Beauty and the Bachelor(14)

She sucked in a breath, blinking to beat back the tiny pinpricks of  tears. Tell him, a small, insidious voice whispered in her head. Just  tell him the whole truth, and he'll forgive you. Her lips parted, the  confession almost spilling from her tongue. But an image flashed across  her mind's eye. Her father, disgraced as he faced a judge and jury. Her  father, handcuffs shackling his wrists as he was led away from her  mother, from Sydney. Her father, old, worn, broken, speaking to her from  behind a panel of Plexiglas.

Jason crossed his arms. "Sydney. An address."

An address. An address. God, I don't know. She was adrift, a lone leaf  floating on a biting, brisk autumn breeze. Out of all the scenarios  she'd envisioned, being thrown out of her home hadn't been one. Where  would she go? She had friends, but none close enough to ask if they  would take her in. Or more importantly, none close enough to not gossip  about her circumstances …

"She's staying with me." Lucas squeezed her hip as if warning her not to  disagree. As if she could. Objecting would require working lungs and a  tongue. "I'll leave my address with your assistant." Shifting to the  side, he tangled his fingers with hers once more. "And she didn't choose  me over her family or transfer her loyalty from you to me. On the  contrary, you chose your pride over her happiness and well-being. If you  change your mind about abandoning your daughter, you know where to find  her."

Not allowing her a chance to speak or Jason an opportunity to reply, he  turned and led her from her father's office. Numb, she remained silent,  frozen as he shut the door behind them.

"Are you all right?" he asked once they were safely down the hall.

The question seemed to reach her through layers and layers of wool,  distant and muffled. God, no, she wasn't okay. Everything she'd  known-her parents, her home, her identity-had been blown to hell and  back in a matter of minutes. As flawed as her family and life were,  they'd belonged to her. They were familiar. In their own dysfunctional  way, they were her safety net … her norm. And now what did she have? No  home. No family. Friends who bent and wavered in the direction of the  ever-changing societal wind. A man who detested her father so much he  had no qualms about stripping her of her will and power to obtain his  revenge.         

     



 

No. "All right" had caught the last red-eye flight out of Boston, and "crazy as shit" had just stepped into the building.

"I don't know where your father's assistant went, but she'll probably  return soon." The dark gray of his shirt and darker silver of his tie  filled her vision as his spring-rain scent wrapped her in its embrace.  "For the next couple of minutes, don't think about who's watching or  about appearing weak. Instead, for these two minutes, lean on me. We  won't talk about it, won't ever bring it up. And I promise not to use it  against you." He cupped her nape gently but firmly, tugged her closer  and into the strong, hard lines of his body. "It'll be our secret," he  murmured against her hair.

The low, dark velvet of his voice lured her in as much as his tender,  insistent grip. For just a moment. She rested her forehead on the wide  plane of his shoulder. Allowed her lashes to drift shut. She was so  tired. The weight of her father's displeasure and rejection settled  across her shoulders like a dumbbell she had no hope of bench-pressing.  Instead it pressed down on her, squeezing the air from her lungs,  constricting her chest, weakening her legs. Yes, for just a moment,  she'd borrow his strength, lean on him …

"Sydney?"

She stiffened. Oh. Damn.

Slowly, she straightened, turned. And faced Tyler.

His gaze switched from her to Lucas and back to her, a frown drawing down his dark brown eyebrows.

"Sydney," he said, stepping closer, his arm outstretched. "What's going on? Is something wrong?"

Regret for the humiliation and hurt she was about to inflict clenched  her belly. She harbored no doubt that Tyler cared for her, yes, but the  affection a man should possess for his wife? No. But he would still  suffer from the public rejection. He would still be whispered and  gossiped about. And she would lose a friend.

"Tyler," she pleaded. With a quick glance toward the empty conference  room on their right, she shifted to the side, neatly avoiding his hand.  Knowing in a few moments he wouldn't want anything to do with her, much  less invite her touch. "Can we talk?"

Tyler hesitated, then nodded. As she moved to follow him, Lucas aligned  himself beside her. Once again refusing to let her face the backlash  alone.

How ironic.

Suddenly alone of family and friends, her one ally was the Beast of Bay Bridge.

 …

Sydney stared up at Lucas's Back Bay brownstone. The structure resembled  its owner: elegant, striking, imposing. And was now her only sanctuary.

No, not sanctuary. Because that implied while she might be  safe-physically-and off the street, it also suggested she felt  comfortable, warm, sheltered, peaceful. Those couldn't be further from  the truth.

Behind her, Lucas's driver removed her suitcases from the trunk of the  limo, lining them along the curb. Apparently, before she and Lucas could  make it out of the building, her father had called and told her mother  and housekeeper to pack up Sydney's belongings and have them delivered.  Her and Lucas's arrival at her parents' home had expedited the delivery  part of the command. That simply, that easily, her father had ushered  her out of her home, his life. And now she stood on a sidewalk with her  luggage, dependent on the mercy of a man who had none.

Not true, her conscience whispered. Lucas immediately stepped in, defended you, offered you a place to stay.

And he's also the person responsible for placing me in this situation, she countered.

God, she must be more exhausted than she believed to be debating points back and forth with herself.

Sighing, she hiked her tote higher on her shoulder. Personal and  sentimental items the housekeeper had neglected to pack filled the tote.  Pictures-of her parents, of Jay that she'd hidden away at the top of  her closet. Books, journals, and pieces of jewelry from her grandmother.

"Come on inside," Lucas murmured, guiding her up the stone steps.  Moments later, he opened the front door, and she stepped into the foyer.  "I know you're tired. Let me give you a quick tour and then you can  rest."

Nodding, she took her first inspection of his home.

She hadn't known what to expect-decor that shouted the wealth of its  owner in every painting, piece of furniture, and decorative piece? Or an  austere, minimalistic design straight out of the Spartans 'R' Us  catalog? Reality fell somewhere in between.

Clean, uncluttered elegance, yet luxurious. Gorgeous landscapes adorned  the walls, beautiful earth-toned furniture enhanced the gleaming  cherrywood of the floors, banister, railings, and stairs. Airy rooms  with high ceilings, large bay windows, and cavernous fireplaces welcomed  people to come sit and visit. The entire brownstone belonged to him.  The garden level contained his study, while the parlor level, where  they'd entered, held the great room, another smaller living area, a  bathroom, and an amazing kitchen. The top level had been renovated so  the master bedroom occupied most of the space. Huge floor-to-ceiling  windows dominated one wall, and late afternoon light poured into the  room. Sumptuous, decadent. And perfect for the man standing next to her.  She could easily imagine him lying on the almost sinfully large bed  with its soaring four posters, the rich black bedspread pooling around  his narrow waist, leaving his chest bare.         

     



 

She reined in her too-vivid imagination and averted her too-enraptured regard.

"Your room is down the hall," he said, leaving the door to his bedroom open. As if in invitation.

Seconds later he opened the door to a smaller but no less exquisitely  appointed bedroom. Her suitcases had beaten her there. So this is where  I'll live for the next year.

As soon as the words ghosted through her head, a wave of exhaustion and  loneliness broke over her, almost buckling her knees. Maybe she wavered  or swayed, because from one breath to the next, Lucas's arms were  surrounding her, holding her steady.

That fast, the surge of lethargy evaporated, leaving an electrical  awareness popping and sizzling under her skin. She shuddered, detesting  her visceral reaction. Why, of all people, did her heart pound and her  body swell and pulse for this man? Even Tyler made more sense …

Oh, Jesus, Tyler.

Images of their confrontation bombarded her.

She'd prevented Lucas from accompanying her into the empty office while  she broke the news to Tyler. Having Lucas there as a witness when she  informed her fiancé-former fiancé-that their engagement was off had  seemed unnecessarily cruel. And ultimately, she'd made the right call.  God, Tyler's shock, disbelief. His rage.

"Are you seriously doing this to me, Sydney? I've always cared for you,  respected you, and this is how you treat me? With betrayal and  humiliation? What kind of person does that to someone she's supposed to  love?"