Living in Shadow (Living In…) Page 7

A kiss that had blown her mind. Then his hand on the back of her neck. A firm grip, strong and yet gentle. That’s all it had taken for those long-buried instincts to kick in. Instincts that clearly weren’t going to stay buried.

  Yeah, she knew why she was here. The time for denying herself had passed. That kiss had made a lie out of her every denial and if that hadn’t, the way he’d held her certainly had.

  Maybe it was a bad decision, but she couldn’t go on the way she had been. Couldn’t bear the fear that lurked in her gut. That had consumed her the moment she’d first spoken to Luc, if she were being completely honest.

  One night, he’d said. They’d talk and then it was up to her what she did.

  Perhaps she owed it to herself to at least talk.

  Perhaps it’s not thinking you need, Professor.

  Ah Jesus, how he’d spotted that, she had no idea, but the moment he’d said it, she’d felt everything in her want it. She missed that not-thinking space. Missed it desperately.

  But in order to have it, she was going to have to trust and that was the thing she just didn’t know if she could give.

  Maybe that’s why she was here, ultimately. To find out if she could trust him.

  Sick of second-guessing herself, Eleanor put her hand on the door and pushed it open, stepping into the bar.

  Friday night in the middle of the city and the place was crowded with a mix of people: suits escaping their offices for end-of-the-week drinks, a group of media industry types who looked like they’d been there since lunchtime, a crowd of art students hanging out around a large table.

  The bar was done up to look like a library, shelves of old books against the walls and old wingback armchairs everywhere. A few couches and low tables for larger groups too, even a few desks with reading lights over them. It was eclectic and cool and exactly the kind of place she’d pick Luc liking.

  She gave the room a quick scan and when she didn’t immediately spot him, moved straight to the bar, ordering herself a glass of wine because, Christ, she needed it.

  It was only then that she saw a small alcove off to the side where there were more shelves of books and, right at the back, a long couch. The space was small and intimate, set apart from the rest of the bar. And it didn’t surprise her in the least to see Luc leaning back on that couch, long legs stretched out in front of him, talking on his phone.

  A helpless ache gathered low in her gut and she allowed herself a moment to look at him while his attention was on his conversation and while she waited for the bartender to get her wine.

  There was no denying the fact that he was beautiful, all lean strength and fierce masculinity. One arm lay along the back of the couch, the tattoos winding up his smooth, dark skin displayed like pictures in a gallery. Lines and dots, a sprinkling of stars, and a snarling tiger following the lean strength of his forearm and curve of his biceps.

  He was wearing what he’d had on earlier that day, dark jeans and a red T-shirt, nothing special, and yet all she seemed to be aware of was the way the denim pulled tight around his thighs and how the cotton of the T-shirt did nothing to disguise his broad chest.

  She hadn’t felt the urge to admire a man in years and now she couldn’t help herself.

  It’s a slippery slope.

  Yeah, well, she’d already fallen down it, hadn’t she?

  Cursing under her breath, she tore her gaze away, turning to pay for her wine as the bartender pushed it over to her. Picking up the glass, she began threading her way through the tables toward the alcove. Luc spotted her, dark eyes glittering, as she came closer. But he didn’t smile, the lines of his beautiful face hard.

  “You’ve displeased me, Eleanor. You need to be punished.”

  Oh God, what the fuck was Piers doing in her head? She didn’t want him there, like she didn’t want that old curl of lingering fear.

  By the time she reached the couch, she’d managed to push Piers to the back of her mind and Luc had finished up his conversation, leaning back and shifting in his seat as he slid his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. She tried not to notice the way his hips moved as he did so, the cotton of his T-shirt lifting enough to reveal a strip of smooth, brown skin.

  Her fingertips itched, wanting to touch, but she looked away instead, holding tight to her wineglass as she approached him. Pity there wasn’t another chair, only the other end of the couch.

  “Well, this is very cozy,” she said dryly, putting her glass down on the table and sitting down, trying to keep a good amount of space between them. “Are you sure you couldn’t have chosen a spot more out of the way?”

  “I wanted privacy.” He watched her intently, like a predator. Like a man who’d made a decision and was going to go ahead with it, no matter the cost.

  Eleanor couldn’t hold his gaze, looking away under the pretext of smoothing down her skirt then reaching for her wine, swallowing a mouthful to steady herself. It felt like he was different than before. Even more intent, if that was possible. Focused on her to a degree that unsettled her at the same time as it…

  Makes you wet?

  She shivered, swallowing more wine, the alcohol sharp in her mouth. Trying to relax, she leaned back against the couch, only to feel the brush of his fingertips between her shoulder blades. Goose bumps rose, a prickle of heat sweeping through her.

  “Lucien,” she said.

  His black eyes met hers. “I told you I wouldn’t make it easy for you.”

  “Talking first, you said. Or…” God, how she hated the small quaver in her voice, “…didn’t you mean it?”

  “I meant it. But my hand stays there.”

  Another shiver went through her. She desperately wanted to hold his stare, challenge him, but every instinct she possessed told her to look away. She fought it, keeping her gaze on his.

  Somehow their dynamic had changed. Somehow he’d taken charge in a way he hadn’t before. And she was responding to him the way she’d once responded to Piers…

  “No,” Luc said softly, his hand suddenly pressing against her back, the warmth of his palm oddly reassuring through the silk of her blouse. “You’re going into your head again, Eleanor. I can see it. We’re only going to talk, that’s all we’re doing. Understand?”

  Hating herself for her weakness, she gave in to her instinct and looked away again, taking another mouthful of wine. “So,” she said, striving to keep her voice level, “you’re apparently not a spoiled private-school brat after all, despite what your records say.”

  “No, I’m not.” The hand at her back didn’t move, the warmth soaking into her. He moved his thumb, stroking her spine and she found herself catching her breath. “I mean, I was born in New Zealand, but my mother was from the Ivory Coast and I spent most of my childhood in Africa.”

  Well, that explained his coloring and the faint French lilt of his accent. “Most of your childhood?”

  “I came back here when I was seventeen.” There was the minutest of pauses. “After my parents were killed in some political unrest.”

  Eleanor put down her wine, forgetting her unease as something curled up inside her chest. “Oh hell, I didn’t realize.”

  “Of course you didn’t. It’s not like that’s on my academic record.” His voice betrayed nothing. “Anyway, it’s been years. I came back here to live with my paternal grandparents. They’ve got money and sent me to King’s to get a decent education.”

  It wasn’t the whole story, she sensed that immediately. There was more there, but something told her not to push. There was a darkness in his eyes, the kind of darkness she’d seen in the eyes of people who’d experienced trauma or loss. The kind of darkness she’d seen once in Kahu’s eyes.

  Even in your own.

  She gave a minute shake of her head, not wanting that thought there either. “What was it like?” she asked carefully. “In Africa?”

  “It was different. Interesting. What about you? What’s your story?”

  She let him have the abrupt change of subject. �
��My story? My parents were academics so I kind of ended up doing the same. Let’s see… Got married too young. Got divorced. Ended up at the law school.” She reached out for her wine again, avoiding the look in his eyes. That intensity of focus was back.

  “You’re divorced?”

  “Like I said, married too young.”

  “What happened?”

  Helpless anger welled up inside her. She hadn’t pushed him, why did he feel the need to push her? “Did I ask you what happened to your parents?”

  The look on his face was impenetrable. “You want to get to know me, but I’m not allowed to ask about you? That’s not going to work, Professor.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Why not? It’s what you are.”

  She tried to ease the tension gathering in her gut. “You keep saying it, though. You like the kink of it? Is that what this is about?”

  He moved, leaning forward, the hand at her back pressing firmly against her, igniting the heat in her blood. “Stop attacking me, Eleanor.” His face was inches from hers, staring at her. “I know you’re hurting, but I’m not the enemy here.”

  She stared back, feeling raw and exposed all of a sudden. Tears pricked behind her lids, shocking her. Christ, where the fuck was all this coming from? “I’m not attacking you,” she said, her voice husky.

  He shifted again, leaning forward even farther and reaching down, the warm slide of his finger curling around her calf. “You are. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it, but you need to stop. We’re only talking, okay?”

  Her breath caught and a helpless shiver swept over her, every single nerve ending sensitized to his touch. “I d-don’t want you to touch me,” she forced out, her mouth dry.

  “Yes you do.” She couldn’t escape the way he looked at her, studying her like she was a riddle he wanted to solve. “You’re desperate for me to touch you. But you’re afraid and I don’t know why.”

  Look away, look away.

  Hands trembling, Eleanor reached for her glass, drained it. “It’s no big deal,” she said, saying the first thing that came into her head, anything so she didn’t have to admit what she knew was waiting for her. That no matter what she said, no matter what she told herself, the fear that had dogged her after she left Piers continued to do so. “I met my husband in the States, but we ended up living here. Our marriage went…bad. He didn’t much like New Zealand and couldn’t settle. The divorce was painful and messy and in the end…he went home.” It was the barest of bones, but that was all he was going to get. She didn’t want to tell him anything more. Didn’t want to grant him any more power over her than he already had.

  God, perhaps coming here was a mistake. A giant fucking mistake.

  “My parents were shot right in front of me,” Luc murmured, his thumb moving slowly over her skin. “I was twelve. It made coming back to New Zealand very, very difficult. My grandparents tried hard. They helped me settle in here, made sure I did a couple of years at the best private school and pulled some strings to get me into the law school since I didn’t have the best grades initially.” The brush of his thumb was steady, sending little tongues of flame licking over her skin. “But I don’t think this place will ever feel like home to me. I don’t think anywhere ever will.”

  Eleanor held herself motionless, slightly dizzy from the wine and the heat of his touch, struggling with the fact that he’d given her a piece of himself. A dark, jagged piece.

  His parents shot in front of him. A twelve-year-old boy. Fucking hell.

  That must have been the trauma she’d spotted in his eyes. The sense that he was much older than his twenty-five years. Because, God, watching your parents die would destroy the innocence of any kid. Did you ever heal from something like that? Or did you carry it around with you forever?

  Perhaps that explained his intensity, his determination. Perhaps he was searching for meaning.

  “Why did you tell me that?” she asked hoarsely.

  “Because you need something from me and I don’t know what it is. But I want to give it to you.” He shifted on the couch again, his hand sliding up behind her knee, thumb continuing to stroke “I don’t want you to be scared, Eleanor. I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I don’t want you to be afraid of this… Because I think you want it as badly as I do.”

  Yes she did. But it was difficult to contemplate that after what he’d revealed and with the fear that was coursing through her. Where there was a voice in her head telling her she was making the same mistake she’d made all those years ago. When she’d let Piers take control.

  The way he’s still in control now…

  She blinked and tore her gaze from Luc’s, staring down at her skirt, suddenly cold all over.

  Was he? Was Piers really still in control of her? Even eight years after their marriage ended.

  You know he is.

  She closed her eyes, grief catching in her throat. The violence she’d experienced wasn’t comparable with what had happened to Luc, and yet that determined look in his eyes showed he was strong despite it.

  Why couldn’t she be that way? What had happened to her strength?

  She was supposed to be the professor, the one in charge, the one with authority. She’d thought she was strong. But not compared to him she wasn’t.

  “This is a mistake,” she said thickly. “I shouldn’t have agreed to meet you, Lucien. I’m sorry.”

  His hand moved up her spine, to the back of her neck, gripping her. And she couldn’t help herself, she froze.

  “Look at me,” he said, steel in his voice.

  She trembled, her eyes shut, not wanting him to see.

  His fingers tightened on the back of her neck. “Look. At. Me. Eleanor.”

  The command was irresistible. She opened her eyes, lifted her head and met his gaze.

  He didn’t say anything, merely looked at her. And she felt like she could fall into the velvet blackness of his eyes forever.

  Luc reached for her, his hands gripping her waist, hauling her into his lap. The movement took her utterly by surprise so she had no time to protest, no time to think. One moment she was getting ready to leave, the next she was being held in his arms. He reached up to the back of her head, pulling out the pins in her bun and scattering them everywhere, running his fingers through her hair so it fell down her back and over her shoulders. Then he gripped it tight in his fists and held her steady.

  And he kissed her. Hard.

  For a moment she was absolutely rigid in his arms. Then her mouth opened beneath his and all that heat and passion he’d tasted earlier that day came flooding out.

  She kissed him like she was desperate. Like she was escaping from something.

  Perhaps it had been wrong to take her like this, but he’d had enough. He could see her fear, could sense it running through her like a current of icy water in a warm tropical sea. Maybe it had something to do with that marriage she’d talked about, he didn’t know. But one thing he was sure of: it went deeper than all the professor/student shit.

  Earlier in the day, a kiss and a hand on the back of her neck had broken through that fear. So he’d made the decision, even before she’d arrived at the bar, to take control again. She’d told him she didn’t want to think. And shit, he could help her with that.

  Dominance games weren’t something he’d indulged in with women, though he’d been asked. They were reminders of what he’d seen in the militia, of how men in positions of power could abuse people, women especially. His control and his detachment were all that had separated him from those fucking animals and he had to keep hold of both.

  Yet it seemed like she needed this from him. In which case, to hell with his own qualms. Maybe tonight he’d let go of his rules so he could give her what she wanted.

  Oh sure, it’s all about her.

  Okay, so he couldn’t kid himself he didn’t want this too. Yeah, he’d give her what he could, but he’d also make sure he got a little something for himself. Selfish m
aybe, but, Christ, he’d taken lives. It would be so fucking good to deal out pleasure for a change.

  Luc pulled her head back then gripped her chin, holding her as he deepened the kiss. She didn’t resist, her body melting against his as if she’d been waiting for this moment for weeks. For years. Centuries.

  Then he let his hand drop to the thin silk of her blouse, cupping the curve of her breast in his palm. She shuddered in response, jerking slightly as he swept his thumb over her nipple, feeling it harden under his touch. He did it again and she made a soft, throaty sound that had his already hard cock aching so he almost couldn’t bear it. The soft weight of her in his lap had him wanting to jerk her skirt up even higher and pull aside her panties, sink himself into all of that softness, all of that heat.

  The rest of the world began to fade away. He held the sun in his hands and she was burning, her heat seeping through his clothes, into his skin. Into the cold recesses of his heart. The dark, numb places the years with Inza’s militia had created.

  For the first time since he’d gotten back to New Zealand, he felt like he was actually alive, not a dead man walking.

  “Tell me you want me,” he ordered softly. “Tell me you want me inside you, fucking you.”

  Her hands were on his hips, gripping him as tightly as he was gripping her, the tremble of her body slight but constant, like an earthquake was shaking her. “Yes…” her voice a whisper, “…I want you.”

  He pinched her nipple through her blouse, the fingers of his other hand twisted in her pale hair. “Say the rest.”

  “I want you inside me…fucking me.”

  The raw sound of the words hit him hard. How many times had he fantasized about her saying that exact thing? In a voice just like that, all thick and breathy with desire. He dropped his hand from her breast and pushed it beneath her skirt, fingers sliding along the silky skin of her thigh.

  Jesus, what are you doing? You’re in a public place, for fuck’s sake.

  The thought came dimly. But shit, he couldn’t stop now. Stopping now would give her room to start thinking, start being afraid again. And he didn’t want her afraid. He wanted to take that fear away from her entirely.