Page 36 of Theirs to Tempt: The Marriage Claim

Chapter Eleven

Lucian

The low hum of conversation and the soft clink of crystal fill the main dining room of La Méridienne.

The moment she enters the room, I know it.

I look up and sweep my gaze over her with a slow, possessive hunger.

The dress fits her exactly the way I knew it would, plunging just enough at the neckline to hint at the soft swell of her breasts, nipping in at her waist before flowing over the flare of her hips and skimming down to mid-calf.

Her hair is up in a soft twist that leaves delicate strands brushing her nape.

She lifts her chin the moment her eyes find ours, that familiar spark of defiance flashing in their green depths even as color rises faintly along her cheekbones.

Caleb shifts beside me, his broader frame radiating the same coiled satisfaction I feel low in my gut.

We both rise as she approaches, and I pull out her chair with deliberate courtesy, letting my fingers brush her shoulder as she sits.

The contact sends a visible shiver through her, and heat pools heavier in my cock.

“You wore the dress.” I keep my voice low enough that only the three of us can hear.

I settle back into my seat, letting my gaze linger openly. “Excellent choice, Sophie.”

She smooths the silk over her thighs, the movement betraying the tension in her fingers, but she meets my eyes without flinching. “This old thing?”

Caleb chuckles.

I let the silence stretch a beat, savoring the way her pulse flutters at the base of her throat.

“You do like to flirt with danger.” I adore a woman with fire. Bending her to my will is going to be an exquisite pleasure.

The server appears with the wine we preordered.

After I taste and nod my approval, he pours her glass first.

When she finally takes a sip, I remember the taste of her—defiant and addicting. This time my cock twitches.

Over the first course, I bring up the wedding.

Her body language changes, becoming more closed off, despite the wine.

“Our admin can coordinate anything you need.”

A flash ignites in her eyes—calculation, the quick mental search for an exit I sealed weeks ago.

She sets her fork down. “I have a friend. Piper. I’d like her in the wedding.”

Caleb and I exchange a glance. Does this mean she’s accepting her fate?

“Of course,” I say.

“And my mother needs to be there.”

“Via video feed?”

Pain flashes through her eyes, and I want nothing more than to vanquish it. “That’s the only way it’s possible.”