Beauty and the Bachelor(19)

"Yes." Sydney braced herself.

"Ah."

Translation: It all makes sense now. Anger and embarrassment wormed an  insidious path through Sydney, burrowing in her heart. Of course this  woman would believe who her father was could be the only reason a  gorgeous, sensual man like Lucas would want Sydney. That the truth  veered so close to her assumption tasted like ashes on Sydney's tongue.

In a feat that would've made Hercules go sit in a corner and suck his  thumb, she managed to maintain her composure-no matter that it was as  worn and tattered as an old shawl.

"Well, I guess congratulations are in order," Caroline said, wearing a  satisfied, cat-who-ate-a-whole-damn-flock-of-canaries smile. "In  deference to my friendship with Lucas, I would love for you to come by  one of my boutiques. But I'm afraid my designs cater to less"-she  paused-"Rubenesque women."         

     



 

"Sheathe your claws, Caroline," Lucas snapped.

Too late. Her arrow had struck its target. And Caroline's hasty,  conciliatory apology couldn't conceal her spite or her malicious joy.  Pain radiated from inside Sydney, a mushroom cloud that seemed to expand  with each razor-edged breath. Yes, she'd been on the receiving end of  criticizing comments and backhanded compliments before. But this was  different. This had been personal. Mean. And all because of the man  standing next to her.

For the first time in her life, she thanked her mother for the poise  she'd drummed into Sydney with tyrannical insistence. Drawing her  shoulders back, Sydney nodded. "I appreciate your offer just the same,"  she murmured, voice steady, calm, not betraying one iota of the  humiliation clawing at her chest. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms.  Dresden. If you will excuse me."

Without waiting for Lucas's agreement or permission, she turned and  waded through the heavy throng of guests, heading for the exit.

Her role in tonight's screwed-up performance was over.

She quit.





Chapter Ten


"Sydney."

As Sydney crossed the threshold of the brownstone and entered the foyer  forty-five minutes after leaving the charity benefit, Lucas's hard, firm  tone demanded she stop, obey. An innate part of her wanted to yield, to  submit to the unspoken order. But the other part-the hurt, angry,  bruised part-silently told him and his kneel-before-Zod attitude to go  suck it.

The rebellious side of her psyche won out. She didn't pause and continued toward the stairs and her temporary bedroom,

"Damn it, Sydney. Wait." A gentle but implacable grip halted her  mid-step. She stiffened and wrenched her arm away from Lucas's, and he  let her go. Still she seethed. What the hell? Hadn't he gotten the clue  in the limo when he'd tried to talk to her, and she shut him down? What  did he want from her? Hadn't being called fat by one of his former  bedmates been enough entertainment for the evening? Rubenesque. Curvy.  Statuesque. She'd heard them all-been called them all. And advice on  amazing diet plans or offers of plastic surgeons' names who were  positively brilliant with liposuction most often followed the clever  euphemisms.

After years of the commentary on her body and weight, she should have  skin as thick as an elephant's hide. Especially since her mother was  author of a good portion of the remarks. But tonight had been vicious.  And it'd occurred in front of Lucas.

Remnants of heat suffused her chest and face again.

"Yes?" She descended a step and faced him.

"Don't give me that lady-of-the-manor act," he snapped. "We need to talk about tonight."

Really? Talk about how they'd bumped into a woman who knew with  disgusting intimacy how he looked naked? Not. Damn. Likely. "Okay.  Obviously the news of our sudden engagement has made the rounds. But I  think we did a little damage control with our appearance. You were very  convincing as a man madly in love, which I think helped mitigate some of  the gossip. Of course, I think we're going to need more than one  evening to-"

"Stop it." He tugged her closer. "I don't give a damn about what people thought or didn't think."

"You should. As shallow as it may seem, some of them will decide whether  or not to associate with you or your business because of this broken  engagement. They'll judge you as impetuous or untrustworthy. That if  your personal life is a reflection of how you run your company, they  would rather not-"

"You're crawling back behind that ice queen facade you consider a safety  net. But I'm not letting you go so easily," he gritted out from between  clenched teeth. "Why did you run?"

Outrage colored her vision until she viewed him through a misty crimson  veil. "Run? So it's my fault your ex … whatever is a catty, ill-bred,  rude-"

"Bitch. I believe that's the word you're dancing around," he supplied.  "And no, I'm not blaming you for her behavior. But I want to know why  you left as if you had something to be ashamed of. Have your parents  ground you down to the point where you believe you deserve that kind of  treatment?"

His questions struck too close. Much too close.

"What do you suggest I should've done?" She descended another step that  brought her face-to-face with him. "Grab her by the hair? Roll around on  the floor, scratching and punching? And what about the next time I meet  someone you've been with? And the next time? And the next time? I might  need to store boxing gloves in my purse if I'm going to throw down  every time we come across a woman you've scratched an itch with."         

     



 

She stormed past him, dragging her palms over her hair. Who was this  woman throwing verbal low blows? She didn't recognize her-didn't like  her. Resentment and helplessness mingled in the noxious brew already  simmering in her stomach. She hated not being in control. Hated the  emotions swirling and twisting inside her, making her weak, vulnerable,  open to his incisive scrutiny.

In spite of the scandal their abrupt engagement had stirred, men had  deferred to Lucas tonight, spoken to him with reverence and admiration.  Women had stared at him, lusted after him. His sole worth wasn't tied to  his name or the blood running through his veins. He commanded respect  on his own merit and power. Her? She didn't even receive esteem or love  from her own father. To both Jason and Lucas, she was an object. A pawn  to be pushed around a chessboard by their motives and agendas.

"We can talk about how many women I've been with. We can talk about how  some of them are faceless, and how I wish more of them were. We can talk  about how I liked some of them and loved none of them." She pivoted and  faced him where she'd left him, hands stuffed into the pockets of his  pants, his hooded gaze fixed on her. "We can talk about all of that.  Later. Right now I want an answer to my question. Because right now,  it's everything I can do to remain standing here instead of going over  to your father's house and wringing his ungrateful neck."

Lucas stalked closer, reminding her of a huge, dark jungle cat on the  hunt. Common sense and self-preservation urged her to retreat, but  experience warned her to stand her ground. Like any predator that  smelled fear, he would press his advantage, exploit her weakness. The  weakness being her body's traitorous response to his nearness, his  scent. His words. His touch. Especially his touch.

"Why do I have the ugly suspicion you believe that bullshit he spouted in his office?" he asked.

She lowered her gaze to the strong column of his neck. At some point  during the return ride home, he'd removed his tie and loosened the top  button. Dusky, smooth skin stretched taut over the powerful jut of his  collarbone, and she studied the sliver of flesh as if it contained all  the nebulous answers to the universe. Anything to avoid meeting his  stare that seemed to see too much, to peer too deep.

"Caroline only said what other people are thinking," she said softly.  "That you're marrying me because of my last name, to get closer to my  father and his connections." Inhaling, she lifted her head. And nearly  reconsidered retreating in the wake of the turquoise fire blazing down  at her. "Like me, they've probably seen the women you've dated. None of  them look like"-she paused-"me. The charade of being in love is  necessary, but not everyone will accept that your sudden affection isn't  financially motivated." She squared her shoulders, tilted her chin  higher. Pride might be regarded as a sin for the world, but for a Blake,  it was a virtue. A necessity. And right now, it was all she had left.  "Your goal is to humiliate my father personally and professionally.  Mission halfway accomplished. By the time we marry next week, your  vendetta against him will be realized. Does it matter who or what I  believe? Will it change your mind about this engagement? This marriage?"

"No."

The immediate, harsh reply shouldn't have sucker punched the wind from  her chest. Lucas had never lied to her about his plans and her role in  them. The anger he possessed for her father veered toward hatred. His  motivations exceeded money or social acceptance. What? Had she expected  he would abruptly abort his campaign for revenge and blackmail because  of her feelings? She almost loosed a bark of laughter. That would  require placing her desires, her needs, her heart ahead of his own  agenda. And no one-not even her parents-had ever done that.