Beauty and the Bachelor(12)

Startled, she jerked her head up, heart in her throat.

She blinked. Stared. Blinked again.

Lucas stood next to her, the brisk October breeze trailing through his  dark hair as if it, too, couldn't resist the lure of the thick strands.

She knew the feeling. Damn it.

To be so … "attracted" was such an anemic description of the almost  visceral response she experienced at the sight of his tall, lean,  powerful frame, his stunning, scarred face and incisive turquoise eyes.  One summer while vacationing at Martha's Vineyard, several of the local  teens had set off firecrackers on the stretch of beach in back of her  family's home. Even now, years later, she could hear the sizzle, spark,  and pop before the explosion of sound and heat. That buildup and blast  perfectly captured her body's reaction to Lucas, as evidenced yesterday  by that foreplay innocuously called a kiss. Desire had sunk its greedy  talons into her, and she'd surrendered with an embarrassingly minimal  fight. In that instant when he'd cupped her head, controlling and  limiting her movement as he thrust his tongue between her lips and  destroyed every preconceived notion of passion she'd possessed, she been  hit with an image of what sex with him would be like. Scorching.  Demanding. Wild. A touch dirty …          

     



 

Two weeks.

Jesus, in two weeks she would be married to him. Be in his bed.  Firecrackers erupted into a full-scale explosive assault. Fear, anxiety,  and that traitorous heat mushroomed until she fairly vibrated with  them.

Wait. What am I doing? Guilt wormed through the desire, coating the heat  in oil. This man had planned and sought to devastate her father and was  using her to do it. How could she want him, feel anything for him but  loathing?

She was even more of a traitor.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped, her inner turmoil sharpening her  tone to a razor's edge. When she'd called him yesterday to let him know  she'd mailed the contract back, he'd asked about her plans of telling  her father about the broken engagement. She hadn't expected him to show  up this morning. No doubt to gloat over the carnage.

"You're here," he said flatly.

The two simple words ignited a chain reaction of flutters in her belly,  but as quickly as those butterflies burst open, she forced them back  into their cocoons. From a different man, his statement might have meant  he cared. But she was just a pawn in Lucas's plan; he'd placed her in  the predicament of having to crush her father's hopes. Not that she  desired his affection. This arrangement had nothing to do with love and  respect, and as long as she remembered who she was dealing with, her  heart would remain uninvolved. She couldn't be hurt.

"Translation, you couldn't resist witnessing my father's reaction to our  engagement for yourself." She returned her gaze to the intimidating,  imposing tower of steel and glass. A perfect reflection of her father.  "Or you don't trust me to go in there by myself. Are you afraid I'll  give him hand signals, tipping him off that this whole thing is a  horrible farce?"

"Sydney."

"What?"

"You're stalling. Why?" He shifted closer, his large hand settling at  the base of her spine. Heat from his touch infiltrated the layers of her  light coat and dress, setting the nerves there to dancing. She  sidestepped, attempting to place more space between them and dislodge  his hand, but he followed. The hard plane of his chest nudged her  shoulder, and two long fingers gripped her chin in an unyielding grip,  tipping her face up. "Are you afraid? Has your father ever hurt you?"  The question ended on a low growl, his eyebrows forming a dark,  forbidding vee.

Not in the way you're implying. "No, of course not. He's never laid a  hand on me." She jerked her head, but his hold didn't slacken, and she  glared at him. "Do you mind?"

His eyes narrowed, but to her relief, he dropped his hold and withdrew  several inches, so every breath she inhaled didn't contain the scent of  fresh spring rain.

"After you." He ducked his head in a mock bow and swept his arm in the  direction of the entrance, a small, sardonic smile curving his mouth.

She didn't bother with a reply, all her focus on the glass door that  seemed to loom and expand like the gaping, sharp-toothed maw of a  predator the longer she stared at it. Go and get this over with. Yes,  he's going to be angry-furious, even-but it's for him. All of this is  for him.

The mantra scrolled through her mind like a newsreel as she entered the  office building, boarded the elevator, and emerged on the same floor  she'd visited the day before-the day her world had transformed from a  staid but stable existence to a precarious minefield full of lies,  pitfalls, and explosive secrets.

"Good morning," Sydney greeted the receptionist stationed outside her  father's inner sanctum. The lovely brunette returned her smile with a  cool, professional version. Hmm. Sydney studied the twenty-something who  couldn't have been much older than her. She's new. Had her father slept  with this one yet? Well, if they were lovers, she hoped the woman  didn't embrace illusions that Jason would leave his wife for her like  the last assistant had. That one had arrived at the house and had been  firmly set straight by Charlene. Her father might screw around on his  wife, but he wasn't willing to risk social suicide by divorcing her for a  younger model-not when Charlene and her family name carried as much  weight in Boston society as Jason's.

But it could be her cynicism was premature. Maybe her father had left this one alone …

"Good morning. Do you have an appointment with Jason-I mean, Mr. Blake?"  The woman didn't bat an eyelash at her blunder, but she did confirm  Sydney's suspicion. Sydney glanced at Lucas. He shared the same  magnetism, charm, and power her father wielded. Two men cut from the  same expensive, beautiful cloth. And this new plaything of her father's  served as a 3-D reminder of why falling for a man as gorgeous, powerful,  and ruthless as Lucas Oliver would be the height of insanity.         

     



 

"No, we don't have an appointment. But could you let him know his daughter is here?"

Surprise flared in the woman's gaze seconds before she picked up the  phone. "Mr. Blake, your daughter is here to see you." Pause. "Yes, sir. I  will." Hanging up the receiver, she rose. "If you'll follow me."

Aware of Lucas's quiet but commanding presence close behind her, Sydney  trailed behind the assistant, taking note of the minute changes to the  decor since her last visit a few years earlier. Though the Blake  Corporation had been in her family for three generations, Sydney had  only dropped by her father's office a handful of times. He hadn't been  the kind of dad who bounced his children on his lap, teaching them the  ropes of the business they would one day inherit. Maybe if Jay had  lived, he might've been that kind of father. But …

She entered the office with a murmur of thanks to the receptionist.  Jason didn't glance up from the work on his desk as the door shut with a  soft but ominous click. "Sydney, this is an inconvenient time to show  up unannounced," he admonished, his tone clipped. As usual, his barely  concealed impatience toward her grated, but even more so with Lucas  there to witness it. "I have a meeting shortly, so make this fast.  What-" He glanced up, the irritation in his tight-lipped expression  giving way to shock as his scrutiny swept past her and landed on Lucas.  Color slashed across his mahogany cheekbones as he slowly stood. "Lucas  Oliver." He rounded his desk, arm outstretched. "My assistant didn't  mention you were here."

Sydney absorbed the dismissive blow without flinching; she was used to  coming in second-or third or fourth-behind business. But beside her,  Lucas stiffened. She glanced up at him. But his shadowed contemplation  and relaxed mouth didn't betray the tension pulling him as tight as a  strung bow. His low, cool tone as he shook her father's hand didn't  relay the contempt that would drive a man to blackmail a woman for  revenge.

Better keep that forefront in her mind.

Lucas Oliver was a consummate actor. And his reaction hadn't been out of  offense on her behalf. No, standing in this office, he hovered on the  cusp of his plans coming to fruition. That kind of anticipation would  cause the tautness in his large frame.

Vengeance, not concern.

"Excuse me if I seem rude, but did we have an appointment today?" her father asked, a tiny furrow crinkling his brow.

"No, we didn't." Lucas pressed a hand to her spine, and she fought the  instinctive urge to shift away. To move away from the deceit in the  protective gesture. "Sydney and I are together. I apologize for the  unexpected intrusion, but we need to speak with you."

Jason's gaze swung from Lucas to her. Confusion and a deepening suspicion darkened his eyes. "Is that so?" he murmured.

Fear snaked up her chest and circled her throat. It turned her mouth  into an arid landscape, and the words became mired on her tongue.