Lucien(34)

"Mmm, mmm, mmm. Lookie at that piece of—"



Elise coughed and clanged her silverware against the plate, eliciting a chuckle from Bingley and an annoyed look from Luc.



"Something in my throat," she murmured, rolling her eyes with fake repentance, then lowered her head to stare at her half eaten turkey club.



As far as Elise was concerned, she’d gotten the deal of the century. She was married to a successful man with a smile that could melt her in two seconds flat. His family had thrown together a wedding which had turned out more spectacular than her fairy tale dream ever could have produced. Luc had looked magnificent in his tux and the way he’d watched her walk down the aisle in the most beautiful dress ever created… was enough to make Elise grin for the rest of her life. The first part of her fairy tale had come true, but the second half wasn’t coming along as well as she’d hoped.



Well, she thought, I hope he’s as frustrated as I am. Living in the same house with the man was driving her crazy. Just this morning he’d had the nerve to walk out of his room without his shirt. Good grief, she’d nearly fainted. Gripping the wall hard, Elise had summoned an ungodly amount of willpower and wrenched her eyes from the solid planes of his chiseled abdomen and sculpted chest. Where in the world did Luc find the time to keep himself in that kind of shape?



“It’s probably genetic,” she muttered to herself.



“Eh, what did you say, sweetheart?” Bingley the oaf leaned in towards her.



“Oh, nothing. I was just commenting on…,” Elise trailed off as a passing female captured Bingley’s attention. She gratefully submersed herself in draining her glass of water.



“Mmm, mmm, mmm, good,” Bingley grunted out.



Elise rolled her eyes. Again. The man was a lecherous old coot. And his son wasn’t much better. Bingley Junior had eyes which roamed and hands that were always in motion. Elise hadn’t told Luc about the encounter with Junior in the mailroom. And she didn’t plan to. Junior hadn’t done anything but stare at her like a hungry wolf. She was a grown girl. She could handle an idiot like Bingley Junior. If she couldn’t do it with words, then she had a fail-safe backup. Elise seriously doubted wearing a cup would be enough protection against a sharp knee to the groin.



“Well, well, well,” Bingley Senior intoned. Why did he always have to repeat words three times? “I was wonderin’ where you’d gotten off to, son. Pull up a chair and help me keep this pretty, little lady company.”



Elise looked up and came face to face with the same look she’d left in the mailroom. Damnation.



“Don’t mind if I do,” Junior replied, pulling a chair from a table behind them. He slid it close to Elise and eased himself down.



Elise cringed and would have gladly killed Luc and Ben. They were engrossed in the contract and talking quietly amongst themselves. Damnation.



Junior braced his hand on the back of Elise’s chair and turned in his seat, “I would have been here sooner but I had a… an appointment to keep.” His thumb brushed across her back.



Elise bent forward and leaned over her water. She opened her mouth to tell Lucien that they had to leave. She would come up with a reason later, but they had to leave. Now.



Papa oaf’s leg shifted bumping up against her knee. “What appointment?”



She felt like a bone being fought over by two ravenous beasts.



The waiter paused by the table and, prying her glass out of her hand, refilled her water.



“Can I have a straw please,” she begged. Sucking down her drink would be easier with a straw than lifting the glass and leaning back towards Junior’s itchy hands—plus, she could chew the straw to death instead of her tongue. The waiter dropped the straw on the table before her and she shredded the paper, then shoved it into the glass.



Junior cleared his throat and pressed his leg against hers. She nearly screamed. “There was a… cat I had to see. I’m thinking about adopting it.”



“A tabby?” A rough hand gripped her knee and squeezed.



Elise shrieked and instinctively drove her elbow back into Bingley Senior’s gut. “Lucien,” she hissed.



“Yes, darlin’,” her husband answered absently.



“You said to remind you about that call you’re expecting.”



“Which call?”



Ben glanced up at her and, to her relief, realized her plight. He nudged Luc. “Uh, yeah. You remember. The call.”



“Yes, Lucien. Wyndemere will have your head if you aren’t home to answer the phone.”