When I’m with You (Because You Are Mine #2)(74)
Author: Beth Kery

It was as if her body had sprung a billion more nerve endings beneath that starlit sky and Lucien’s touch.

She let her hair dry in natural waves, combed it, and pinned back her bangs with a white and yellow daisy clip. The decoration matched her sunny mood. They shared a smile when they rejoined in the bedroom after dressing, Lucien’s gaze running down over her appreciatively . . . possessively. He cradled her jaw and brushed his thumb over her cheek. He looked outrageously handsome in a pair of khaki-colored breeches, light blue cotton shirt, and scuffed, supple leather dark brown riding boots. What Lucien did to a pair of riding pants ought to be considered illegal, in her opinion. She was about to tease him by saying so but paused, her lips parted, when she saw the intent way his gray eyes ran over her face.

“You’ve bloomed overnight,” he murmured, kissing her so softly, so persuasively, she closed her eyes and lost herself for a moment. He finally lifted his head and took her hand, and they left the penthouse together. He said little once they’d gotten into his sedan, but Elise was divinely relaxed and happy as he maneuvered smoothly through the busy city streets. It was strange, this elevated feeling, this contentment. Her whole life she’d chafed a little inside her own skin, always longing, always striving for the electricity of the perfect moment, maneuvering and pushing herself without really understanding where she wanted to be, or precisely what she wanted to be doing.

So amazing, to realize that she’d arrived, that she was precisely where she wanted to be in that precious moment. She glanced at Lucien’s classic profile and told herself to savor every delicious second as it came . . . and not think about tomorrow.

Lucien pulled in front of a nineteenth-century redbrick building with beautiful, stone-carved ornamental decoration. It was about fifteen stories, built in the French-chateau style. The street on which they’d parked reminded her more of Paris than Chicago, with its brick townhomes and trees that created a canopy over the street. The way Lucien stared at the building to the left of them made her lean forward and gaze at the structure.

“It’s lovely. So is this entire area. Where are we?” she asked, never having seen this atmospheric neighborhood on the Near South Side of Chicago that spoke of another era.

“In the Prairie Avenue Historic District,” he said. He turned the keys in the ignition. “Do you want to see inside?”

She smiled as realization hit her. “Is this the building you bought for the new hotel?”

He nodded. She flipped open the door and sprung out of the vehicle. “Let’s go,” she said enthusiastically.

“You have got to be kidding,” she said, utterly stunned ten minutes later when they walked into the building’s kitchen. It was enormous, and even though it was ancient and had fallen into disrepair, all the hallmarks of the classic European great kitchen remained: the large alabaster-topped center island, the exquisite handmade cabinetry complete with intact lead-crystal panes, three large serviceable but still elegant copper chandeliers.

“It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?” Lucien asked, looking around the interior. “It was the preferred hotel for guests visiting Chicago during the late eighteen and early nineteen hundreds. After the district fell to manufacturing, it became an administrative building for a local hospital. This kitchen hasn’t been used for its original purpose in almost a hundred years.”

“It’s perfect,” she said, meaning it. It was every chef’s dream to revamp a classic kitchen like this one, stock it with all the new culinary accessories, and yet keep all the elegant nuances of days gone by.

Lucien turned. “Do you want it?”

It took a moment for her to absorb the meaning of his quiet question, but even then, she was confused.

“Want it?”

“Yes. With proper redevelopment and remodeling, will these premises suit your purpose for the restaurant you told me about?”

She blinked and looked around her stupidly.

“Of course they would. It’d be fantastic. But you bought it for your restaurant and hotel,” she exclaimed.

“I know. I’m offering you the position of co-manager of the establishment, if you’d like it . . . along with that of executive chef, of course.” When she just stared at him, speechless, he added, “I was very impressed by your idea, Elise. I had a market research firm do the statistics for me. This entire area is undergoing a massive redevelopment, but there aren’t enough restaurants and clubs to keep up with the growing population. There isn’t one boutique hotel within two square miles. Plus, there’s almost a dozen new upscale condo buildings within a half mile, not to mention a high-end workout facility patronized by members of the Board of Trade. The idea of healthy, fresh gourmet food without the temptation of alcohol will appeal for several reasons. I think it’d be a good opportunity for your concept. We might consider marketing lunch for an ‘in’, and using that hook to expand to dinner.”

“Lucien, I just wanted your advice on how to get started. You don’t have to offer me all of this.”

“I know that.” He took a step toward her, his gaze narrowing. “If you don’t like the idea of having your restaurant here, just say the word. We’ll find the right location for you.”

“No, it’s not that!” she exclaimed, once again staring around her in disbelief. “I’ve never seen premises more ideal in my life. But . . . this was your project. I don’t want to horn in on it.”

“You’re not,” he said simply. “I told you. I really liked your concept. If anything, I’m the one horning in on your good idea.”

She swallowed thickly. “You really thought it was good?”

“I’ve said it several times, haven’t I?” he asked, a slow smile spreading across his mouth.

She stepped toward him hastily and threw her arms around his waist. When she lifted her face, he leaned down, his grin widening when she kissed his jaw and lips fervently.

“Does this mean your answer is yes?” he asked, his laughter deep and rich.

“No. I want to talk about it more,” she mumbled, plucking at his mouth with her lips. “This is because you believed in me.”

His smile faded. He cradled her jaw with his hand. “I’ve always believed in you,” he said. “I just wanted you to believe in yourself. When you expressed your idea to me, when you told me what you wanted, I knew that you were starting to do just that.”