“Which makes me wonder.”
“Wonder what?” he asked.
“If I helped increase Mr. Dill’s productivity and decrease his work hours, then why didn’t it work with you?”
“I think this would be a good time for me to ask for directions.”
Elise gave him the directions, then said, “Well? Why didn’t it work with you?”
“For a couple of reasons.”
Elise waited patiently for him to continue, but he didn’t. “Which reasons?”
He heaved a great sigh and pulled out into traffic. “One reason was… I preferred spending my nights in the office watching you suck on pens than doing anything—and I mean anything—with Margot.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened at the implications of his statement.
“Another reason was… filing.”
“Filing?”
Luc slowed for a stop light and turned his head, his eyes rolling from the top of her head down to her legs. “Yeah. Filing.”
She caught his meaning and her cheeks went up in flames. “I should have known.”
He chuckled. “There are other reasons, but I’m not sure you’re ready to hear them.”
“I’m not?”
“Maybe I should rephrase that.” The light turned green and they resumed the trek to the garage. “I’m not sure I’m ready to admit them.”
“You’re not?”
“I’m not.” He glanced briefly at her, then turned his attention back to the road and smiled. “Have I mentioned how beautiful you look today?”
“No and you’re changing the subject.” But she radiated with pleasure.
“Am I?” Without taking his eyes from the road, he took her left hand and held it loosely in his hand. “Did I mention how good this ring looks on you?” His voice lowered into a husky, Southern drawl.
A horde of butterflies converged on her stomach and Elise swallowed. “You did not,” she replied, barely recognizing her own voice.
His thumb moved across her knuckles and the butterflies multiplied like rabbits. “Do you have any idea how you… wearing my ring affects me?”
Elise nearly groaned out loud. “Affects you?” How she managed to keep her voice from cracking she didn’t know and probably would never know. It must have been luck.
“Mmm.” He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the ring. “It affects me more than I imagined,” he murmured against her skin.
“It… does?” Her voice nearly deserted her, but she had to ask, “How?”
They stopped for another red light and Luc gazed down at her hand. “What if there had been no ultimatum from my grandfather? What would have happened if whatever’s between us had progressed at a natural pace? Would you have found me worthy of your favors?”
“I… probably,” she answered in the barest of whispers.
He raised his head and regarded her intently. “I worked all those hours to be with you. I didn’t want the job at Andersen to end, because… of you.” His eyes darkened. “Seeing my ring on your finger affects me, Elise. Affects me more than I can say.”
The light turned green before she could motivate her tongue into replying. He took her hand and laid it on his thigh, then covered it with his and turned his attention back to the road.
“At least I’m not the only one.”
“It warms me to hear that, darlin’. So how about we play hooky for the rest of the day and you can tell me exactly how it affects you?” Luc chuckled softly and squeezed her hand. “Or better yet, you can show me.”
Elise laughed and tried half-heartedly to retrieve her hand, but he kept a firm hold on it. “Forget it, Lucien. If they went through all the trouble to plan us a surprise, then the least we can do is show up.”
“But we don’t have to stay the whole time.” He glanced at her. “Do we?”
Raven was waiting outside of Wyndemere’s house later that afternoon when Luc was finally given permission to flee for his life. The interview with Elise’s father and sadistic horror novelist could not have been termed as normal. But it’d been successful and that’s all that mattered.
Although he’d admit that there’d been a few moments when Luc had wondered if Wyndemere was going to suggest that he help him research the dissection scene on page seventeen, but Luc had successfully diverted her father’s attention with blatant praise of Wyndemere’s lesser known novels. It hadn’t taken long before Luc had realized that the lesser known novels were the ones Wyndemere was most proud of.