Page 43 of Lucas

Tempting. The built-in gym on the top floor of the building features a fully stocked gym, along with showers, a sauna, and two extra-large Jacuzzi tubs. Lucas and I have christened almost every inch of this office—except for that floor. It’s like we’re saving it, the best for last.

“Your employees will miss you at this party,” I say, grinning.

He shrugs. “Or they’ll figure out where we went.” His eyes go cloudy. “We don’t owe anyone any explanations. We own the company, darlin’.”

I tap his nose, playfully, trying to soften the blow of my next words. “I know you like to think that, Lucas. But The New York Chronicle is your business. I’m just riding your coat tails.”

But to what end? My position is high end, certainly the top of the food chain here, but I owned a piece of Rubberneckers. Maybe things didn’t work out, but that doesn’t mean I failed—I built a successful company, and there’s something special that comes with that kind of entrepreneurship.

I don’t expect Lucas to give me a piece of this pie, but I can’t help but wonder what happens when I’m ready to move forward too.

“Only until you become a bestselling author,” he says. “Then you’ll probably buy me out and kick me to the curb.”

“Fat chance.”

I don’t know whose insecurities he’s playing on, mine or his, but it’s funny that he’s pushing me to write fiction when after years of hitching myself to a tabloid magazine that was just one step away from that, I’ve committed to writing articles that are grounded in truth. The kind that make people think, debate, care. Not the kind that make enemies. Or provoke vengeful lawsuits.

“You can’t buy my way into publishing, Lucas.” Suddenly nervous that I’m giving him ideas, I look up at his mischief-filled eyes. “No, seriously, Lucas. I don’t want that. If I’m going to write books it will be because they’re good enough for a publisher not because my boyfriend—”

He plants a kiss on my lip to silence me. “Relax. The last thing I plan on doing is buying a publishing house.” My shoulders sag with relief. He lifts his champagne glass and smiles. “Now get out there and celebrate with your team.”

“What are you going to do?”

His smile is infectious, wicked. My toes curl as read his mind. “First, I’m going to finish off this champagne, and then I’m thinking of heading up for a workout.”

My eyebrow quirks. “Yeah? Care for some company?”

“Darlin’, I thought you’d never ask…”

Chapter 23

The plan was to go to the movies, but after looking at all the boring choices on the marquee, we agreed there was nothing worth wasting time on, which is how we ended up back at Lucas’s apartment with pizza, wine, and Friday the 13th—the original—streaming on Netflix.

I can almost believe this is just a normal night with my non-billionaire boyfriend, except that the signs of his obscene wealth are everywhere. This is not your average take-out, but gourmet pizza, delivered from the west side of town, still piping hot. The wine is vintage, plucked from the winery Lucas co-owns with his former business partners, and couriered straight from Napa Valley this morning. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Lucas has shares in Netflix.

“This is such a B grade flick.” He takes a giant bite of Hawaiian pizza—pineapples flown in from the tropics, of course—and gestures toward the giant screen TV. “I don’t understand why people are so enamored with it.”

I tuck my feet up under my buttocks. “Seriously? It’s a classic.”

My tastes may veer toward the literary greats when it comes to books, but I’m all about unabashed pop fiction movies. Friday the 13th is one of five films I watch at least once a year, ranking just below The Princess Bride. That’s a no brainer #1 for me. I’m working our way up to that one.

Lucas shakes his first at the screen. “Stupid movie person, don’t go that way.” He leans forward and yells. “You’re going to die!”

I shift so that he can put his arm around me and laugh. “They’re just following the script, babe.”

“I like when you call me that.” He pulls me close and then his lips are on mine. After a moment, he pulls away, then kisses my throat, and moves his mouth down along my collarbone. As always, the soft brush of his lips against my skin shifts me off kilter. I give my head a shake and refocus, not quite ready to give in to lust.

His hand slips under the silk shirt of my nightie to cup my breast.

We kiss for what seems like forever. I suck on Lucas’s tongue—which I know turns him on—and he responds by massaging my breasts.

I stretch out under him.

I’m getting better at trying new things, which is both fascinating and terrifying too. It still surprises me how wanton I’ve become in his presence.

Lucas slides his hand under my nightgown and between my legs. His palm expertly cups me hard enough to force out a gasp. In the next instant, he’s pushed his fingers inside my pussy. He slides in, out and in, rhythmic against my slick heat. “Jesus, you’re wet.”

I’m not shocked.