3
Lucien was irritated. He’d specifically told Elaine not to mention his name—or rather, his alias—to anyone, but here she was, babbling away to her girlfriend about “Mark.” Brainless cow.
Elaine clicked her phone shut and gave him a tremulous smile. “Abby’s going to bring that extra set of keys to work tomorrow,” she said. “I can give it to you when we meet for dinner.”
Lucien stretched luxuriously before reaching across the tangle of sheets to wind his fingers into Elaine’s blond hair. He twisted, hard enough to make her gasp, enjoying her confusion before he kissed her and made it better. He pried the cell phone out of her cold fingers.
“Sweetheart. Did I or didn’t I say not to tell anyone about us?”
Elaine’s blue eyes got very big and began to blink nervously. “But that was just Abby! I had to tell her why I wasn’t home at one in the morning on a Wednesday night, or she would’ve gotten suspicious.”
“OK, OK,” he murmured. “But even so, it’s better if—”
“She’s been trying to persuade me to let myself go, and thank God I finally have, and I knew she’d be happy for me, so I thought I—”
“Shh.” He cut off her babbling with another hard kiss. “I said no one, and I meant no one,” he said sternly.
Elaine’s eyes overflowed. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was a shaking wisp. “I’ll tell Abby not to tell anyone. She won’t if I tell her not to.”
Yeah, thereby drawing even more attention to him. Perfect.
“Don’t make a big thing of it,” he said. “I don’t want to risk what we have by letting the whole world in on it. And besides…” He placed her hand on his penis. “…secrecy excites me.”
“Me too,” Elaine breathed, stroking him.
Of course, her too. If he’d expressed a desire to dive headfirst into a festering dumpster, sweet, suggestible Elaine would bleat ‘me, too.’ He forced a smile. “Who’s Abby? I want to know about your friends.”
Elaine brightened. “Oh, she’s our development manager. She’s fabulous. So smart and funny, and gorgeous, too. She’s a wonderful friend. She’s been here for three years, since Bridget fired the last…”
Lucien tuned out her empty chatter. He’d done his research on Abby Maitland, as he had for all of the museum’s administrative staff. He had a thick file on Abby. The photos had intrigued him. So had her background check. Jailbird father, alcoholic mother, an arrest for drug dealing for which she was later cleared. Most interesting.
She’d put it all behind her, though. Come to the West Coast, put herself through school, made a new life for herself. Admirable.
She was very attractive, in a tall, buxom Amazon sort of way. Her checkered, problematic past made her a good candidate for his plans, but he’d studied a close-up of her face one night, and decided against it.
It was her eyes that had tipped the balance. Too wary, too cautious. She’d been around the block too many times. Lucien was very good at feigning normal emotions. Ninety-nine point nine percent of humanity never knew the difference.
Abby Maitland looked like she might be in that point one percent.
Besides, he preferred his lovers more physically delicate. The pretty blond curator, Elaine Clayborne, met that description. She was also more fragile, naive and trusting, and so dull, he was in imminent danger of death by boredom. He should have targeted Abby Maitland. He’d have been able to maintain his erections better, at least.
“Is she seeing anyone?” he asked, cutting Elaine off midbabble.
Elaine floundered. “Ah…ah, no. Her date tonight bombed, so no possibilities there. I think this guy was one of Dovey’s blind dates. Dovey’s our development associate. He’s always trying to fix Abby up with guys who fit her List.”
“List? What list is that?”
“Oh. That.” Elaine let out a nervous titter. “Well, actually, she told me about that in confidence, so I probably shouldn’t—”
“I won’t tell anybody.” He looked deep into her eyes. “Trust me.”
Elaine blinked rapidly. “OK. It’s just that she’s had man trouble in the past, so she’s worked out strict criteria for the men she dates.”
“Money?”
“Well, they do need to be financially comfortable. And she likes fine dining, theater, music, high culture. I tease her about her List, but with the trouble she’s had, I really can’t blame her.”
“Interesting,” he said.
And it was. The most interesting thing that Elaine had told him so far, in the three weeks that he had been fucking her. He filed that tidbit away, rolled on top of her, and got down to the task of feigning passion.
It was hard going. This project wasn’t giving him the sexual buzz he needed. There was risk, and a vast profit margin, and the thought of stealing pirate gold appealed to him—but he didn’t pull jobs like this for money. He’d been rich all his life, and filching jewelry and fine art from his friends’ families’ villas in Monaco ever since he was a bored, thrill-seeking teenager. Desperate for something to make his heart pound.
He’d slowly realized, as he grew up, that he was a little bit different from other people. He had a blank spot inside him. A sort of emotional deficiency. He’d learned to cover for it, there being absolutely nothing wrong with his intelligence or his instinct for self-preservation.
But if he wanted a thrill, he needed something very, very intense.
His parents were busy and self-absorbed. They’d never noticed a problem. Why should they? He was charming, intelligent, good-looking, a high achiever. He’d been groomed to run the philanthropic arm of the vast, family-owned Haverton Corporation. He’d gotten the reputation for being the softie of the family, the bleeding heart who gave away money while the rest of the Haverton sharks slaved at making it.
The irony of that misconception secretly amused him.
He self-medicated as best he could. He’d tried drugs of all kinds, with mixed results. High-risk sports helped, bizarre and violent sex worked even better. Recreational murder was fun, too. Messy, though. He didn’t like spoiling his clothes, and he was repelled by the smells.
His all-time favorite high was stealing. Nothing beat it, for pure buzz factor. His best defense against boredom. He wasn’t afraid of pain or prison or death, but oh God, how he hated boredom.
If Elaine had been married to the museum director, if she were the director’s teenage daughter, if the stakes were higher for some reason, seducing her might be titillating enough to be worth the bother. It was stimulating to convince his victims that he loved them. It gave the killing blow that much more punch. Ultimate betrayal, and all that.
But not with Elaine. She had been so easy to seduce. She’d fallen in love with him almost instantly. Born victim. Big bore.
He rolled her onto
