Beauty and the Bachelor(5)

Look at me.

The air stuttered in her throat but for a different reason than fear.  Those three words uttered in that dark, sensual voice had been like a  caress over nerve endings she hadn't known existed. They had touched a  place of yearning so deep inside her she'd obeyed the command before her  brain comprehended and telegraphed the order. The need had been  physical-good God, her panties could attest to that-but it'd also been  emotional. He hadn't just been issuing an edict for her to return her  gaze to him; he'd wanted to see her-her reaction, her wants, her  thoughts … her. He'd wanted to see her.

Other than the Evans sisters and the young girls she mentored, Sydney  couldn't remember the last time someone had wanted to just see her.

How could she not have said yes?

Damn, how could she have said yes?

A perfunctory knock on her bedroom door echoed seconds before her mother entered.

"I see you're still determined to go through with this … outing," she  stated, her tone as tightly drawn as the thin line of her mouth.  "Really, Sydney, I have no idea what you could be thinking."

That seemed to be the opinion of the day, didn't it?

"Mom, I already explained my decision to you and Dad."

"Yes, I know, you made a commitment. Fine. But you could have signed the  check and passed on this date with an unknown"-she turned her lips up  in a disgusted moue-"uncouth stranger. He's disfigured, for God's sake,"  she spat. "I can only imagine how that came about."         

     



 

Of course she'd seen the scar. It was impossible to miss, since it  bisected his obsidian eyebrow and continued in a thin ridge under his  right eye. The scar appeared to be an old one, but the original wound  must have been horrible to leave behind such a visible mark. But unlike  her mother, Sydney didn't find it repulsive. No, the mark added to his  dangerous, warrior-in-a-suit air. He reminded her of a barely  domesticated panther: dark, sleek, muscled, beautiful, predatory. The  Beast of Bay Bridge, she'd learned people called him. The nickname  probably wasn't meant as flattery and referred to the name of his  corporation and most likely his business reputation rather than his  appearance. Regardless of the meaning behind the moniker, his masculine  beauty invited a woman to touch, to pet, but at her own peril. Because  this gorgeous animal did-and would-bite.

And from the information she'd read on the internet last night after  arriving home, women petted often … and he allowed it. She'd scrolled  through the images from the Boston society pages, and she'd never  glimpsed the same woman on his arm twice. Still, his dates all seemed to  have several things in common: supermodel beauty, skinny bodies, and  big, happy smiles.

"He's a reputable and very successful businessman, not a criminal," she  said, glancing at the clock on her bedside table. Four fifteen. Lucas  should arrive in several minutes to pick her up. The play started at  seven, and the helicopter ride would take about an hour and a half.  "Besides, Dad knows him."

"Knows about him," Charlene corrected. "There's a difference. And  believe me, your father is not pleased with this by any means." She  paused, studied Sydney, and tapped a manicured fingertip against her  bottom lip. "Do you think that's the wisest choice for a dress? It's not  very … forgiving, is it?"

Heat blasted Sydney's face, and she struggled not to flinch or betray  the hurt that was like a punch to the chest. After years of the same  criticisms, careless remarks, and thinly veiled insults, she should be  numb to the pain and humiliating reminders she wasn't a perfect size two  or zero. Reminders she just wasn't … perfect. Maybe in another twenty  years, she would grow the Teflon skin required to exist and thrive in  her social set-and her family.

"I don't have time to change," Sydney replied, erasing all hints of  emotion from her voice. All her mother needed was the slightest  indication that she'd scored a hit in Sydney's armor, and Charlene would  harp even more on Sydney's weight and appearance, calling it  motivation. "Lucas should be here in a few minutes." She lowered to her  bed and slipped her foot into her jewel-encrusted black shoe.

"Lucas," her mother repeated, sneering. Sydney didn't glance up from  fastening the strap around her ankle. "Already you're so familiar. When  did that happen? When you walked off with him last night? You  embarrassed Tyler, which to a man like him is unforgivable. And now  you're allowing him to go on a date with another woman? Foolish! You're  just handing him over as if there are men like him lining up around the  corner. Sydney." Charlene set a thin but strong palm on her shoulder.  Molding her expression into a cool, detached mask, Sydney lifted her  head and met her mother's scrutiny. "We only want the best for you … for  all of us."

Her heart beat against her sternum like a caged animal, mirroring how  she felt. Trapped. Imprisoned by duty, responsibility, and guilt. All of  her life, she'd bowed to her father and mother's expectations: earning  great grades, attending the college of their choice, living at home  after graduation and assisting her mother with her varied charities and  social events instead of getting a job and a place of her own … dating and  becoming engaged to a man they approved of. A man to whom marriage was  both a social and financial coup.

Not rocking the boat had become an ingrained habit. Because the one time  she'd disobeyed her parents and hadn't listened to their order, it had  resulted in catastrophic consequences, their lives forever altered.

The cost of her selfishness and defiance had been her little brother's life.

A soft rap on the door prevented-or saved-her from responding to her mother's pointed reminder of duty. And the memories.

"Come in," Sydney called out.

A moment later, their housekeeper opened the door and poked her head inside the room.

"Ms. Sydney, a Mr. Lucas Oliver has arrived for you."

"Thank you, Maddie." After the other woman left, Sydney retrieved her  wide-collared coat from her closet and headed for the door.         

     



 

"Sydney-"

"Everything will be fine, Mom." She grasped the knob before glancing  over her shoulder with a small, reassuring smile. "It's just one night.  There's no need to worry."

 …

"Thank you," Sydney murmured as Lucas removed her coat and handed both  of theirs to the New York restaurant's coat check. He placed a hand to  the small of her back, and they followed the host as he led them to  their table. A shiver threatened to dance over her skin and through her  body, but she stifled it. There was nothing she could do about the  palm-sized circle of heat radiating from her skin where Lucas touched  her, though.

All night she'd been waging this particular battle. She'd thoroughly  enjoyed the play; Phantom of the Opera was one of her favorites, and the  historical Majestic Theatre had been opulent and beautiful. But her  delight had been tempered by an almost painful awareness of him the  entire time. Of his big body sitting next to her, making her feel-for  the first time in her life-delicate and petite. His arm and knee had  pressed against hers for two hours, and the firm, constant contact had  competed with the timeless story of love, horror, and tragedy that  unfolded on the stage.

The contrast in her overwhelming reaction to this man she'd known less  than twenty-four hours to the man she planned to spend the rest of her  life with should've been alarming. Lucas incited a riot of confusion,  desire, and consciousness of her body with just his nearness that Tyler  hadn't managed with an actual kiss. More than ever, she was aware of the  life she intended to consign herself to-one of levelness and  complacency. One without extreme highs or lows of emotions or needs … just  a steady, even-keeled existence.

But instead of panicking her, the realization soothed her, ensured her  she was making the correct choice with Tyler. Good God, if one evening  with Lucas had her alternating between fascination, lust, uncertainty,  and joy, then what would a relationship be like?

Exhausting.

And full of anxiety and insecurity. Images of the parade of women from  those articles leaped to her mind. Yes, there would be passion, but that  desire would end up shackling her to a man who could never love her  back the way she needed. A man who could never be faithful.

Why are you so quick to believe gossip columns, a small, insidious voice whispered inside her head.

A hint of shame wormed inside her chest. Especially since even she-with  as boring an existence as she led-had been the target of thinly veiled  jabs and gossip in the scandal rags and online tabloids. But, as unfair  as choosing to believe the rumors about him was, she latched on to what  she'd read. Chose to believe. Because that made him unsuitable to her,  beyond her reach … safer.