She shrugged delicately, her gaze flickering to his left, then back to meet his once again. “Don’t you ever tire of the predictable?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “I would say no. I rather delight in all things predictable. It’s so much easier to anticipate life that way, don’t you think?”
“No. While I can understand the siren call of exerting control in one’s life, you cannot expect me to believe that a man such as yourself, a manhere, would rejoice in the mundane.”
He hitched a shoulder, his knees almost touching the bed as he towered over her. “I never once said I enjoyed the mundane. Just the predictable. But you never answered my question. Why did you run? You had no expectation for me to follow . . . or did you?”
“You asked Lark about me, and I figured I had sparked your interest.” She smoothed her skirts, a move that triggered a million memories of debutants in the ballroom, debutants in parlors awaiting swains—hell, even his own mother smoothing her skirt before she spoke when uncomfortable.
Surely not.
How would a deb know about the club . . . let alone find it?
Impossible.
Rather, it should be. The thought made his hot blood run cool. There was one way to find out for certain.
“You were right,” he replied in his most seductive tone. It was foreign on his lips, but he pressed forward. Placing one knee on the bed, he leaned in closer to her, watching as her blue eyes widened. But rather than edge away, she sat motionless, watching him with an odd wonder, a strange curiosity that was utterly seductive in its innocent nature.
Tugging off his glove, he reached up and caressed her bare shoulder with his hand, the sensation of her skin against his hand was like touching a smoldering coal that threatened to bring his body to life in ways he’d rather ignore. Her red lips parted, a slight gasp at the contact, but she leaned into his hand as if the warmth, the touch were welcome. A pink tongue darted out to lick her plump lips, and without thinking, Lucas leaned forward, capturing them. All thoughts flew from his mind as his body ignited with a long dormant passion that burned from the inside out. Her lips weren’t enough, and he closed the distance between their bodies, glorying in the way she immediately reclined onto the soft mattress. Every inch of his body hardened as he deepened the kiss, only to have the bloody masks in the way. A flick of his wrist sent his sailing across the room. He quickly removed hers as well, the metal making a slight clink on the wooden floor as it landed. His hands reached into her hair, his fingers trembling at the thick, soft texture of the golden locks, and he groaned as her hands found his hair as well, tugging, caressing—mimicking.
Bloody hell.
Mimicking.
He broke the seal of their kiss and met the confused gaze of the woman who had utterly shredded his prized self-control. She was even more beautiful than he had anticipated. Her skin was like lit alabaster, with the smallest hint of freckles across her nose. Dark lashes framed expressive eyes that were openly searching his.
“Why did you stop?” she asked, her tone thick with arousal, reminding him that, indeed, he didn’t need to stop . . .
Yet in the same moment, his suspicions were more insistent than his very demanding body. “Who are you?” he asked, his body still poised over hers, his lips only inches away.
“Liliah,” she whispered. Then swallowed. “Delilah,” she finished.
But it was all he needed to break through the passionate haze and gather his thoughts.
“Which one is it?” he asked, his tone harsh.
She sighed. “Liliah, if you must know. What is your name?”
Liliah. Somehow it fit her, and it surprised him that she was honest. He rather expected her to continue with the charade. “Luc,” he answered, giving only the barest of information.
“Luc.” Her voice caressed his name, sending a demanding throb to his lower regions that demanded release. A pink tongue darted out as she licked her lower lip, inviting him. He knew he must ask the questions rather than succumb to the temptation—the irony wasn’t lost on him—that she presented. Yet one more kiss surely wouldn’t hurt? He leaned forward slowly, watching in satisfaction as her eyes fluttered closed as he met her lips, savoring her flavor for one more stolen moment.
“Lucas, damn it all, where is he?” Heathcliff ’s voice sounded from the hall, the sound sobering him like a jump into a frozen lake. Withdrawing from the kiss, he watched Liliah’s eyes dart to the door, then back to him, worry etched in her features as she reached up a tentative hand and touched her maskless face.
“Having second thoughts?” Lucas arched a brow as he slowly stood from the bed.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “No, but privacy is a commodity I prize.”
“On that we can agree.” Lucas shook his head and strode to the door, then paused before opening it, glancing over his shoulder. “Stay here.”
He didn’t wait for her to reply, simply opened the heavy door and slipped into the hall. Heathcliff was at the end of the hall, wiping his hand down his face in an exasperated and frustrated manner.
“Do I even want to know?” Lucas asked as he approached his friend.
“Bloody hell, where have you been?” Heathcliff threw his hands up in irritation. “Damn it all, we have a bit of a situation. I addressed it as best as I can, but we have need to calm Ramsey the hell down. He’s in Lord Barrot’s office. Come.”
Heathcliff strode away, yet Lucas paused, his gaze darting back to the room, then to his friend. “One moment.”
