Bad Intentions by Tara Wyatt

5

June, three years ago

Olivia wasn’t opposed to charity. Of course she wasn’t. There were a lot of really wonderful organizations who did important work, both in New York City and all over the world, and she was more than happy to support them, either through donations or time. But charity events? Not her cup of tea, at all. They were stuffy and boring and full of phony rich people pretending they cared about whatever the cause du jour was, but really they were there to see and be seen, to drink free champagne and pretend they were philanthropists. She hated it. It was all so fake. But, her father had asked her to come to the annual gala put on by the children’s hospital, and while she hated charity events, she loved her father, so she’d said yes. She knew it was a ploy to get her out of the house out of the funk she’d been in, but she’d played along.

She’d picked out a two-piece gown, her tiny rebellion against the stuffiness of the event. The top was black lace and long sleeved, ending a couple of inches below her breasts, leaving a swath of skin exposed before the flowing gold skirt started at her waist. It was just sexy enough without being scandalous, which was generally the line she flirted with.

Not that there was anyone here to appreciate it. Brent had broken up with her a few weeks ago and she didn’t think Lucian would be at an event like this.

Oh, God. Lucian. At the thought of his name, her mind flitted back to the last time she’d seen him, over a month ago now at her father’s offices for a meeting. She’d stopped by to see if her dad wanted to grab lunch and had found Lucian there, looking sexy as hell, as usual. They’d only chatted for a moment, but she’d replayed it over and over again for weeks, just like she always did after seeing him.

She didn’t know who she was to him, if their flirting was just a fun little game, or if it was something more. It was a hell of a lot more to her, but he was hard to read. She knew he was attracted to her, but was the connection between them deeper than attraction? She liked to think that it was, but given how he always pulled away, she wasn’t entirely sure.

She glanced around the hotel’s ballroom, decorated in opulent swags of cream and gold fabric hanging from the ceiling. Dozens of couples swayed to the jazz band on the dance floor, while others flitted from table to table, chatting and laughing and patting themselves on the back. Her father was deep in conversation with several men she didn’t know, and a flicker of annoyance flared to life inside her. He’d asked her to come, but he’d basically left her on her own while he schmoozed. Helping herself to a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray, she headed for the silent auction near the front of the room, perusing the donated pieces of art, gift certificates for luxury hotel stays, luggage, a case of vintage wine…

She’d just scribbled her name and a bid on the sheet for Bruno Mars tickets when she heard a familiar voice behind her. Brent. Fucking Brent. Of course.

“…but then I couldn’t decide which side looked better, you know? Because our faces aren’t perfectly symmetrical—most people at least—so we all have a good side and a bad side.”

Olivia stared at the line of clipboards in front of her, not turning around, willing him with every single cell in her body to just go away. God, if she’d known that Brent was going to be here, she never would’ve come. He’d been the first guy she’d dated in a long time that she’d actually had more than a passing interest in. Handsome, successful, funny—when he wasn’t talking about himself, anyway—he’d actually managed to distract her from the one man she really wanted. But he’d broken up with her, telling her he just wanted to be single for a while to focus on work and his personal development.

Whatever. Fine.

A woman’s shrill laugh pealed through the air, making her skin crawl, and she turned around slowly, not wanting to attract attention with her movement. Sure enough, there stood Brent about eight feet away, his arm looped around the waist of a woman with long, dark hair and a pair of enormous fake boobs that were nearly falling out of her white dress. She was wearing more makeup than Olivia wore in a month and her lips were inflated like a pair of red-painted pillows. It was a miracle she was able to drink without dribbling all over herself.

Olivia sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead, stopping her toxic train of thought in its tracks. Judging this woman wasn’t fair. She didn’t know her. She was reacting because she felt blindsided not only by seeing Brent when she hadn’t been expecting to, but because he’d clearly lied about wanting to be single. He’d wanted to date someone—just not her, apparently.

She shuffled to the side, trying to escape without being seen, but fate or luck or whatever wasn’t on her side because he noticed her.

“Olivia? Oh wow, Olivia. Hey, it’s nice to see you,” he said, doing that fake jovial thing she hated.

She turned and plastered a smile on her face. “Brent, hi. I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight.”

He suddenly froze and then gestured to the woman beside him. “This is my…ah…my date, Jelena.” At his hesitation his date flashed him an annoyed look. “You look great! What a nice surprise, seeing you here.”

“Uh huh,” she said, taking a swig of her champagne. “How’s the personal development going?” She shot him a look, her eyes narrowed. “Since, you know. That seemed so important to you not that long ago.”

“We just got back from Bali!” said Jelena, leaning into Brent. “It was amazing, wasn’t it, babe?”

Spidey senses tingling, Olivia turned her most charming smile on Jelena. “That sounds totally amazing. You guys make such an attractive couple. How long have you been dating?”

All of the blood drained from Brent’s face as Jelena smiled at Olivia. “Oh, not long. Like three months.”

Olivia let out a small chuckle and closed her eyes for a moment, willing away the urge to throw her glass of champagne in Brent’s face. He’d already been dating Jelena when they’d gotten together, and then he’d broken up with her when he’d decided she wasn’t the jump off he was looking for.

Olivia’s smile turned slightly bitter. “Good for you. Brent and I only dated for a few weeks. As a matter of fact, I think we broke up just before you left for Bali.” Then she smirked at Brent. “I’d say it was nice seeing you, but I’m not the liar you are, apparently.”

“Wait, that’s not—” He sputtered, but she spun on her heel, needing to put some space between them. No way in hell was she going to let him see how upset and humiliated she was feeling, knowing that he’d only ever seen her as a side piece.

She stepped out onto the terrace, grateful for the cool air swirling around her, soothing her overheated skin. It was empty, completely devoid of guests, save for one, a tall man in a suit over in the far corner who was leaning against the railing, staring out at the city below. Perfect. She wasn’t looking for company. She started toward the opposite end of the terrace when the man shifted slightly and then took a drag of his cigarette, the orange glow illuminating the planes of a very familiar face.

Her heart beat faster, her skin tingling at the completely unexpected sight of Lucian. A smile twitching at her lips, she strode slowly toward him, her eyes roving up and down his body, appreciating the masculine grace and tightly coiled strength barely hidden beneath Italian wool.

“That’s a filthy habit, you know,” she said, leaning her forearms against the railing.

Lucian chuckled, took a drag on his cigarette and then blew the stream of smoke away from her. He stubbed it out, shooting her a rueful smile. “I know. And I don’t usually—”

She cut him off with a soft laugh, rolling her eyes. “I’ve been around you enough to have seen that pack of Dunhills in your jacket pocket more than once.” She turned to face him, leaning her elbow on the railing. It didn’t matter how many times she laid eyes on him, her stomach always did this ridiculous flippy floppy thing, like she was on the world’s most exciting roller coaster. “You don’t have to hide who you are with me, you know.”

The smile on his lips faltered and he turned back to look out over the city again. The sounds of traffic rose up from below, permeating the air with the sounds of city life.

“Can I have one?” she asked, not because she wanted one—yuck—but because she wanted to push his buttons. Maybe it was wrong how much she enjoyed pushing them, but it was just so tempting and fun. And she could use a hit of sexual-tension fueled fun right now.

He cut his eyes at her, shaking his head. “No.”

“You know, you have a real knack for that,” she said, blowing out a long breath.

“For what?” He arched an eyebrow.

She bit her lip, meeting his eyes in the dim light. “Not giving me what I want.”

“Mmm,” he rumbled, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Or maybe I have a knack for protecting you from dangerous things.” His deep brown gaze seared into her. “Things that are bad for you.”

“Uh huh,” she said, rolling her eyes again. “If you start talking about how you’re too old for me, I’m going to leave.” She glanced back in the direction of the party, her shoulders feeling heavy.

Then he tilted his head, studying her. “What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning.

God, it was infuriating the way he could read her so easily and still manage to keep her at arm’s length.

“My ex is in there with his new girlfriend. Or rather, his old girlfriend.” She turned to face the railing, leaning her arms on the cool metal. She looked out over the city, wanting to open up to him, but also feeling the tiniest bit shattered at what she’d learned. A breeze washed over her, making her hair swirl around her shoulders. “Turns out, I was the side chick, and I wasn’t interesting enough or pretty enough or whatever to keep him interested. I mean, if I’d known he had a girlfriend, I would’ve never…” She trailed off, shaking her head, her cheeks hot, her eyes burning. She didn’t want Brent, and she certainly didn’t want to be anyone’s dirty little secret, but she felt humiliated all the same. Raw and vulnerable.

Lucian stayed completely silent for so long that she glanced over at him. His eyes were glued to her, blazing hot with indignant fury. “Do I need to go punch someone in the fucking mouth in there?” he ground out, gesturing at the ballroom behind them.

The fact that he looked ready to kill Brent for her sent a hot thrill charging through her, chasing away some of her embarrassment at the situation. “As much as I’d love to see that, it’d only make the situation worse. Let me just…” She held up her finger and closed her eyes, then smiled. “I’m picturing it and it’s perfect. You’ve got a mean right hook.”

He chuckled softly and when she opened her eyes again, he was staring at her, his expression a combination of hunger and restraint, care and need. It undid something inside her, and she swallowed thickly, her pulse pounding fast and hard in her temples.

“I can’t…” He shook his head. “I can’t believe someone would treat you like that.”

She shrugged. “My fuck boy radar failed me this time.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Fuck boy?”

She laughed, feeling lighter and lighter with each passing minute she spent with him. “Yeah, fuck boy. It’s what we youngsters call a douche who doesn’t respect women, who uses people, who’s allergic to any kind of commitment or responsibility. Fuck boys are selfish and full of themselves and they play with people for their own amusement. They toy with emotions.”

A shadow crossed over Lucian’s face, and he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t think I’m a fuck boy, do you?” His eyebrows drew together in concern and her lips parted. He’d never once given any indication that he cared what she thought of him—until now.

She swallowed, her skin tingling where the tips of his fingers had grazed her. “No,” she said, gazing up at him. “I don’t think you’re a fuck boy, Lucian. First of all, I think you’re a man, not a boy, which is one of the reasons I like you so much. You’ve never treated me disrespectfully, and you don’t give off a selfish, self-absorbed vibe. I don’t think you use people.”

Shocking the hell out of her, he reached out and wove his fingers with hers. Everything inside her went molten at the unexpected contact, the simple tenderness of it. “I want you to know that I don’t deliberately toy with you. I don’t see you as some plaything, here for my amusement.”

Her breath hitched in her chest and she traced her thumb over his knuckles, savoring the feel of his skin against hers. “How do you see me, then?” she asked, so quietly the question was almost snatched away by the evening breeze.

He shifted a tiny bit closer. “I see you as a beautiful, smart, incredible woman who deserves the world. I think you’re amazing, and anyone who doesn’t see that is a fucking moron. Any man would be crazy not to want you.”

“And are you crazy?” she asked, her voice soft and raspy. “Is the flirting just flirting and nothing more?”

He held her eyes, shaking his head slowly. “It’s not just flirting.” He let out a ragged breath. “You know you mean something to me.” He dipped his head, his nose grazing against her cheek. “I’m fucking crazy with wanting you.”

“Lucian,” she said, tilting her face up toward his. “What are we doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why aren’t we together? We both want it. I don’t understand.”

He dipped his head again, his lips skating over the skin of her neck. She let out a shuddery moan and tipped her head to the side, wanting more. So much more.

“Because there’s a lot you don’t know about me, Liv. My life is complicated. I wish I could offer you what you want, but I can’t. We…it would be too complicated.”

“So…so it’s not just an age thing?” she asked, whimpering as his lips traced down her neck.

“There’s that, too,” he said, his voice low and growly.

“How can we uncomplicate it?” she asked, hope blossoming inside her.

He straightened, shaking his head. “We can’t.”

She pulled her hand away gently when it became obvious he wasn’t going to give her anything more than that. “I see.” She glanced back toward the ballroom and took a step in that direction. “I guess I’ll head back to the party.” Confusion and hurt warred inside her, squashing the hope she’d felt just a moment ago. Brent didn’t want her. Lucian didn’t want her—not really. Maybe there was something fundamentally lacking in her.

She’d taken another step in the direction of the ballroom when Lucian reached out and curled his fingers around her wrist, tugging her against him. He cupped her face with his massive hands, his thumbs tracing over her cheekbones. His eyes held hers, pinning her in place.

“I wish things were different,” he said quietly, the expression on his face one of pure torment. “I need you to know that.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and she felt the slight tremble in his hands. “My life is dangerous, Liv,” he whispered. “And I’m not the man you think I am.”

He released her and turned back to face the railing, his hand diving into his jacket and emerging with that pack of Dunhills. She was half-tempted to grab it and throw the damn thing over the railing, but she knew that being a brat wouldn’t solve anything. It wouldn’t assuage this ache deep inside her. With a sigh of frustration, she turned and headed back into the ballroom. She felt disappointed, defeated.

But this, whatever this was between her and Lucian, it wasn’t over. Not by a longshot.