallied. She jerked at her arm, but her reaction was just for show. Lucien’s restraint triggered a completely different response than Mario’s had.