More Than Perfect(37)

 When he’d first considered using the Pretorius Program to help him find a wife, he’d been determined that his marriage would be one of pure convenience for both parties. That any sexual involvement would remain physical, uncomplicated by any sort of emotional connection—exactly what Angie wanted, which should have made it perfect for them both. In fact, that particular requirement had been one of the most difficult to fulfill, according to the program’s designer. For some reason, women entering the marital estate wanted love, something he couldn’t and wouldn’t offer.

 Even when Angie’s name had been raised, he’d experienced a swift wash of relief. He’d marry someone he respected, with whom he had a comfortable relationship. A woman he trusted. Someone he wanted sexually and who, based on her response to their kiss after the business dinner with Moretti, wanted Lucius, but without the added obstacle of messy emotional demands, a prerequisite that worked well for them both.

 But something had happened when he took Angie to bed. Something he didn’t want to examine too closely. Something he didn’t dare analyze. Ever. All he knew was that he’d never experienced such perfection with any other woman. Lisa, with whom he’d enjoyed a very passionate, energetic sex life, paled in comparison. And he knew why.

 Once he broke through her restraint and Angie gave herself to him, she gave everything, unstintingly, just as he’d demanded. She held nothing back. Every part of her was open to him, gifted to him with a generosity that unmanned him.

 Damn it! Hadn’t he just promised himself he wouldn’t analyze what made Angie different from the other women he’d known?

 She appeared in the doorway between his bedroom and the living room just then and he fought not to laugh at the irony. Angelique, the tempting sex goddess he’d been so busily fantasizing about had been replaced by Ms. Angie Colter, PA Extraordinaire, fully zipped, buttoned and uncreased, from the painfully tight knot of hair at her nape to the sensible heels concealing her pretty painted toes. Despite that, he caught the merest hint of nervousness eroding the edges of her composure.

 “Dinner’s not here yet?” she asked.

 “Not yet.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You okay?”

 “Fine.”

 But she wasn’t. Not totally. “Except for…?”

 Before she could respond, a panel by the elevator buzzed. “I assume that’s our dinner,” she prompted, her relief almost palpable.

 Lucius nodded in confirmation. Fine. He’d save the postcoital interrogation until after dinner. He crossed to the panel in the foyer and punched in a code. A few minutes later the doors opened and a young man in his late teens stepped from the car bearing a cardboard box, a cocky grin and a long golden braid that flowed all the way to his waist. It twitched rhythmically to the music pouring from the earbuds dangling from his ears.

 “Thanks for being so prompt, Tuck,” Lucius said.

 “Anything for you, Mr. D. You want it in the dining room, as usual?”

 “If you wouldn’t mind.”

 He started in that direction, his stride catching in a brief hitch when he caught sight of Angie. To Lucius’s amusement, he gave her a quick, flirtatious wink before continuing on his way. He made short work of setting up their meal, then returned with the empty box. “Nice one, Mr. D.,” he murmured under his breath. “I live to be you.”

 He handed the kid a generous tip and jerked his head in the direction of the elevator. “Just live to be yourself, Tucker,” he advised.

 “That was my second choice,” the teen replied. Hopping onto the elevator he punched the button for the lobby. Just as the doors slid shut he waggled his brows in Angie’s direction and gave her a low wolf whistle.

 “Interesting character,” she said with a laugh.

 “He takes a little getting used to, but he’s harmless.” Lucius led the way into the dining room and held the chair for Angie. “Smart, too. He received a full scholarship to U-Dub. Wants to be an engineer.”

 “Did you attend the University of Washington?”

 “Yes. Or I did until my father died,” he qualified. He selected a bottle of chilled white wine that would mate well with their meal, made short work of opening it. “I dropped out at that point to salvage what I could of his business. Not that there was anything left to salvage. Lynley had gotten it all by then.”

 “And then you started Diablo, Inc.,” she prompted.

 “That took a few years to get off the ground.” He transferred some chicken stir-fry to her plate. “I think you’ll like this. They use an excellent blend of spices.”