want to too much.”
Is it any wonder I’m fascinated with the man? “What happens to things you want too much?”
“I still get them. I’m just not especially gracious—or gentle—about the process.”
Oh my.
There was certainly more to Lucas than his steaming sensuality and good looks. He wasn’t just a corporate lawyer in a slick suit. Away from the rich and powerful crowd where he’d both blended in and stood out, his allure only grew stronger, the mystery of where he’d come from only deepened.
Vanessa set her glass on the ledge and stepped closer to him. “You’re trying to warn me off.”
“I’m not. At all.”
“But you’re deliberately acting dark and mysterious.”
“I am dark and mysterious.”
“Ha! You’re an open book.”
“No kidding.”
“You’re from Louisiana,” she began, watching his eyes widen as she obviously hit the mark. “I’m thinking New Orleans. The place is steeped in Creole history. The family homestead is probably in the Garden District. Your grandmother would be the matriarch—as is proper in all of New Orleans society. There’s a scandal in your family’s past, probably something to do with a riverboat gambler or pirate. I’m betting the family money started in agriculture—rice or sugarcane probably—but at some point somebody wise invested in manufacturing or real estate. And you, since you have a bit of the rebel in you, decided not to toe the family line completely and studied law. At Tulane, I’m sure. Where you didn’t pledge the proper fraternity, but instead bought a motorcycle and got a tattoo. With your wild days behind you after law school, you went into a well-established practice back home. But after a while you decided you needed a new challenge and came here. Where I found you, being bored to smithereens by the hunting stories and name dropping of the Atlanta Country Club.” She paused and studied his blank expression with interest. “Pretty close, huh?”
Roaring with laughter, he hooked his arm around her waist, pulling her against him.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
His body continued to shake. “Absolutely. One hundred percent. That last observation was dead-on.”
She laid her hands against his chest and glared up at him. “Why do I have the feeling I’m more wrong than right?”
“Mmm.” He smiled broadly. “Well, let’s just say I’m not going to ask you to read a jury anytime soon.”
It was the smile that did it.
Her annoyance fell away. He was even more beautiful when he smiled. All he had to do was touch her, and suddenly she wasn’t quite so interested in her story as she was in the feel of his body against hers. The magic they generated. The warmth emanating from his skin. The spicy scent of his cologne.
His throat, just at eye level, begged for her touch. His lips, no doubt sweet and smoky from the drink, glistened. His erection, pressing against his pants, certainly had its own pleasurable agenda.
He tossed back the rest of his whiskey, then set his glass aside and didn’t make a move to get more. She could already taste him on her tongue.
With charm, money and looks like his, he was undoubtedly used to women throwing themselves at him. She was certainly one in a long line. But she didn’t care.
She had a package of condoms in her purse.
“I like the taste of whiskey better like this,” she said, then she cupped the back of his head and pulled him toward her waiting mouth.
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