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Watching the couple as they’d stood together on the opposite side of the room, talking softly but obviously heatedly, Lucien had been unable to stop the narrowing of his eyes when he saw the way Cyn suddenly paled. His fists had clenched at his sides as he’d realised that Miller had a painful grip on her arm and his other hand was twisting her wrist, despite Cyn’s obvious efforts to free herself. The thought of a single bruise marring the pearly perfection of her skin had been enough to send Lucien striding forcefully across the room.
Jonathan Miller was one of the reasons Lucien was back in New York at the moment. The actor’s behaviour this past few months had become a definite cause for concern and required that Lucien intervene personally after receiving information that the verbal warning he had given Miller six weeks ago, about his drug habit and the affair he was having with his married co-star—the wife of the show’s director—had made little difference to the other man’s behaviour.
Another private meeting with Jonathan Miller would have to wait until tomorrow. At the moment Lucien was more concerned with the aggressive way the younger man was currently behaving towards Cyn. No matter how intense or demanding Lucien’s own physical needs might be, he would never deliberately hurt a woman—he much preferred to give pleasure rather than pain—and he wouldn’t tolerate another man behaving in that way in his presence, either.
His gaze settled on Cyn as she stood with her bared shoulders turned towards him. ‘Are you ready to leave now...?’ he prompted huskily.
Thia’s heart leapt into her throat as Lucien Steele reiterated his invitation to leave the party with him, as he offered to take her away from this nightmare. Away from Jonathan. A Jonathan who was becoming unrecognisable as the charming man she had met two years ago—a man she had thought was her friend.
But friends didn’t deliberately hurt each other, and the top of her arm still ached from where Jonathan’s fingers had dug so painfully into her flesh just seconds ago, and her wrist was sore from where he had twisted it so viciously. Not only had he hurt her, but he had frightened her too when he had spoken to her so threateningly. And it shamed her, embarrassed her, to think that Lucien Steele might have witnessed that physical and verbal attack.
‘Cyn...?’
She could see the confusion in Jonathan’s eyes and he was the one to answer the other man lightly. ‘I think you’ve made a mistake, Mr Steele. This is Thia Hammond, my—’
‘Cyn...?’
Long, elegant fingers slipped possessively, gently beneath her elbow and Lucien Steele continued to ignore the other man as he came to stand beside her. Thia felt that now familiar shiver down the length of her spine just at the touch of those possessive fingers against her skin, accompanied by the compulsion in Lucien Steele’s husky voice. She could actually feel that compulsion as that voice willed her to look up at him.
She turned slowly, much like a marionette whose strings were being pulled, her lids widening, pupils expanding, and all the air suddenly sucked from her lungs as she took her first clear look at Lucien Steele in the glare of light from the chandeliers above them.
Oh. My. God.
She had thought him mesmerising, compelling, as they had stood outside together in the moonlight, but that was as nothing compared to the intensity of the magnetism he exuded in the brightly lit sitting room of the Carews’ apartment. So much so that even this huge room, the size of a tennis court, seemed too small to hold all that raw and savage power.
His hair was so deep a black it appeared almost blue beneath the lights of the chandelier, and his bronzed face was beautifully sculptured. His high, intelligent brow, the sharp blade of a nose between high cheekbones, and his mouth—oh, God, his mouth!—were sinfully, decadently chiseled. His top lip was slightly fuller than the bottom—an indication of the sensuality he had exuded when they were outside together on the balcony?—and his jaw was square and determined, darkened by the shadow of a dark stubble.
It was the face of a warrior, a marauder, a man who took what he wanted and to hell with whoever or whatever stood in his way.
As if that savagely beautiful face wasn’t enough, his perfectly tailored evening suit—had Thia really had that gorgeous jacket wrapped about her just minutes ago?—and white silk shirt showed the perfection of his widely muscled shoulders and chest, his tapered waist, powerful thighs and long, lean legs encased in matching black trousers above those soft Italian leather shoes she had referred to so scathingly such a short time ago.
All the trappings of urbanity, in fact—an urbanity that was dispelled the moment she looked at that handsomely savage face!
A face that was dominated by those amazing and compelling silver eyes surrounded by long and silky dark lashes.
Those same compelling silver eyes now held Thia’s own gaze captive, hostage, and refused to release her until she acquiesced, surrendered to that raw and demanding power...
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_53bc8233-a629-5896-833c-53d806b1f602)
‘CYN...?’ LUCIEN QUESTIONED for the third and last time—and that was twice more than he would have allowed any other woman.
If Cyn Hammond ignored him for a third time then he would take it that she was a willing participant in Miller’s abusive treatment. It wasn’t to Lucien’s personal taste, but that was Cyn’s business—not his. No matter how much he might desire her himself...
‘Thia?’ Jonathan Miller looked totally confused by this whole encounter.
Lucien’s eyes moved past Cyn to the other man, hardening to steel as he pinned Miller with his razor-sharp gaze. Bruises were already forming on Cyn’s arm where Miller had held her too tightly just minutes ago, and her wrist looked red and sore. An unforgivable assault, as far as Lucien was concerned, on the perfection of that pearly unblemished skin.
‘You hurt her, Miller,’ he rasped harshly, his own fingers curling reassuringly about Cyn’s elbow as he felt the way she still trembled. An indication that she really wasn’t happy about Miller’s rough treatment of her...
The other man’s face flushed with anger—an emotion he quickly masked behind the boyishly charming smile that was currently holding American television audiences so enrapt, but succeeded only in leaving Lucien cold.
‘Thia and I have had a slight misunderstanding, that’s all—’
‘It was your misunderstanding, Jonathan, not mine.’ Cyn was the one to answer coldly and Lucien felt her straighten determinedly. ‘Mr Steele has very kindly offered to drive me home, and I’ve decided to accept his offer.’
There were two things wrong with that statement as far as Lucien was concerned. One, he knew he was far from kind. Two, he had offered to take Cyn for a drink somewhere quieter than the Carews’ apartment—not to drive her home. Especially if that ‘home’ should also happen to be Miller’s apartment...
But the details could be sorted out later. For the moment Lucien just wanted to get Cyn away from here. He could still feel the slight trembling of her slender but curvaceous body. Those cobalt blue eyes were dark, there was an enticing flush to her cheeks, her pouting lips were moist and parted, and those deliciously full breasts were once again swelling temptingly against the bodice of her gown as she breathed.
And Lucien could think of a much better use for all that pent up emotion than anger...
‘How do the two of you even know each other?’ Jonathan Miller scowled darkly.
‘If you’ll excuse us, Miller?’ Lucien didn’t spare the other man so much as a glance, let alone answer him, as he turned to give Dex a slight nod of his head. He held Cyn to his side by a light but firm grasp of her elbow as he walked away, the other guests immediately clearing a pathway for them to cross the room to the Carews’ private elevator in the hallway.
‘What the hell is going on—?’
Lucien gave a cold smile of satisfaction as he heard Miller’s protest cut short, knowing that Dex would have responded to his silent instruction and, in his own inimitable and deadly style, prevented the actor from attempting to follow the two of them. Lucien’s smile hardened, his eyes chilling to ice as he thought of the conversation he was going to have with Jonathan Miller tomorrow. A conversation that would now include a discussion on the other man’s treatment of the delicately lovely woman at his side...
* * *
Thia had no idea what she was doing, agreeing to leave the Carews’ party with the dangerously compelling Lucien Steele, of all people. Especially when he had made his physical interest in her so obvious during the time the two of them had been outside on the balcony together!
She just wanted to get away from here. From a Jonathan she no longer recognised. And from the curious glances of all the other guests as they observed the tension between the three of them—some surreptitiously, some blatantly.
But was leaving with the dangerously attractive Lucien Steele, a man who was so arrogant she wasn’t sure she even liked him, really the answer...?
‘Shouldn’t we say goodbye to the Carews before we leave?’ she prompted hesitantly as Lucien Steele pressed a button and the lift doors opened.
‘Dex will deal with it,’ he dismissed unconcernedly.
‘I—then shouldn’t we at least wait for him...?’ Thia made no move to enter the lift, her nervousness increasing the longer she spent in this man’s compelling company.
‘He’ll make his own way down.’ Lucien Steele released her elbow as he indicated she should enter the lift ahead of him.
Thia still hesitated. She wanted to get away from Jonathan, yes, but she now realised she felt no safer with Lucien Steele—if for a totally different reason!
‘Changed your mind...?’ he drawled mockingly.
Her chin rose at the taunt. ‘No.’ She stepped determinedly into the lift, her gaze averted as Lucien Steele stepped in beside her and pressed the button for the mirror-walled lift to descend.
Thia shot him several nervous glances from beneath her lashes as he stood broodingly on the other side of the lift, feeling that now familiar quiver trembling down her spine as she found herself surrounded by numerous mirrored images of him. This man was impressive under any circumstances, but she stood no chance of remaining immune to him in the confines of a lift.
Lucien Steele was sin incarnate, right from the top of his glossy hair—so much blacker than Thia’s own, like shiny blue-black silk, the sort of tousled, overlong hair that made Thia’s fingers itch to thread their way through it—to the soles of those Italian leather shoes.
He was a man so totally out of Thia’s league that she had no business being there with him at all, let alone imagining threading her fingers through that delicious blue-black hair.
‘Ask.’
Thia’s startled gaze moved from that silky dark hair to the sculptured perfection of his face. Once again she felt that jolt of physical awareness as she found herself ensnared by the piercing intensity of those silver eyes. ‘Um—sorry?’
He shrugged. ‘You have a question you want to ask me.’
‘I do...?’
His mouth twisted ruefully. ‘You do.’
She chewed briefly on her bottom lip. ‘Your hair—it’s beautiful. I—I’ve never seen hair quite that blue-black colour before...?’
He raised a brow equally as dark. ‘Are you sure you want that to be your one question?’
Thia blinked. ‘My one question?’
He gave an abrupt inclination of his head. ‘Yes.’
She frowned slightly. Surely he wasn’t serious...? ‘I’ve just never seen hair that colour before...’ she repeated nervously. ‘It’s the colour of a starless night sky.’
His mouth twisted derisively. ‘That was a statement, not a question.’
Yes, it was. But this man unnerved Thia to such a degree she couldn’t think straight.
Lucien Steele sighed. ‘Somewhere way back in my ancestry—a couple of hundred years or so ago—my great-great-grandfather is reputed to have been an Apache Indian who carried off a rancher’s wife before impregnating her,’ he dismissed derisively. ‘The black hair has appeared in several generations since.’
Dear Lord, this man really was a warrior! Not an axe-wielding, fur-covered Viking, or a kilt-wearing, claymore-brandishing Celt, but a clout-covered, bow-and-arrow-carrying, bareback horse-riding Native American Indian!
It was far too easy for Thia to picture him as such—with that inky-black hair a long waterfall down his back, his muscled and gleaming chest and shoulders bare, just that clout-cloth between him and the horse he rode, the bareness of his long muscled legs gripping—
‘Surely I haven’t shocked you into silence?’ he taunted.
Thia knew by his mocking expression that he wanted her to be shocked, that Lucien Steele was deliberately trying to unnerve her with tales of Apache warriors carrying off innocent women for the sole purpose of ravishing them.
In the same way he was doing the modern equivalent of carrying her off? Also for ravishment...?
Her chin rose. ‘Not in the least.’
Those silver eyes continued to mock her. ‘My father is a native New Yorker, but my mother is French—hence I was given the name Lucien. My turn now,’ he added softly.
She gave a wary start. ‘Your turn to do what...?’ she prompted huskily.
Those chiselled lips curled into a derisive smile as he obviously heard the tremble in her voice. ‘Ask you a question.’
She moistened dry lips. ‘Which is...?’
‘Cyn, if you don’t stop looking at me like that then I’m going to have to stop the elevator and take you right now.’
As if to back up his statement he pressed a button and halted the lift’s descent, before crossing the floor with all the grace of the predator he undoubtedly was and standing just inches in front of her.
Thia’s eyes had widened, both at his actions and at the raw desire she could hear beneath the harshness of his tone. ‘I—you can’t just stop the lift like that...!’
‘I believe I already did,’ he dismissed arrogantly.
Thia found herself totally unable to look away from the intensity of that glittering silver gaze as Lucien looked down at her from between narrowed lids, her cheeks flushed, her heart beating wildly—apprehensively?—in her chest. ‘I—that wasn’t a question, either.’
‘No.’
She winced. ‘How was I looking at you...?’
‘As if you’d like to rip my clothes from my body before wrapping your legs about my waist as I push you up against the wall and take you!’ His voice was a low and urgent rasp.
Thia’s breath caught in her throat as she imagined herself doing any or all of those things, her cheeks flushing, burning. ‘I don’t think—’
‘It’s probably better if you don’t.’
Lucien Steele’s gaze continued to hold hers captive.
She stepped away instinctively, only to feel her back pressing up against the mirrored wall. Lucien Steele dogged her steps until he again stood mere inches away from her and slowly raised his hands to place them on the mirror either side of her head. Lowering his head, he stared down at her with those compelling silver eyes, causing Thia to once again moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue.
‘I advise you not to do that again unless you’re willing to take the consequences!’ he rasped harshly.
Thia’s tongue froze on her parted lips as she was once again beset by the feeling of being trapped in the headlights of a car—or, more accurately, the glittering compulsion of Lucien Steele’s gaze.
Her throat moved as she swallowed before speaking. ‘Consequences?’
He nodded abruptly. ‘I’d be more than willing to participate in your fantasy.’ His jaw was tight, and desire gleamed in his eyes.
It was a depth of desire Thia had never encountered before, and one that caused her breath to hitch in her throat and her skin to flush with heat: a single-minded depth of desire that made her feel like running for the hills!
‘What’s Miller to you?’ Lucien Steele prompted abruptly.
She blinked long dark lashes. ‘Is that your question?’
He bared his teeth in a parody of a smile as he nodded. ‘Contrary to my Apache ancestor, I make it a rule never to take another man’s woman.’
‘‘Take another man’s’—!’ She frowned. ‘You really are something of a barbarian, aren’t you?’
Rather than feeling insulted at the accusation, as she had intended, Lucien Steele instead bared his teeth in a wolfish smile. ‘You have no idea.’
Oh, yes, Thia definitely had an idea. More than an idea. And her response to this man’s raw sexuality terrified the life out of her. Almost as much as it aroused her...
‘Cyn?’ Lucien pressed forcefully.
She shrugged bare shoulders, those ivory breasts swelling invitingly against her gown. ‘I already told you—Jonathan is just a friend—’
‘A friend who had no hesitation in hurting you?’ Lucien glared his displeasure as he looked down to where dark smudges were already appearing on the smooth paleness of her arm. Her wrist was still slightly red too. ‘Who left his mark on you?’ he added harshly as he gave in to the temptation to brush his fingertips gently over those darkening smudges.
‘Yes...’ Her bottom lip trembled, as if she were on the verge of crying. ‘I’ve never seen him behave like that before. He was out of control...’ She gave a dazed shake of her head. ‘He’s never behaved aggressively with me before,’ she insisted dully.
‘That’s something, I suppose.’ Lucien nodded abruptly.
