When I’m with You (Because You Are Mine #2)(18)
Author: Beth Kery

No. He wouldn’t deny himself. Not this time.

The sun was just rising over the lake when Elise got off the bus on inner Lake Shore Drive and started walking west on Division Street. The slow ascent of the fiery orb seemed to match the inevitable rise of her anxiety as she neared State and Division . . . and Lucien. She’d seen little of him over the past few days as she was absorbed with her duties, and was nervous at the idea of spending one on one time with him. If only he’d suggested she go with Evan or Javier, she might have been able to disguise her relative ignorance on the topic of marketing. As things stood, she was bound to make a fool of herself in front of Lucien.

She sensed him watching her from where he stood beneath a storefront awning, sipping a cup of coffee.

“Good morning,” he said when she approached. His gray eyes looked especially light in the shadow of the awning. They lowered over her appreciatively.

“Hello,” she returned, feeling a little shy beneath his warm stare. He looked very sexy in a pair of well-fitted jeans and a dark red T-shirt that showed off a lean, muscular torso and powerful arms to eye-catching effect. The casual apparel had the effect of making him seem a tad more approachable but every bit as appealing, reminding Elise of a sexy rock star instead of his typical businessman persona.

His T-shirt was partially tucked in to his jeans in the front, revealing a thick black leather belt with silver buckle that rode low on his lean hips. She belatedly realized he was handing her a cup of coffee. Her cheeks heated. She’d been caught in the act of staring at his thighs and the way his jeans cupped his sex.

“Thank you,” she murmured, grateful for the coffee at such an early hour. She immediately took a drink. Her eyes widened in pleasure.

“Café crème,” she said, grinning. “You even remembered how I take it.”

His smile made something hitch in her chest. “I remembered that you took it practically with equal parts coffee, cream, and sugar as a girl. Do you really still like it that sweet?” he teased.

She took another sip, her sigh of satisfaction his answer. He chuckled and put his hand on her elbow, urging her to walk.

“Did the cab drop you off in the wrong place?” he asked as they made their way toward the bustling outdoor market.

“What? Oh, no,” she said, realizing he’d probably seen her walking toward him from blocks away. “I took the bus.”

He blinked. “The bus?”

She dug into the pocket of her small backpack and pulled out a card. “My CTA pass. Do you have any idea how convenient these things are? Between buses and the L, I can go anywhere in Chicago,” she said, the amazement in her voice genuine. Learning to navigate around had been an oddly liberating experience for her, invigorating, to jump onto a vehicle and blend anonymously with the vibrant flow of humanity, to become a single cell in the lifeblood of the city.

His eyes gleamed in amusement. “You hold it up like it’s a badge of honor.”

“It is.”

“Étoile would make quite the headline out of that,” he murmured, referring to the French tabloid she hated with a white-hot passion for sensationalizing her life and using it as fodder to sell papers. “Fair-Haired Heiress Caught Slumming It,” he quoted an imagined headline.

“Screw Étoile,” she said succinctly. She hitched her chin at the crowd of people bustling around them, intent on their marketing in the early morning light. “I’m willing to bet they don’t even know what Étoile is, and nor would they care. They could care less about who my father is. They’ve never gobbled up the slop about my supposed love life. Most of them wouldn’t remember my mother’s movies—”

“Or have ever heard of my father’s name, let alone his crimes.”

She came to a halt, startled that he’d mentioned his father. He paused as well and touched her cheek, as if to erase her amazed expression. Her breath caught at the unexpected, tender caress. His fingertips lingered, warm and firm against her skin.

“We are both fugitives here, I think,” he murmured.

“I prefer to think of myself as an adventurer,” she replied in a hushed tone. His flashing smile was like an injection of adrenaline straight into one of her veins.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, his gaze lowering over the floral sundress she’d donned for the warm summer day.

“Thank you, but I’d rather just look like a chef.”

“An adventuresome chef?” he asked, looking amused and . . . warm. She smiled, fully enthralled.

The delicate, charmed moment fractured when he begun to dig in his jeans pocket, the motion distracting her. He withdrew a wad of bills and handed them to her. “Just get a receipt for whatever you purchase, please.”

She nodded, eyeing the money with an appreciation she hadn’t possessed for most of her life. It took not having something to really get the value of it. She’d learned that much in the past year.

She tucked the money carefully away in her backpack and they continued walking, Elise staring with interest at the colorful vegetables and fruits and smiling at the vendors, suddenly feeling like a kid in a candy store. The smell of wild onion entered her nose, then a delectable, sweet fragrance that she inhaled deeply. A farmer had sliced one of his melons. Her mouth watered as they passed his booth.

You can do this, she told herself.

She’d been marketing with her fellow students and an instructor while at school, hadn’t she? Of course this was different. Lucien was affording her the status of chef. She was in charge, she thought with a thrill of excitement.

“Do you have your list?” he asked.

Her eyes widened in panic as she stared at some brilliantly green Granny Smith apples. She was the chef. She should have made a list.

“I don’t need a list. I’ve memorized the menu,” she said honestly. “And I’ll pick whatever is nicest and freshest for the special next week.”

“All right,” he said. She sighed in relief that he seemed to have accepted her reply. She wanted to convince him of her expertise at all costs. “We usually buy from Jim Goddard over there.” He pointed to a booth with a thickset, gray-haired man sitting behind a table. “He’s got a way with heirloom lettuce and arugula, and his peppers are usually good. If you trust me to do it, I’ll pick up the avocado and snow peas from Mort Sanger over there. I’ll rent a cart and bring it over when I’m finished.”