Bad Intentions by Tara Wyatt
3
December, three and a half years ago
Lucian checked his watch, cursing under his breath as he stepped out of the Town car, light snowflakes falling around him and landing on the wool of his thick coat. The townhouse rose up before him, straddling the border between Lenox Hill and the Upper East Side, Central Park just a block away. The townhouse was lit up from the inside, and the sounds of Christmas music, laughter and tinkling glasses spilled out into the night from the open window, inviting and warm.
It felt as though he’d stepped into a different world from the one he’d been inhabiting just an hour ago, where he’d had to deal with a member of the Bratva who’d been caught selling information to a member of the Italian mafia, betraying his Russian brethren. Normally, the Russians sorted their own shit out—God knew they didn’t have any patience for Lucian or the Kings of Hell’s Kitchen. But the Italians felt that one of their own had gone behind their back, trying to use the information for his own gain instead of the benefit of the entire family.
It had been a bloody interrogation. But it was over now, and the disputes were settled. And now, here he stood, wearing a suit and pretending he hadn’t had blood on his hands an hour ago.
He’d never been to Gavin Walsh’s home before, but he’d been invited to the annual Walsh Assets Christmas party, so here he was on a Friday night in December, staring up at the sixty-million-dollar home, wondering if one of those windows was her bedroom.
Olivia.
Ever since the night of her twenty-first birthday nearly a year and a half ago, when he’d tricked her into an Uber instead of taking her home and fucking her senseless like he’d wanted, she’d been under his skin, deeper than a tattoo. He’d seen her briefly several times over the past eighteen months—at a Yankees game, a few Walsh Assets events, a handful of times at a bar or club he owned. He’d never allowed himself to be alone with her, and never allowed himself to spend more than ten minutes—tops—flirting with her.
He was an asshole for how much he liked it. How badly he hoped he’d see her at one of her father’s events. He’d hoped that this pull he felt toward her—although pull didn’t seem to be a strong enough word for the hurricane force that seemed to push him toward her whenever she was near—would dull with time, but if anything, it was stronger and sharper than ever. Every time he saw her, she was more beautiful. More vibrant and enticing and breathtakingly sexy. She had a spark that he was drawn to in a way he’d never experienced before. It was her intelligence and quick wit, her confidence and sense of humor. It was every single tiny fucking thing about her. About this woman who was nearly twenty years younger than him and had no idea who he actually was. Had no idea the horrible, gruesome things he was capable of.
He sighed and flexed his knuckles, knowing they’d be sore tomorrow, and then headed up the stone steps and into the townhouse. An elaborate garland, thick with red and gold balls and woven through with plaid ribbon, wound its way around the wrought-iron railing of the curving stairway, and two enormous poinsettias sat on the marble tables in the entryway. The air smelled like cinnamon and roasting nuts and he took a deep breath, feeling some of the tension of the day ebb away. An attendant took his coat and indicated that guests were in the living room to his right.
The room was massive, the ceiling at least two stories high, and a towering Christmas tree sat at the far end, centered in the bay window that looked out onto the street. Golden lights twinkled, glinting against the gold and red ornaments hanging from the thick branches. The space around it had been turned into a makeshift dance floor, with several couples spinning around to Mariah Carey, talking and laughing, faces bright with festive cheer. A fire roared in the soaring stone fireplace, and dozens of guests mingled, talking and laughing, helping themselves to hors d’oeuvres, eggnog, and champagne from the trays of the circulating wait staff. A balcony looked out over the living room from the upper floor, and several more guests had made themselves comfortable there, watching the party below.
The atmosphere was bright and cheery, warm and welcoming. Lucian felt wholly and completely out of place among all of this easy happiness. He didn’t have room in his life for something this simple. This normal. He felt as though any minute now, someone was going to realize he didn’t belong here and ask him to leave, to take his bloodstained hands elsewhere.
He scanned the space, his eyes darting from face to face. He’d assumed—hoped—she was going to be here, but maybe she had better things to do on a Friday night than…
Everything inside him lit up at the sight of her as she moved out from behind the man she’d been talking to. Her hair fell around her shoulders in loose waves, the golden light catching the bronzed highlights woven through the thick strands. She wore a form-fitting long-sleeved navy blue dress encrusted with sequins that dipped into a low V and ended several inches above her knees. Lucian’s gaze traveled down her legs—legs he’d fantasized about having wrapped around him so many times he’d lost count—taking in her strappy silver heels.
As though she could feel his eyes on her, she glanced in his direction, her face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning at the sight of him, her eyes bright and a wide smile stretching across her pretty face. Her reaction made his pulse pick up, a heavy throb he felt through his entire body, including his aching knuckles that would be swollen tomorrow. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and started toward him when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Lucian! I didn’t think you were going to make it,” said Gavin, looking happy and relaxed, a glass of eggnog in one hand.
Lucian shot him a placating smile. “I’m sorry. I got held up with something.”
Gavin wagged a finger at him. “You work too hard! Come on, let’s get you a drink.” Glancing over his shoulder at Olivia, he followed Gavin toward the bar that had been set up in the kitchen at the back of the townhouse.
He didn’t manage to disentangle himself from Gavin and the conversation he’d pulled him into with several other CEOs until at least thirty minutes had passed, maybe longer. He’d stopped paying attention to the conversation about the merits of stock dividends over cash, instead cutting his eyes toward the living room when he was sure no one was looking at him, watching Olivia flit from guest to guest, completely charming and vivacious and so, so gorgeous it almost hurt to look at her.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the conversation petered out and everyone drifted off to find another drink or something to eat or another guest to bore. Lucian tossed back the rest of his scotch, savoring the warming path it cut down the center of his chest, then set it down with a clack on the kitchen island. A man on a mission, he headed back into the living room, brimming with even more guests than before. He wanted his tiny taste of Olivia, even knowing that she could never be his. That nothing could ever happen between them. But he wanted that tiny taste all the same. Craved it like a hit of nicotine. Had been looking forward to it all damn week.
He spotted a flash of navy sequins to the right of the Christmas tree as Olivia danced with Kenneth Rawlings, one of Gavin’s long-time business partners. Rubbing a hand over his mouth, knowing he was the world’s biggest bastard, he crossed the living room toward them, weaving between the couples dancing to Tony Bennett in front of the Christmas tree.
“Kenneth, so nice to see you,” he said casually, Olivia’s gaze on him warming him from the inside out. “May I cut in?”
Kenneth tipped his head and stepped away from Olivia, giving her arm a paternal squeeze. “Good luck with your schooling, dear,” he said before turning and sauntering away through the crowd.
As Ella Fitzgerald began singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” he slid his arm around Olivia’s waist and tucked her hand into his, pulling her close. Her warm vanilla scent hit him like a punch in the gut, making his pulse pound through his veins and his cock thicken.
“Hi,” she said, grinning from ear to ear as she laid her other hand on his shoulder, her body molding to his as they moved to the music. “I thought maybe you weren’t coming.”
“I had some business to take care of,” he said, flexing his fingers into her waist. She whimpered softly, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment. “How are you?”
She opened her eyes and bit her lip, twisting his insides into something hot and desperate. “Good. School is good. Life is good. No boyfriend, by the way.” She leaned closer, her breasts pressing against his chest. “Just in case you were wondering,” she added, her breath warm against the skin of his neck. She wasn’t short, but even with her heels on, she was still several inches shorter than him.
“You’re enjoying Pratt?” he asked, steering the conversation back into safer waters, just like he always did.
She nodded slowly. “Yeah. I am. But I don’t really want to talk about school tonight.” She wrinkled her adorable little nose and he chuckled, sliding his hand from her waist to the small of her back, splaying his fingers wide enough that the tip of his pinky barely grazed the swell of her luscious ass.
She blinked slowly and swallowed, arching her back slightly. Unable to help himself, he traced a small circle with his thumb, teasing her—hell, teasing both of them—through the sequined fabric of her dress.
“What do you want to talk about then, Olivia?” he asked, lowering his voice, anticipation thrilling through him. This was exactly what he’d been living for all damn week.
“We could talk about how sexy you look in this suit,” she purred, sliding her hand from his shoulder to the lapel of his jacket. “We could talk about how we’re both here without dates.” She leaned in close again, this time winding her arm around his neck. Blood rushed to his cock, making him throb and ache for her. “Or we could talk about the fact that my bedroom is right upstairs, and the walls in this house are very thick.”
“Are they? And how would you know that?”
She grinned at him, heat coiling tight in his stomach. “I like to play loud music.” She gave a small shrug. “But we can talk about something else besides how thick certain things are.” At that, she pressed her hips against him and then let out a small gasp. Their eyes locked and it took every ounce of self-control he had not to do something completely indecent in the middle of her father’s Christmas party. He let out a small, gruff sound, teasing his pinky a little lower.
“Have you been a good girl this year?”
Heat blazed in her eyes. “I think we both know I’m not a good girl, Lucian.” She arched up and he leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear. “Unless you want me to be your good girl, because that’s another story.”
Holy fuck, this was the sweetest kind of torture, this verbal foreplay for sex that couldn’t ever happen. He sucked in a breath, trying to get a handle on the lust surging through his veins. With her sweet, warm body pressed against him, her scent filling his nostrils as she whispered forbidden things in his ear, it was taking a Herculean effort not to back her into the wall, lift her legs around his waist and kiss the everloving shit out of her.
“I’m too old for you,” he said, his voice coming out rough around the edges as arousal churned through him. It was the same thing he always said when she flirted with him, as he pretended he wasn’t actually interested in her.
They both knew he was full of shit.
“No, you’re not,” she whispered, her expression more earnest and less teasing than usual. It made his heart stop for a full second and then restart at double time, pounding madly away in his chest.
He dipped his head, inhaling, pulling more of her scent into his lungs. “You look beautiful tonight. I don’t think I told you that yet.”
“You didn’t need to,” she said, her own voice huskier than he’d ever heard it. She pressed her hips into him again and he fought back a groan. Fuck, they were in the middle of a Christmas party, fully clothed, and he was ready to ravage her. To tear her clothes off and maul her, not stopping until they were sweaty and sated. Until they were covered in each other and unable to move. She swallowed thickly, her fingers weaving into the hair at the nape of his neck. “So, what did you ask Santa for this year, Lucian? I’m sure you’ve been a very good boy.”
He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m too old to believe in Santa.” She laughed and then he brushed his nose against her cheek. “And I’m not a good guy, Olivia. You need to know that.” He could never tell her the truth, but he could at least give her this. This scrap of information as to why, beyond age, they could never happen.
She tilted her head back, studying him. “I don’t think that’s true. I think you’re smart, and successful and hard-working. You don’t seem like a bad guy to me.” Her eyes flicked upward and she smiled, a blush spreading across her cheeks. “We’re under the mistletoe.”
He glanced up, and sure enough, they were directly under the rounded leafy bouquet that was held together with red ribbon and dangling from the ceiling.
“Well, we can’t shun tradition,” he murmured. His skin went hot and tight as he leaned in slowly. His lips brushed against her cheek, barely even a kiss. Her skin was so soft, so warm against his lips that it took everything he had to pull back and not move his head a few inches to the right, capturing her lips with his.
“Oh,” she whispered, half moan, half gasp. Her eyes, dark and glittering with need, held his, an electric current passing between them. Christ, he wanted her. He wanted her more than he’d thought it was possible to want a woman, and not just because she was so fucking sexy he was ready to explode. He loved the teasing, the way he felt when he was with her. She made him feel alive in a way that always made him want more, even though he knew he couldn’t have it.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth and he was seriously wondering what the harm in one little kiss could be. One taste of that gorgeous mouth…He’d just started to lean in when his phone rang from his front jacket pocket, startling them apart.
Flashing her an apologetic smile, he fished it out, frowning when he saw Luca’s name on the screen.
“Yes?” he answered, pacing a few steps away from Olivia and toward the Christmas tree.
“We have a problem.”
His heart sank into his stomach. “What kind of problem?”
“Sasha thinks we’ve been hacked.”
Lucian pressed a hand to his forehead, tension radiating down his neck. “Fuck. Okay. I’m on my way.” He ended the call and tucked his phone back in his pocket, then scrubbed a hand over his face, his chest tight.
Depending on who’d hacked them and what information had been found, this could be bad. Very, very bad. They needed to find out who knew what and silence anyone who posed a threat to them or anyone they worked with.
More blood. There was always more blood.
“I have to go,” he said, turning back to Olivia. “Work emergency.”
Her eyebrows rose and she nodded. “Oh. Okay. Well, it was nice to see you,” she said, smiling ruefully. “Guess I’ll see you around.”
She started to walk away, and he reached out, grabbing her hand and pulling her back toward him.
“Believe me, I wish I didn’t have to go.” He kissed her cheek again, firmer this time, lingering longer than he knew he should. “Merry Christmas, Olivia.”
Her eyes met his again, and he could see the disappointment shining out at him. “Merry Christmas, Lucian.” She slipped into the crowd, weaving her way toward the kitchen, not looking back.
