Lucian had had her for one night two years ago.
One night hadn’t been nearly enough.
He watched her wait in the queue, those mysterious eyes of hers that were as dark as night remaining downcast so he couldn’t get his fill. He waited until she was four people away before motioning Gheorghe to slide down the bench. His cousin didn’t hesitate but did shoot him a questioning look that Lucian ignored.
Yasmeen still hadn’t looked at him, but she was aware of him because a small wrinkle marred her high brow when she saw the space appear next to him.
“So sorry for your loss.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Fane.”
“Sorry for the loss of your brother, Lucian.”
“So sorry.”
And then she was close enough to touch. Her eyes clashed with his and moved with him as he stood for her.
“Yasmeen.”
“Lucian.” She raised her cheeks when he bent to touch his lips to her silky skin that was the same light bronze color he’d admired in the middle of summer. “I have no words for you,” she murmured.
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” More than she would ever know. “You should have worn your hair down.” Her scent was the same he enjoyed when his yacht was anchored off the coast of Portofino.
For the first time since Dr. Singh’s phone call, images of brutality and murder left his head and were replaced by stills of how this woman had looked while she climaxed, her long raven hair spread all around them, her flawless body open and willing. Magnificent.
She blinked up at him in confusion and brought her fingers to her bared nape. “I’m sorry. I, um, I was at work.”
The lineup behind her was growing, as was her discomfit.
“Sit.”
“Pardon?”
“Sit.” He showed her how and drew her down to his side.
“I should really move on.”
“No, you should not.”
He took one of her hands and placed it on the top of his thigh, straightening her fingers and separating them until they were perfectly spaced. She wore two silver rings. An infinity symbol on her pinkie, and what looked to be the outline of a cat’s head on her forefinger. The bracelets on her fragile wrist were also cheap but pretty. Her nails were long, tapered, and real. Unpainted.
People came and offered their condolences, and he nodded as though paying attention. He wasn’t.
“You have beautiful hands.”
“Thank you.”
“Markus came with me to your gallery one evening. We stood on the sidewalk and observed through the window. You were speaking with a group of young people about a textured painting done entirely in gold.”
“Really. I…didn’t know that.”
“Of course, you didn’t.”
She shifted uncomfortably. “You should have come inside. I would have liked to meet him.”
“That’s funny because he wanted to meet you, too. But I spared you.”
She looked at him and frowned. Her lashes were long and fanned. “From what?”
He didn’t answer and stopped talking altogether. Every little while over the next two hours, he traced one of Yasmeen’s long fingers, lingering at the tip of her nail. He had to fight the need to bring her palm to his face to test its softness.
“Lucian?”
He lifted his head, giving up his study of the delicate bones that made up her knee.
“Yes, Yasmeen?”
“I should go.”
Wondering if what he felt at her words was sadness, he didn’t try very hard to identify it. He nodded and helped her up. The place was slowly clearing out.
He left his spot to walk her to the entrance. She came up and kissed his cheek, and he found himself memorizing her scent. She was the darkest waters of the deepest seas.
“Will you come to the church tomorrow?” He forced himself to pose his demand as a question.
“Oh, uh, I’d assumed it would be a family service.”
“No.”
“Okay, then. If you’d like me to be there…”
“I’ll send a car for you.”
“You don’t have to do that, Lucian.”
He cupped her jaw in a light hold and rubbed his thumb along her high cheekbone. The exotic slant of her eyes was incredible. “I don’t have to do anything, Yasmeen. I do only what I want. A car will be in front of your building at ten.”
He saw a flash of wariness flit across her face. “All right. My address is—”
He brought her forward and placed a light kiss on her lips. “I know your address, draga. You will sit with me tomorrow, yes?”
“If you’d like.” More wariness.
“I would like,” he confirmed as he released her. “You are free to go.”
She hesitated. “Um, will you be okay tonight? I mean, I don’t want to come across as…um…” She grimaced. “What I mean is, if you’d like to share a meal or a glass of wine to keep your mind busy, well, I’ll be home all night. Please know you’re welcome to drop by. Or I can meet you out if you’d prefer…anyway, bye.” A mortified smile flashed even white teeth before she spun away.