“Does it?” she whispered. Her voice betrayed her, for God help her, she did like this version of Jack Talent.
And as if he’d realized this startling fact as well, he drew back, just enough to look down at her. “Does it?”
Heartbeat thundering in her breast, she slowly raised her gaze to his face. He’d said it lightly, a quip, and yet a certain wistfulness tainted his words. The moment drew close. Long enough for her to count the light scattering of freckles at the edges of his bottle-green eyes. Four on the left. Six on the right. A honey dust that was only noticeable up close. As if unable to bear her study, he lowered his lids, and his gaze settled on her mouth. A mistake too, for now she felt the throb inside her lips, as though they needed to be touched.
“Chase…” The rough, almost awkward intensity of his voice had her breath stopping altogether, but then his gaze flickered up as if some movement beyond caught his eye, and his expression hardened, even as he slowed and took a step back. Then he let go.
A man stepped before them, his pale jade eyes gleaming in amusement. Lucien.
“Ah, chère”—Lucien caught up Mary’s limp hand and kissed it—“you shine like the sun in the night sky of this room.” His gaze wandered over her, warm and melancholy, and guilt expanded within her belly and had her lavender silk gown feeling too tight. His smile grew. “You humble me as always, my dove.”
Unfortunately aware of the man glowering at her side, Mary answered Lucien pleasantly nevertheless. “Hello, Lucien.” She gave each of his cheeks a buss. “And what are you doing here?” She had missed him, even if she’d rather have seen him without Talent.
“Charming the knickers off unsuspecting ladies, one hopes.” Lucien’s grin was unrepentant until he let his attention slide to Talent, then all humor fled. “If it isn’t the happy-go-lucky Mr. Talent. You know, I could all but feel you sucking the joy out of the room from across the way.”
Mary cringed. Lucien was well aware of Talent’s attitude toward her, and he’d often offered to “kick the young pup’s arse.” Not that she hadn’t appreciated his concern now and then. But at the moment, she would really rather kick Lucien.
Next to Lucien, Talent’s form was so large and muscular that he appeared a dockhand. One quite ready to take a swing. His mouth drew in a tight smile. “Mr. Stone. Out prowling for new prey? Odd. I didn’t think you could catch any flies without your particular brand of honey.” The smile grew into a sneer. “Or do you carry your drugs in one of those gaudy baubles you’re wearing?”
Ice crept over Lucien’s eyes but he answered easily. “Admire my rings, do you?” He ran a thumb over the enormous ruby he wore on his middle finger. “Play nice, and perhaps we can come to an arrangement. You know, I’m open to all sorts of experiences.”
Mary fought not to close her eyes and wish herself elsewhere. There would be no living with Talent now.
“I’m certain you are.” Talent did not look at her, but she felt his judgment all the same. His square jaw bunched as he glared at Lucien. “I’m tempted to offer a rejoinder about you experiencing my foot up your arse, but you aren’t worth the bother.” He walked away, never looking back.
“Such a pleasant fellow,” Lucien mused. “I envy you working with him.”
“Oh, yes,” Mary said lightly. “And it shall be a delight now.” She snapped open her fan and waved it hard, as if that might somehow blow him away too. “Why do you needle him so?”
Lucien’s flawless face glowed beneath the lights. “Because I can.”
With a flick of her wrist, she let the fan snap shut. “I knew the answer, Lucien. I merely wondered if you might think for once on how your selfishness reflects upon me.”
High color stained his cheeks. “I do not like you partnering with that man.”
“Lucien, I am not, nor was I ever, your property. I thought myself your friend, but perhaps I was wrong.”
His mouth fell open, the color draining from his cheeks. “Chère—”
“Do not bother. I am working and would appreciate it if you stayed out of my and Talent’s way.” She left, annoyed at him for starting up, at Talent for taking the bait, and at herself for feeling guilty about all of it. Men, she thought, could go bugger themselves.
Jack hated losing his temper. Which was hilarious, really, given how often he lost it now. Piss and shit, but he ought to have kept his damn mouth shut. The last thing in the bloody world he wanted was to give Chase and Stone the satisfaction of letting them know how much it bothered him to see them together. Stone he simply wanted to kill every time he saw the man. The smug triumph that lit Stone’s eyes, and the knowledge that he’d had Jack by the bollocks all these years, made Jack want to punch something.