Not until she considered her behavior through Lucien’s eyes.

“Elise?” he asked pointedly. “Why did Baden have this watch? You weren’t wearing it at Ian and Francesca’s.”

She blinked, but her surprise faded quickly enough. Lucien took note of the smallest details.

“I . . . I didn’t have enough money for the cab fare,” she said lamely.

An awful silence swelled.

“So you came up to your room to get something to give the taxi driver in lieu of payment, and you chose a designer watch worth several thousand dollars? Are you mad, flashing expensive jewelry like that around in this neighborhood?”

“It was the most reasonable thing I had to bargain with!”

“And Baden recognized that it was a valuable watch and took it?”

“Yes,” she whispered, shame stealing her voice.

“Baden was smart enough to realize that if you were willing to throw away a Cartier watch, there was even more valuable treasure to be had,” he said, glancing at the antique jewelry box on the dresser.

She closed her eyes in mortification. What might that lowlife have done to her if Lucien hadn’t shown up?

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Go home, a voice in her head taunted. Get married. Let someone else take care of you. You always make a mess of doing it yourself.

“What are you thinking, Elise?”

She met his gaze, chin tilted up proudly even though he had to see the irksome tears in her eyes. “The same thing you are, more than likely. That I should just run home to Paris before I cause some real damage.”

His rocklike expression collapsed for a moment so brief, she thought she’d imagined it. He stepped forward and took her into his arms.

“That’s not what I was thinking. Don’t give up now,” he said near her ear, his voice low and full of . . . regret? Concern? She couldn’t say for sure. All she knew was that it felt like heaven to be in his arms. She put her cheek next to his chest and inhaled shakily when his long fingers threaded through her hair. He smelled so good—like clean soap, his addictive cologne, and just the hint of his former arousal. Her body stirred to life of its own accord as she recalled their illicit tryst at the penthouse. His hand moved. The back of her head seemed to fit perfectly in his palm.

“I’m sorry, Lucien. I would never want you to be hurt,” she said in a muffled voice as she tried to control the full feeling in her chest.

“I know that,” he said, his voice like roughened silk. “It’s not me I’m concerned about. It’s you. You are too impulsive at times. All you had to do was ask me for financial assistance.”

“I didn’t think I needed any.”

She felt his fingers on her chin and looked up reluctantly.

“Well, you were wrong, weren’t you?” He looked down at her with a hooded gaze. Her nipples pulled tight against his ribs. “I owe you a punishment for your impulsivity. I also owe you pleasure, for having pleased me so well earlier. Take off all of your clothes, Elise,” he said quietly.

“What?” Her heart paused in its drumming to do a leap. Blood rushed into her cheeks.

“You heard me,” he replied.

He’d done it. He’d made her completely speechless. Her fingers seemed to have gone numb as she began to unloop the rope of pearls from around her neck. What was this feeling that swamped her? Was it shame? No . . . it was shyness. Her—Elise Martin—shy and awkward.

She wouldn’t have thought it a possibility. But it wasn’t just any man.

It was Lucien.

Chapter Six

He’d told himself he wouldn’t be consumed by her fires, but the slow burn began as he watched her remove the looped rope of cultured pearls from around her neck. The pearls interested him. They weren’t an expensive item. In fact, he’d frequently been proud of her during the past week in regard to the fact that she wasn’t flaunting her wealth with expensive jewelry, clothing, and designer handbags. Elise was a very beautiful woman, after all, not to mention the daughter of a renowned fashion designer. She was known for wearing the most expensive clothes in the world like they were her birthright. She’d been staying under the radar, though—as well as a blazing meteor like Elise Martin possibly could.

The belt at her hips came off next. He’d noticed the moment that she approached him earlier this evening that the blue fabric of her dress emphasized her flawless, pale skin and sapphire eyes. Beneath the dress, she wore a matching pair of silk panties and bra. Her dress had fallen off her shoulder earlier when she’d been dancing so outrageously with Caden. He’d seen that the strap of the bra perfectly matched the color of her dress as she’d gyrated her hips, her gaze directly on him—daring him.

Arousal and irritation spiked through him at the memory.

She was petite, but built for sin. Her waist was so tiny, he would likely come near to encompassing it with his opened hands. She was far from slight, though. The curve from her waist to her round hips taunted a man’s hand, tempted him to touch smooth, satiny stretches of skin. Just looking at the pale expanse of her taut belly and the juncture between shapely thighs made him hard and heavy—ready from a glance. Her breasts were full for her petite figure. He’d idly wondered if they’d been enhanced before, but somehow he doubted it. Elise’s mother had been a screen goddess and praised for her hourglass figure. Despite her more compact size, Elise shared a lot of her mother’s looks. She was Madeline Martin’s beauty distilled and perfected.

Another reason Madeline had envied her daughter.




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