And yet, after several moments the tenor had changed and when she entered the kitchen under the pretext of fixing coffee, she discovered it had become all business. Lucius sat with a cool, remote expression on his face, making steady inroads into shoveling food from plate to mouth, while Mikey watched with huge, painfully serious dark eyes.
Angie turned a page in the book she was pretending to read and continued to surreptitiously study the two men her life now revolved around. Where before Lucius had been playing with Mikey, now he studied a contract. She wouldn’t have thought anything of it if she hadn’t happened to glance up at the exact moment Lucius had transitioned from play to business. And then it hit her.
It was as though he’d caught himself doing something he shouldn’t. He’d gone from unselfconscious pleasure to abrupt awareness in the blink of an eye. And in that split second of time he’d barricaded himself off, distancing himself not only from his actions, but from whatever emotions he experienced while interacting with Mikey.
Why? Why would he do that?
He’d also barricaded himself off from her, she suddenly realized. It was after he’d paid for the ring. Up until then, he’d been involved. Engaged. Connected and connecting. She’d assumed the abrupt withdrawal had been the result of the ring costing more than he’d wanted to spend. But now she couldn’t help wondering if there weren’t another reason altogether.
Maybe he’d allowed himself to become emotionally compromised. Maybe he’d allowed himself, for one short moment, to believe their engagement was real. She couldn’t help but wonder if on some level he possessed a sort of internal warning sensor, one that went off whenever he became too personally involved—even if that involvement was with a small, helpless baby.
Even if that involvement was with the woman he intended to marry.
Not that it changed anything. She’d seen the true heart of the man and sensed the depths of emotion he worked so hard to deny. It was because he possessed those depths that he built walls to protect himself, locked himself safely away so he didn’t have to feel. Didn’t have to suffer the pain of loss or disillusionment.
She had a choice. She could allow him to continue to cement barriers in place until he became so swift and experienced at the process that she’d never find a way to break through. Or she could start undermining those barriers right here and now.
She made her choice even before the options were fully considered. Tossing aside her book, she crossed to where he sat and picked up the sleeping baby. In no time she had Mikey changed and tucked into bed. Then she returned to the living room and turned out the lights, just as Lucius had done the night before. And there, caught within the soft city glow and glitter, she slowly, tantalizingly removed her clothing, piece by piece.
Once again, she couldn’t see his expression. But she heard the tenor of his breathing change. Heard it deepen, thicken, grow heavy with desire. And she smiled. When had it happened? When had she lost her nervous dread, her insecurity about satisfying a man? She stood before him wearing only a tiny scrap of silk and lace clinging to her hips and reveled in her femininity, knowing that Lucius wanted her above all women. Not just for her body, though he’d left her in no doubt how he felt about that. But for her intellect, for her personality. And soon, if she had any say in the matter, for her heart.
“Finish it,” he practically growled.
She laughed, the sound soft and low. Ripe. Womanly. She skated her hands down her hips and shimmied free of the last of her clothing. And then she stood before him wearing nothing but the ring he’d placed on her finger, the flash a beacon calling him home. She traced her hand across the slight curves of her breasts, allowing the diamond’s fire to beckon. Traced her hand downward over her belly to the shadowed valley between her thighs where the fire became a flame.
With a muttered oath, he shot from the couch and caught her in his arms, tumbling her to the thick carpet at their feet. They fought through his clothing, his hands and hers colliding. Tearing. Ripping. Desperate to feel flesh against flesh. And when they were both stripped bare, open and vulnerable, one to the other, they came together.
“No more walls between us,” she demanded. “No hiding. No barriers. Just the two of us, allowing the other in.”
He shook his head. “It’s not what you want.” He nuzzled her breast, captured her nipple between his teeth and gently tugged. “Not what either of us wants. We’re too damaged to open ourselves like that again.”