Page 48 of Her Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

But it wasn’t like I was going to tell that to Lucien, of all people.

“Did you love him?”

I looked at Lucien. “No—I mean, yeah. I don’t know any more. It was so long ago.”

And what business is it of yours? I thought. But I resisted the urge to say that.

“Look,” I said. “I should go.”

“Don’t,” said Lucien.

I looked at him. He’d sat forward.

“I don’t want you to,” he said.

“But I have to. My son—”

“Is sleeping soundly,” he said. “Like you told me. So stay here.”

“David will get worried.”

“So tell him you’re here with me.”

“I can’t do that. He’ll think that we’re involved or something.”

“Aren’t we?”

In the orange lamplight, I watched as Lucien stood up. He came down to my side and knelt. My body stiffened. I thought about how to get away. But he didn’t touch me. Just looked up at me, his bright green eyes, so like Conor’s eyes.

“What I said today at the library,” he told me, “I meant it.”

“Come off it,” I said.

“It’s true. I didn’t mean to say all that stuff about you putting my heart in the right place. But you do, Laura. You always do. You teach me about things that are important."

"So do you,” I said. I’d learned so much from Lucien, about determination, focus, and motivation. Working in his office had made me feel like there was hope for me yet, that I wouldn’t always have to be a PA. Anything was possible.

“So tell me,” said Lucien. “The way I feel about you. Is that important too?”

I looked at him, and put down my drink.

“Come here,” I said.

I put my hands on Lucien’s cheek. In one hand, I felt the soft bristles of his beard. In the other, I felt the soft flesh of his cheek. I leaned down towards him and kissed him deeply. I was ready for him, and I knew that he could feel it, could feel my hunger as my hands lowered and grasped at the collars of his shirt.

It was desperate. It was a thoroughly stupid idea. But with Lucien, it was wonderful, and in a moment, he’d lifted me up by my elbows to my feet, and plunged his hands into the locks of my hair.

There we stood, before the fire, as my cheeks flamed and passion traversed my body. Here was the familiarity, the safety, the certainty that things would be right again, as I wrapped my arms around his body and pressed my hips to his. For a man I hardly knew all that well, he felt like home, the sharp edges of his muscular torso familiar and comforting as he held me to him.

“I want you,” I told him.

“What do you want?” he said softly, and this close, I could feel his voice resonate through my body.

“I want to go to your room,” I said. It was like I was in a dream, a dream too good to be true. Only what happened next was even better.

Lucien bent down and lifted me into his arms. He kissed me as he strode out of the room, and I laughed. It was a fantasy I’d always had, of wanting to be picked up and cradled like this, and as he effortlessly went up the stairs of the house, carrying me, I realized that so many of my fantasies revolved around him and depended on his strength.

How many times over the last week had I thought about kissing him, about him bending me over his desk and screwing me? Too many to count. And how many times had I dreamed he’d pick me up, just like this, and carry me to bed?