A sense of familiar uneasiness went through her at the thought.
Was he withdrawing from her, by chance? Flinching away from the intimacy they’d shared, and the truth he’d almost revealed to her, the truth she suspected related to his mother? Every time she thought of the thread of pain in his voice, her heart seemed to squeeze in anguish. Why didn’t he just end his painful wait and speak to Ian Noble to find out where his mother was once and for all? It must be torture for him to be so patient when his prize was so close. It was increasingly becoming unbearable for her, this cautious waiting.
“By all means.” Mrs. Hanson’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts as she returned her gorgeous roast to the oven. “I’ll come and find you in a little bit. But it’s really nothing special. I hope you won’t be disappointed.”
“I’m a chef. My nose is as much an expert as my tongue, and I can already tell this is going to be very special,” Elise assured.
Francesca hastened to the refrigerator, where she extricated two bottles of club soda. Elise had turned down a glass of wine when they’d first arrived, explaining she was a little dehydrated from her long run.
“Come on,” Francesca said. “I think Lucien and Ian went into Ian’s office—Lucien is showing Ian some online photos of the new property he bought in the South Loop—and there’s something I want to show you in there,” she added as she twisted off the cap from the soda and handed it to Elise.
“What?” Elise asked, following her out of the enormous kitchen and down a wide, gallery-like hallway.
“You said you wanted to see more of my paintings? There are several hung in Ian’s office—including The Cat That Walks By Himself. Remember, I mentioned that one to you?”
Elise recalled how Francesca had told her about unknowingly painting Ian on a desolate city street years before she’d ever met the elusive billionaire entrepreneur in person. She recognized the paneled door Francesca led her through. This was the room where she’d come upon Lucien listening to Ian on the phone that night. They entered a large room lined with stained walnut bookcases filled with volumes. Two comfortable-looking leather couches faced each other. A large desk and a long, conference-like table had a laptop on it along with a decanter of wine and a glass. Ian sat in front of the computer screen while Lucien stood looking over his shoulder, a glass of bloodred wine in his hand.
Elise had noticed that Ian had seemed preoccupied and tense when they arrived, but he currently laughed unrestrainedly at something Lucien had said. Francesca gave her a quick, pleased smile before she led her over to the fireplace mantel. Elise stared with wide-eyed wonder at Francesca’s painting.
“I can’t get over how talented you are,” Elise praised sincerely. “And to think . . . you painted Ian all those years before you ever even met, and he recognized himself and bought the painting without knowing you. Talk about fate, the way you two ended up together. It’s very romantic.”
“A more unlikely couple you wouldn’t find anywhere. And yet . . . once we got together, nothing could have been more right,” she said for Elise’s ears only.
“I suppose you could say the same of Lucien and me,” Elise said, looking back at the two men as they chatted. Lucien glanced up and caught her staring. He gave her that small, secret smile that always made her cheeks heat and her heartbeat escalate.
Oh Lord. She really did have it bad.
“You and he actually have similar backgrounds, though,” Francesca pointed out quietly.
“Yes, but he’s the most disciplined man I know. And I’m about as controlled as a tornado,” Elise murmured before she took a sip of soda.
Francesca laughed warmly. “Somehow, I suspect that’s precisely what Lucien loves about you. Sometimes oil and water really do mix for the best results.”
Elise blinked at the word love but she quickly hurried to hide her discomposure. “In Lucien’s and my case, the more apt analogy is more like a match and dynamite,” Elise muttered under her breath.
Francesca chuckled, but her gaze was fixed on Ian across the room. She wore a worried expression.
“Is Ian doing all right?” Elise asked delicately.
Francesca sighed. “He’s had a lot on his mind lately. I told you Lucien has a good effect on him.”
Elise glanced at the men, glad to see Ian lean back in such a relaxed manner and nod in interest. She and Francesca walked across the large room to the long, oval table.
“I understand Lucien has already found himself a very talented executive chef for his new restaurant,” Ian said with just a hint of a smile as they approached. Elise was learning that for Ian Noble, that ghost of a grin was the equivalent of beaming for the average person.
Francesca looked around, a delighted expression on her face. “You?”
Elise nodded.
“Really? How exciting. Why didn’t you say something?” she said accusingly.
“Well, we’re still in talks,” Elise said, meeting Lucien’s warm gaze. “And I still have to finish my stage. But I think all the details can be worked through. I’m no fool, to turn down such a wonderful opportunity.” His eyebrows arched slightly as if in interest at what she’d said. She hadn’t been so forthright with him but had hedged, worried she was taking advantage of his generosity. Elise broke into a smile.
Lucien shrugged negligently, bringing her attention down to his broad shoulders draped in a bluish-gray button-down shirt that did marvelous things for his eyes. “I’m the one who took advantage of a wonderful opportunity.”