Page 15 of Captured Fantasy

“Old men die. It’s life.”

I stared at him and this time when my chin quivered, it was real.

Lucien lifted a brow. “Crying women don’t sway me.”

“I don’t cry,” I snapped.

Lucien got to his feet and went to the desk, taking up a glass of whiskey. He sat on the edge of the desk and crossed one leg over the other.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Mrs. Russo,” he said.

“Are you married, Mr. Esposito?” I asked, shoving aside my annoyance.

A flicker of irritation moved across his face. “I’m not. I’m arranged to be married in a few years, but not engaged or attached to her right now.”

I knew this already, but I wanted him to say it out loud before I made my next move. I set aside my coffee and rose, tucking my hands behind my back because I knew it made my breasts tight against my sundress. Lucien’s jaw tensed as if he fought against himself.

“Alright, forget I asked anything,” I said. “I’m going to talk to Federico, he seemed more open to persuasion.”

Lucien’s eyelids flickered and he set aside his drink. “You planning on fucking him?”

I flushed, jolted by his coarse words. “So what if I was?”

“Well, he’s not supposed to be fucking you,” Lucien said. “In fact, it could get him in a lot of trouble, fucking one of our women who doesn’t belong to him like that.”

I narrowed my gaze. “Sounds exciting.”

“Watch yourself, Mrs. Russo.”

I stepped up to him and he stood, his icy hazel eyes following my every move. I felt his breath wash over my face, smelling of whiskey.

He was handsome and available and that made him a prime target. It would benefit me immensely to have Lucien on my side. He had a way of swaying others that would have made the most practiced diplomat envious.

“Is there a possibility that you’re jealous?” I murmured.

“You are playing with fire here,” Lucien said softly.

“Why?” I looked up at him, tilting my chin. “What are you going to do? Punish me for harmless flirting?”

I gathered my courage and stepped closer. The muscle in his jaw flinched as I put my palm flat on his lower stomach. I heard a rapid intake of breath and when I looked up, his eyes burned.

“I heard,” I said, playing with his button, “that you have tattoos. May I see?”

His mouth parted and his tongue flicked out, wetting his lip. “I heard your husband only wanted you because you don’t have a gag reflex.”

I breathed in, forcing myself not to react to his taunt. He wasn’t incorrect, although I hadn’t trained myself out of a gag reflex until after I’d married Gino. Instead of responding to his jab, I slid my hand lower and his cold eyes dilated as I cupped his groin. He was hot beneath the front of his pants and as I rubbed my palm against him, he hardened.

He glanced down. “What are you trying to get from me?”

“Nothing,” I breathed. “I’m just lonely. My husband was too sick to touch me for a while and I’d do anything for it. But, you said Federico shouldn’t touch me, so I don’t think you’re allowed to either.”

“I’m a good bit more important than Federico.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

He reached up and his big hand closed on the nape of my neck. When I looked up at him, his intense gaze was locked on mine. A thrill of fear moved through me, but I ignored it.

“Go on,” he said coldly. “Do what you came here to do.”

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