Bad Intentions (The Prescotts Book 4) Read online

  Gavin stood. “Thanks, Lucian. I appreciate this, and I know Olivia will, too. And I promise, you won’t be disappointed in her work.”

  It wasn’t her work he was concerned about. Her skills as an interior designer were the furthest thing from his mind as he wondered how the hell he was going to navigate this unscathed.

  “I’m sure I won’t,” he murmured, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

  Gavin snapped his fingers. “You know, I think she mentioned that she and her friends were planning to go to Boulevard this weekend for Liv’s birthday. If you see her, you could talk to her there.”

  Lucian frowned. “Friday or Saturday?” He needed to know which night to avoid the most popular upscale club he owned.

  “Saturday.”

  “Well, I’d hate to interrupt her birthday celebrations with shop talk,” he said carefully.

  Gavin shook his head. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.” Then he frowned, a pensive look on his face. “That place has good security, right?”

  Lucian’s brows knit together. “Of course. You know that all of our establishments do.”

  “Good.” He nodded, still looking distracted.

  “Why?”

  Gavin shook his head and sat back down. “It’s probably nothing. But she mentioned that this guy she was seeing briefly, Massimo, he’s not taking the break up very well.”

  Everything inside Lucian went hot and tight. “In what way?”

  Gavin shrugged. “Calling her, texting her. He’s shown up a few times when she’s been out with friends. She says it’s nothing, but…” He shook his head. “I know she’s a grown woman and can handle her own life. I just worry, you know? Probably unnecessarily, but still.”

  Lucian’s hands curled into fists and his gut clenched. Great. Now he had no choice but to show up at Boulevard on Saturday because he sure as fuck wasn’t going to leave Olivia vulnerable. He should’ve been keeping a closer eye on her. That would’ve been the prudent thing to do. But he’d been so caught up in trying to ignore the lust burning through his system that he’d apparently let her get involved with some fuckwad who couldn’t take no for an answer.

  She was supposed to call him if she needed help, and she hadn’t. Which meant one of two things: the situation wasn’t as serious as Gavin was making it out to be, or she’d deliberately not reached out to him.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to unload all of that on you.”

  Lucian shot him a placating smile. “It’s fine. I’ll be there on Saturday.” He forced himself to meet Gavin’s eyes. “I’ll keep an eye on her.” He leaned forward, bracing his arms on the desk and lacing his fingers together. “This Massimo have a last name?”

  Gavin scratched his cheek. “Ah…shit. I don’t actually know. They only dated for a few weeks. I never met him.”

  Not the information he was hoping for, but it was a start. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother her on Saturday.”

  Gavin flashed him a grateful smile, and guilt exploded through Lucian like a bullet, hot and sharp, lodged inside him where it burrowed deeper and deeper. He thought his interest in Olivia was nothing more than one friend doing a favor for the other, but it was so much more than that. For five years now, he’d wanted Olivia. Wanted her while knowing he couldn’t have her. His interest in Olivia had nothing to do with Gavin and everything to do with her. But regardless of his motivation, he’d look out for her. He’d keep her safe. Even if he couldn’t have her, he could do that.

  As he saw Gavin out, he mentally went over his list of reasons why Olivia Walsh was completely off limits, layering each reason on top of the other like a piece of armor.

  She was too young for him, far too young.

  His life was far too complicated. Far too dangerous to risk involving her—or any woman—in it. His position in the underground world he moved in was precarious and the smallest change, the slightest disturbance could tip the scales one direction or the other. He couldn’t afford to upset the balance.

  Her father was his company’s biggest investor. If he did something to piss Gavin off, it could be a financial disaster for Prescott Group. They employed nearly 2,000 people, and Lucian wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize their jobs.

  So many reasons, all completely valid. All weighty and worthy and true.

  And yet, just the knowledge that he was going to see Olivia on Saturday had his gut tightening and his blood heating. And now he was supposed to work with her on a regular basis—at least until the bistro project was complete.

  After he’d walked Gavin to the elevator, he returned to his desk and sat down in his chair, the leather creaking softly under his weight. He swiveled to look out at the Manhattan skyline, wondering how to best play this out. He couldn’t refuse to hire Olivia. He didn’t have a valid reason not to, and he knew Gavin would push it if Lucian fought him on it. Not to mention that it would be suspicious as hell if it was obvious he was avoiding her.

  He pressed his fingers against his mouth as he wondered if he should just pass the bistro project on to someone else. But he didn’t want to do that for a few reasons, the main one being that it was his pet project, his idea, and he wanted to see it through. Everyone knew that the bistro was his project, and it might raise a few eyebrows if he suddenly distanced himself from it.

  And, bastard that he was, he didn’t want to pull out of the project. No, now that Olivia was attached, that was the last thing he wanted to do. Being around her was always the sweetest kind of torture, an ache he both dreaded and craved. She made him feel as though he were starving, staring at a five-course meal he wasn’t allowed to touch, but he lived for the torment all the same.

  He rubbed a hand over his face. “Fuck,” he said softly before turning his chair back around and picking up the phone on his desk, punching in Sasha’s extension.

  “Yes?” he answered on the first ring.

  “I need you to do some digging. Gavin Walsh’s daughter Olivia briefly dated a man named Massimo. I don’t have a last name, address or age. But I need you to find him and then find out everything you can about him.”

  Sasha sighed. “You’re not giving me much to work with here, boss.”

  “I know. But that’s all I have.”

  Another sigh. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Good. If you can get me the info before Saturday, even better.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Lucian hung up the phone and somehow managed to wrench his attention away from Olivia and to the rest of the work day ahead of him, his blood still humming with the knowledge that he’d see her in a few days.

  3

  December, three and a half years ago

  Lucian checked his watch, cursing under his breath as he stepped out of the Town car, light snowflakes falling around him and landing on the wool of his thick coat. The townhouse rose up before him, straddling the border between Lenox Hill and the Upper East Side, Central Park just a block away. The townhouse was lit up from the inside, and the sounds of Christmas music, laughter and tinkling glasses spilled out into the night from the open window, inviting and warm.

  It felt as though he’d stepped into a different world from the one he’d been inhabiting just an hour ago, where he’d had to deal with a member of the Bratva who’d been caught selling information to a member of the Italian mafia, betraying his Russian brethren. Normally, the Russians sorted their own shit out—God knew they didn’t have any patience for Lucian or the Kings of Hell’s Kitchen. But the Italians felt that one of their own had gone behind their back, trying to use the information for his own gain instead of the benefit of the entire family.

  It had been a bloody interrogation. But it was over now, and the disputes were settled. And now, here he stood, wearing a suit and pretending he hadn’t had blood on his hands an hour ago.

  He’d never been to Gavin Walsh’s home before, but he’d been invited to the annual Walsh Assets Christmas party, so here he was on a Friday night in December, staring up at the si
xty-million-dollar home, wondering if one of those windows was her bedroom.

  Olivia.

  Ever since the night of her twenty-first birthday nearly a year and a half ago, when he’d tricked her into an Uber instead of taking her home and fucking her senseless like he’d wanted, she’d been under his skin, deeper than a tattoo. He’d seen her briefly several times over the past eighteen months—at a Yankees game, a few Walsh Assets events, a handful of times at a bar or club he owned. He’d never allowed himself to be alone with her, and never allowed himself to spend more than ten minutes—tops—flirting with her.

  He was an asshole for how much he liked it. How badly he hoped he’d see her at one of her father’s events. He’d hoped that this pull he felt toward her—although pull didn’t seem to be a strong enough word for the hurricane force that seemed to push him toward her whenever she was near—would dull with time, but if anything, it was stronger and sharper than ever. Every time he saw her, she was more beautiful. More vibrant and enticing and breathtakingly sexy. She had a spark that he was drawn to in a way he’d never experienced before. It was her intelligence and quick wit, her confidence and sense of humor. It was every single tiny fucking thing about her. About this woman who was nearly twenty years younger than him and had no idea who he actually was. Had no idea the horrible, gruesome things he was capable of.

  He sighed and flexed his knuckles, knowing they’d be sore tomorrow, and then headed up the stone steps and into the townhouse. An elaborate garland, thick with red and gold balls and woven through with plaid ribbon, wound its way around the wrought-iron railing of the curving stairway, and two enormous poinsettias sat on the marble tables in the entryway. The air smelled like cinnamon and roasting nuts and he took a deep breath, feeling some of the tension of the day ebb away. An attendant took his coat and indicated that guests were in the living room to his right.

  The room was massive, the ceiling at least two stories high, and a towering Christmas tree sat at the far end, centered in the bay window that looked out onto the street. Golden lights twinkled, glinting against the gold and red ornaments hanging from the thick branches. The space around it had been turned into a makeshift dance floor, with several couples spinning around to Mariah Carey, talking and laughing, faces bright with festive cheer. A fire roared in the soaring stone fireplace, and dozens of guests mingled, talking and laughing, helping themselves to hors d’oeuvres, eggnog, and champagne from the trays of the circulating wait staff. A balcony looked out over the living room from the upper floor, and several more guests had made themselves comfortable there, watching the party below.

  The atmosphere was bright and cheery, warm and welcoming. Lucian felt wholly and completely out of place among all of this easy happiness. He didn’t have room in his life for something this simple. This normal. He felt as though any minute now, someone was going to realize he didn’t belong here and ask him to leave, to take his bloodstained hands elsewhere.

  He scanned the space, his eyes darting from face to face. He’d assumed—hoped—she was going to be here, but maybe she had better things to do on a Friday night than…

  Everything inside him lit up at the sight of her as she moved out from behind the man she’d been talking to. Her hair fell around her shoulders in loose waves, the golden light catching the bronzed highlights woven through the thick strands. She wore a form-fitting long-sleeved navy blue dress encrusted with sequins that dipped into a low V and ended several inches above her knees. Lucian’s gaze traveled down her legs—legs he’d fantasized about having wrapped around him so many times he’d lost count—taking in her strappy silver heels.

  As though she could feel his eyes on her, she glanced in his direction, her face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning at the sight of him, her eyes bright and a wide smile stretching across her pretty face. Her reaction made his pulse pick up, a heavy throb he felt through his entire body, including his aching knuckles that would be swollen tomorrow. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and started toward him when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Lucian! I didn’t think you were going to make it,” said Gavin, looking happy and relaxed, a glass of eggnog in one hand.

  Lucian shot him a placating smile. “I’m sorry. I got held up with something.”

  Gavin wagged a finger at him. “You work too hard! Come on, let’s get you a drink.” Glancing over his shoulder at Olivia, he followed Gavin toward the bar that had been set up in the kitchen at the back of the townhouse.

  He didn’t manage to disentangle himself from Gavin and the conversation he’d pulled him into with several other CEOs until at least thirty minutes had passed, maybe longer. He’d stopped paying attention to the conversation about the merits of stock dividends over cash, instead cutting his eyes toward the living room when he was sure no one was looking at him, watching Olivia flit from guest to guest, completely charming and vivacious and so, so gorgeous it almost hurt to look at her.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the conversation petered out and everyone drifted off to find another drink or something to eat or another guest to bore. Lucian tossed back the rest of his scotch, savoring the warming path it cut down the center of his chest, then set it down with a clack on the kitchen island. A man on a mission, he headed back into the living room, brimming with even more guests than before. He wanted his tiny taste of Olivia, even knowing that she could never be his. That nothing could ever happen between them. But he wanted that tiny taste all the same. Craved it like a hit of nicotine. Had been looking forward to it all damn week.

  He spotted a flash of navy sequins to the right of the Christmas tree as Olivia danced with Kenneth Rawlings, one of Gavin’s long-time business partners. Rubbing a hand over his mouth, knowing he was the world’s biggest bastard, he crossed the living room toward them, weaving between the couples dancing to Tony Bennett in front of the Christmas tree.

  “Kenneth, so nice to see you,” he said casually, Olivia’s gaze on him warming him from the inside out. “May I cut in?”

  Kenneth tipped his head and stepped away from Olivia, giving her arm a paternal squeeze. “Good luck with your schooling, dear,” he said before turning and sauntering away through the crowd.

  As Ella Fitzgerald began singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” he slid his arm around Olivia’s waist and tucked her hand into his, pulling her close. Her warm vanilla scent hit him like a punch in the gut, making his pulse pound through his veins and his cock thicken.

  “Hi,” she said, grinning from ear to ear as she laid her other hand on his shoulder, her body molding to his as they moved to the music. “I thought maybe you weren’t coming.”

  “I had some business to take care of,” he said, flexing his fingers into her waist. She whimpered softly, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment. “How are you?”

  She opened her eyes and bit her lip, twisting his insides into something hot and desperate. “Good. School is good. Life is good. No boyfriend, by the way.” She leaned closer, her breasts pressing against his chest. “Just in case you were wondering,” she added, her breath warm against the skin of his neck. She wasn’t short, but even with her heels on, she was still several inches shorter than him.

  “You’re enjoying Pratt?” he asked, steering the conversation back into safer waters, just like he always did.

  She nodded slowly. “Yeah. I am. But I don’t really want to talk about school tonight.” She wrinkled her adorable little nose and he chuckled, sliding his hand from her waist to the small of her back, splaying his fingers wide enough that the tip of his pinky barely grazed the swell of her luscious ass.

  She blinked slowly and swallowed, arching her back slightly. Unable to help himself, he traced a small circle with his thumb, teasing her—hell, teasing both of them—through the sequined fabric of her dress.

  “What do you want to talk about then, Olivia?” he asked, lowering his voice, anticipation thrilling through him. This was exactly what he’d been
living for all damn week.

  “We could talk about how sexy you look in this suit,” she purred, sliding her hand from his shoulder to the lapel of his jacket. “We could talk about how we’re both here without dates.” She leaned in close again, this time winding her arm around his neck. Blood rushed to his cock, making him throb and ache for her. “Or we could talk about the fact that my bedroom is right upstairs, and the walls in this house are very thick.”

  “Are they? And how would you know that?”

  She grinned at him, heat coiling tight in his stomach. “I like to play loud music.” She gave a small shrug. “But we can talk about something else besides how thick certain things are.” At that, she pressed her hips against him and then let out a small gasp. Their eyes locked and it took every ounce of self-control he had not to do something completely indecent in the middle of her father’s Christmas party. He let out a small, gruff sound, teasing his pinky a little lower.

  “Have you been a good girl this year?”

  Heat blazed in her eyes. “I think we both know I’m not a good girl, Lucian.” She arched up and he leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear. “Unless you want me to be your good girl, because that’s another story.”

  Holy fuck, this was the sweetest kind of torture, this verbal foreplay for sex that couldn’t ever happen. He sucked in a breath, trying to get a handle on the lust surging through his veins. With her sweet, warm body pressed against him, her scent filling his nostrils as she whispered forbidden things in his ear, it was taking a Herculean effort not to back her into the wall, lift her legs around his waist and kiss the everloving shit out of her.

  “I’m too old for you,” he said, his voice coming out rough around the edges as arousal churned through him. It was the same thing he always said when she flirted with him, as he pretended he wasn’t actually interested in her.