"I knew him back in the States," I say neutrally.
Drew narrows his eyes. Hostility is positively pouring off him. "Is that so?"
Lucas arches the eyebrow, then dismisses Drew like he's a candy wrapper. "Ava, we didn't finish our earlier conversation."
Is he serious? I'm about to tell him there's no way we can continue the conversation unless I have a lobotomy, but his hand tenses around the back of my neck. Not forcefully enough to hurt, but enough to admonish.
"We can either talk here or someplace more private."
I sigh. "More private."
"Good choice," he murmurs so only I can hear him. The hand slides down to my back, creating a trail of fire.
I get up. "Drew, I have to go. Tell Bennie I'll see him at home."
"Ava, pet." He's still looking daggers at Lucas. "You needn't talk to anybody you don't want."
"It's all right." I give him a quick hug, feeling Lucas's scorching gaze on us. "I'll see you later, Drew."
Chapter Nine
Lucas
Taxis are everywhere in Japan. I hail one and instruct the driver to take us to the luxury hotel the Centurion Concierge booked for this impromptu stay. I can sense Ava glaring at me in the twilight of the cab's backseat.
"I said someplace private, not your hotel room." Her voice is low but no less forceful for it.
"Don't worry. I won't do anything you don't want me to." I give her a cool stare. "I never did anything you didn't beg for."
Her cheeks flush. "Because you never told me the truth."
"Ava."
She glances at the driver. "Not right now."
"He won't understand."
She snorts. "Some drivers speak English surprisingly well."
I frown. That may be true; our cabbie understood me when I told him where to go. I have no desire to give somebody an earful of our history. Making the tabloid headlines is Elliot's hobby, not mine.
The lights from the night streets illuminate her profile. I wouldn't say she's classically beautiful. Her nose is a little bit too upturned and her chin is a little too pointed, with a hint of the stubbornness that rivals that of a singularly cantankerous mule. But somehow her features come together to create an arresting façade. Her eyelids are at half-mast now, mostly hidden by the long lashes. Although there's tightness in her mouth, her bee-stung lips look so damn soft. I run my thumb along the side of my index finger, wishing it was her lower lip I was touching instead.
With a considerable effort I tear my gaze from her face.
Not the right time, and not the right move. I've waited two years. Surely I can wait a few more minutes.
I inhale and realize what the problem is. Her scent is permeating the atmosphere-jasmine and vanilla. It's intoxicating, inescapable. And I want.
I want, I want, I want because I've waited for so damn long.
Almost there.
When we pull up in front of the hotel, I pay the driver wordlessly. A uniformed doorman rushes over to open the door for Ava.
I tell him, "No bags," and lead Ava toward the elevator to the top floor, where I have a suite reserved for a couple of days. A uniformed butler welcomes me back in lightly accented but smooth English, and I dismiss her with a curt nod. She leaves, closing the door behind her.
Ava stands in the middle of the sumptuously appointed suite. "So this is how you really live."
There's a cool censure in her tone that throws me off. "It's just a hotel room."
She laughs. "Right. Just a hotel room."
"A penny for your thoughts?"
"I think you can afford more than that." She gestures around. "Just look at all this stuff. And the way you treat the staff … "
My eyebrows pull together. "What?"
"You act like you were born to have your every whim and desire catered to."
"Ava, it's a hotel. It's their job to cater to me. And they're getting paid handsomely for that service."
Her mouth twists, but she doesn't say more.
Jesus. What the hell are we doing? I didn't bring her here to argue about how I treat the staff.
"Something to drink?" I ask with a calm I don't feel. "There's a wet bar, and if you want something warm, I can call the butler and have her make you something."
"I don't want anything." Her mouth shuts so fast I can hear her teeth click.
"Not if it's from me, you mean."
"Astute."
"Not astute. Just remembering our history. You always fought tooth and nail over every gift I ever gave you. Perhaps you would've been more amenable if they'd been dipped in gold first."
She treated them like tokens of ill-intent, and it still fucking hurts.
"I never wanted any of those things, dipped in gold or otherwise, not that that ever meant anything to you," she says bitterly.