Page 80 of The Owner's Temptation

My touch is cautious, hesitant, but his hand remains perfectly still beneath mine.

“You shouldn’t have fought him,” I scold quietly, pressing lightly on the wound. I glance up and immediately frown when I see amusement flickering in his eyes.

“You find this funny?”

“Not funny,” he replies evenly, his voice low and smooth—infuriatingly calm compared to my own anxiety. “But your sudden concern is rather charming.”

I huff out a breath, irritation flaring. He’s humored by my worry—of course he is. But despite the annoyance, I keep tending to his hand.

He doesn't pull away, even though part of me fully expected him to brush off my attempt and do it himself.

I don’t know why he’s letting me help, but I can’t deny the warmth blossoming in my chest at the simple intimacy. My fingertips linger on his skin longer than necessary, my pulse quickening slightly at the roughness of his hands, the strength beneath.

He watches silently, carefully studying every movement as if memorizing them.

I set the bloodied napkin aside and grab a fresh cloth one, scooping a handful of ice cubes from the bucket. Wrapping it neatly, I gently press the cold bundle to his knuckle.

“You seem to have a lot of drama and crisis in your life.” I look from the napkin to him and maybe shouldn’t have. There’s an intensity in his gaze, dark and so close—much closer than I realized.

“Y–you should have a Crisis and PR department at the Ledger. Let them handle these things for you.”

A hint of amusement flickers in his eyes, breaking through some of the lingering tension. “You think my problems can be solved with a press release?”

I shrug, fighting a smile. “I don’t know. Have you tried solving things without punching someone?”

Lucian tilts his head slightly, studying me with renewed curiosity. “You have a better idea, then?”

“Maybe,” I tease lightly, dabbing the ice carefully against his knuckles. “Why solve problems yourself when you can pay someone else to make them disappear?”

He chuckles softly, the deep, rich sound resonating through the enclosed space, sending warmth pooling in my stomach. His gaze softens just enough to make my breath hitch.

“If you're so good at crisis management, why didn’t you go into PR when you graduated? You’re smart. You certainly could have.”

I huff out a breath, rolling my eyes instinctively. His palm twitches beneath my touch, fingers curling into a tight fist again, and a thrill of satisfaction ripples through me.

I love getting that reaction from him.

But I answer plainly, quietly, deciding suddenly that honesty feels safer than playing games.

“My ex-boyfriend,” I say simply, eyes trained on his hand, avoiding his gaze. “He didn’t exactly encourage ambition.”

Lucian’s posture shifts subtly. His hand tightens once more, knuckles whitening, before he forces it to relax again. He turns his face toward the window, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

I bite back a satisfied smirk at his reaction, enjoying it far more than I should.

The limo fills with silence, tense and charged, before he finally speaks again, voice deceptively calm.

“This ex,” he murmurs carefully, still staring out the window. “It was serious, then?”

I swallow, suddenly aware of the heat radiating from him, how close we're sitting, our knees almost brushing. My heart pounds harder in my chest. “We dated since high school. He was the first—the only—boy I ever loved.”

I allow myself to lean in slightly, savoring the faint tremble of tension rolling off him.

Inspecting the cut, I press the ice more gently now, my voice dropping as I concentrate. “Hell, he’s the only boy I’ve ever even kissed.”

His head snaps back around, eyes blazing fiercely into mine, the possessiveness clear and unguarded for one brief, heated moment.

This time I don't hide my smirk, a small thrill racing through me at his jealousy.

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