Bad Intentions (The Prescotts Book 4) Read online

  “The electrical and plumbing updates are finished and have passed inspection. We’re ready for the cosmetic phase,” he said, his hands in his pockets and his eyes on her.

  She turned to him, digging deep for her reserves of professional energy. “When do you hope to open?”

  “This fall.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “That’s ambitious.”

  He nodded. “I’ve already hired the chef and the menu is set. Now all we need is a talented designer to pull the space together.” With that, he tipped his head toward the front of the restaurant. He let her go ahead of him, and she could feel his eyes on her ass and legs like a brand. She put a little extra sway into her step, hyperaware of his gaze on her, and she could’ve sworn she heard a soft groan followed by a bitten off, whispered curse. When she glanced back over her shoulder at him, his eyes were locked on her, full of smoldering heat. She throbbed between her legs at that look, pulsing and tingling with awareness and arousal.

  He moved closer, once again laying a protective hand on the small of her back. “I’m imagining small round tables on this side,” he said quietly, gesturing to the area in front of the large window. “A long banquette over here, taking up this wall. The bar could run along the back, to the left of the kitchen doors.”

  She nodded slowly, trying to focus with his hand on her, the subtle scent of his expensive aftershave making her mouth dry. She looked around the space again, ideas already flooding her. He gave her the time and space to look, to walk around slowly, her mind buzzing with creativity. While she loved seeing a project come together, this was the best part. The initial excitement, the explosion of ideas, the allure of a project that was still shiny and new with no problems or headaches.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said after a moment, his voice rippling over her skin and making goosebumps erupt on her arms. She turned back to face him, and for a second, it felt as though someone were pressing on her bruised heart. Squeezing it.

  She swallowed and nodded, yanking herself back into work mode. “This stone wall is gorgeous, and I think you should leave it as is. Then, I’d suggest painting these red bricks white to bring more light and airiness into the space. You could keep these floors—I think with a little TLC, they’d come out nicely. Or, if you want to replace them, I’d suggest a light colored tile. We could do a mosaic, maybe spell out the restaurant’s name, or contrasting, patterned tiles by the entrance.”

  He looked around, nodding slowly. “I agree that the space needs to be brightened up.”

  “Over here,” she said, stepping toward where he’d indicated he wanted the banquette, “we could do a custom banquette in a medium-toned wood and upholstered with a burgundy colored leather. We could have chairs made to match, either classic bistro-style dining chairs with curved wood detailing on the back, or something a bit more modern, maybe cane-backed with cream-colored linen upholstery.” She stepped further into the space. “We could have a long mirror running along this wall, above the banquette, and framed art of varying sizes on the walls. You could go a few directions with that—antique French prints, landscapes, black and white shots of Paris—I think it depends on how much color you want to add. Personally, I’d go big and bold with turn of the century posters for absinthe, circuses, the World’s Fair, etc. Pulled together with custom matching frames, I think any number of things could work.”

  He was watching her silently, his head cocked. She couldn’t tell if he liked her ideas or not, so she licked her lips and continued. “In this area,” she said, moving back in front of the window, “I like your idea for small round tables. I think that’s perfect. I’d suggest installing pendant lights above, and you could change up the tablecloths seasonally, if you wanted. White in the winter, pale blue in the spring, red and white checked in the summer, soft yellow in the fall.”

  “And the bar?” he asked, his voice like a tug low in her belly.

  “Custom. The same wood as the banquette for cohesiveness. I’d suggest either a subtly-veined marble or concrete for the bar top. The stools would be upholstered with the same burgundy leather as the banquette, and there’d be more pendant lights hanging over the bar, although I’d suggest a different style than the ones over the tables so that it’s not too matchy-matchy. An enormous mirror behind it for more light and to give the illusion of more space, with the bottles on risers in front of it. We could do a long chalk board here,” she said, indicating the space to the left of the bar, “for the bar menu, cocktail specials, etcetera.”

  When he was silent, she turned to him. The corner of his mouth was quirked up in a smile, his deep brown eyes locked on her. “You came up with all of this, right now, on the spot?”

  A nervous tingle worked its way down her spine. “I did, but if you’d like to go in another direction, I can easily—”

  His mouth twitched and he walked slowly toward her, almost like a predator sizing up his prey, but there was no fear here. Not when she’d been dying for him to eat her up for five years now. “I thought you didn’t want this job,” he said slowly, and she could hear the teasing lilt in his voice. Blood rushed to her cheeks as her pulse picked up its tempo.

  “I do want it. But I want to earn it, not be handed it because my father asked you to. That’s not the same thing as me not wanting it.”

  “I think you’re splitting hairs, Olivia. Just because your father asked me to hire you doesn’t mean you don’t deserve the job.”

  She shrugged, aiming for nonchalance but probably falling far short. “It seems like an interesting job. But you haven’t even looked at my portfolio yet, or interviewed other designers. So maybe you shouldn’t be so sure you want to work with me.”

  “Mmm,” he rumbled out and then took the portfolio from her. He opened the large leather book and started slowly turning the thick pages, taking in her sketches, her concept pages, the photographs of finished spaces. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, which made her nerves ratchet back up. Normally, she was pretty confident, but when it came to her designs, she always felt a little vulnerable putting herself out there. She wanted people to see her as a capable, talented professional and not just a spoiled rich girl with a hobby. “Liv,” he said quietly, “these are really good. You’re very talented.”

  “Yeah?” she asked, hungry for his approval. She moved a little closer, coming around beside him so she could see what he was looking at. He’d stopped on a loft-style apartment she’d done a couple of months ago that had a distinctly retro feel to it, the design aesthetic heavily inspired by the 1960s. He turned the page, landing on a spread that featured her sketch of a bathroom and photos of tile samples and fixtures.

  “You have a keen eye for detail and your spaces flow together without looking overly perfect. I want polished and elegant, not stuffy and untouchable, and I think you can nail that.”

  She felt as though she were glowing from the inside out at his compliment. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  He closed the leather book and handed it back to her. “So. The job is yours.” He moved a little closer, pinning her in place with his heated gaze. “Don’t tell me no again.”

  She almost laughed because it was totally absurd that he’d think she’d actually refuse him anything. As if she had the power and the strength to do anything except what he wanted.

  “Okay,” she breathed. “I’ll take the job.” She bit her lip and his eyes dropped to her mouth. “But your timeline is a bit tight.”

  “I have faith in you.”

  “It’s not me you should be worried about. If you want custom anything on this timeline, it’s going to be pricey.”

  He shrugged. “Money isn’t a concern.” He stepped the tiniest bit closer, so close she could smell him, feel the heat coming from his body. “I’m giving you free rein over this project.”

  “You haven’t even seen any concept sketches or samples or anything yet.”

  He shook his head, his gaze still boring into her. “I don’t need to.” Then,
he slid an arm around her waist and backed her into a nearby brick column. “I know you’ll impress me.” He pressed his free hand into the brick above her head, his mouth only inches from hers. “You always have.”

  “I have?”

  “Why do you think I’m so drawn to you, Liv? It’s not just because you’re so fucking gorgeous it’s like looking at the sun. You’re smart and confident and willing to go after what you want.”

  She swallowed thickly. “There are lots of gorgeous, confident women in Manhattan. Women who aren’t the daughter of your business partner, who aren’t eighteen years younger than you.”

  “I don’t want them. Ever since I laid eyes on you five years ago, I’ve only wanted you, and it’s because of how I feel when I’m around you,” he whispered, his breath feathering over her lips. “It’s like stepping into the sun after living in the shadows for decades. It’s like breathing fresh air after being buried alive. You do something to me that I can’t even explain. For five years now, it’s been you.”

  “Lucian,” she whispered, her heart jackhammering wildly. A thrill that felt a lot like victory charged through her. After all this time, he was giving her this admission. “You’re killing me, here.”

  He took a breath, his chest heaving, and pressed his forehead to hers. “Then we’ll die together.”

  She let out a soft whimper, her fingers still curled around her portfolio. “I don’t care that you’re older than me. I don’t care that your life is complicated. Ever since the night I met you, I’ve wanted to be yours. I can’t fully explain it either.” She shook her head. Their connection might’ve been difficult for some to understand, but it was undeniable all the same.

  “Fuck,” he whispered, his eyes locked on her mouth. “All I can think about is kissing you.”

  Her entire body hummed and pulsed in response. “I didn’t realize interior design talk was such a turn on,” she said, her voice raspier than before.

  “Everything about you is a fucking turn on, Liv.”

  She leaned forward, nuzzling her face into his neck. Her knees almost buckled at how good he smelled, all expensive aftershave and a hint of tobacco and man. She wanted to lick him, to imprint his taste on her memory. On her soul.

  “The feeling is very, very mutual, Lucian,” she murmured, trailing her lips up and down his neck. Then she let out a little laugh. “God, fifteen minutes alone together and look at us. Right back where we shouldn’t be.”

  “I know,” he ground out, his voice even deeper than usual. “We shouldn’t. We really shouldn’t.” There was a pause, and then he murmured, “Still can’t think about anything except kissing you.”

  But this was all a game, because he wasn’t actually going to kiss her. This was just more teasing. That’s all it ever was. She leaned back against the column, the construction sounds coming from the kitchen barely audible over her throbbing heart.

  “Then maybe you should just kiss me,” she whispered. She was both calling his bluff and begging him to do it.

  “I shouldn’t.” He sounded almost as though he were in pain. “Christ, forgive me,” he whispered just before bringing his lips to hers. She sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling of his firm, warm lips pressed against hers in a surprisingly gentle, almost tentative kiss. A tremor passed through him and she could tell he was fighting to hold himself back. But she didn’t want him to hold back. He’d been holding back for five years, slowly killing both of them, and she felt as though she were about to shatter because of it.

  She opened her mouth and slid her tongue against his, and she was rewarded with a low, gruff sound from deep in his chest. Her clit throbbed at the taste of him on her tongue, at the low growl he let out as she slowly stroked his tongue with hers. He dropped his hand from the brick above her and cupped her cheek, pulling her tighter against him. He deepened the kiss, working his tongue against hers, exploring her mouth, caressing it and learning her taste just as she was learning his. Her portfolio fell to the floor and she wound her arms around his neck, never wanting to let him go.

  The intensity of the kiss increased, heat and lust swirling through her, making her tremble and moan against his mouth. She knew, now that she had Lucian’s mouth on hers, his tongue sliding against hers in a raw, sexual promise, that she’d never been properly kissed before. Every single kiss she’d ever had paled in comparison to this, utterly and completely. Were those other kisses even kisses? She didn’t know, because Lucian’s kiss had obliterated them all in just a few short seconds.

  He broke the kiss, his chest rising and falling as though he’d just sprinted a mile.

  “Don’t stop,” she whispered against his lips, threading her fingers into his hair. “Please, Lucian. Don’t stop.” She didn’t care that they weren’t alone, or that this was supposed to be a job interview, or that there were a whole slew of reasons they shouldn’t be doing this. Now that she’d tasted him, nothing else mattered.

  “Fuck,” he breathed before taking her lips again, deeper and more intense than the first time. He kept her pinned there as he devoured her with long, hot sweeps of his tongue. He nipped at her bottom lip and then sucked her tongue into his mouth. She squirmed against him, the throbbing between her legs almost painful. They’d been kissing for a minute, maybe two, and she was already soaked and swollen for him, feeling so desperately empty she felt as though she could crawl out of her skin.

  He broke the kiss again, but this time his hand dropped from her face to her throat, his fingers warm and heavy on her skin as he turned her head to the side and buried his face in her neck, licking and sucking and kissing the sensitive skin just below her ear. She moaned, heat and need pouring through her, and his grip on her throat tightened slightly. The possessiveness of the touch undid something inside her, making her want to be whatever he needed. Whatever he wanted.

  She wanted to be his. Wanted him to claim her and own her and all kinds of unevolved things. She wanted to belong to him, fully and completely.

  As he kissed a blazing path down her neck, his stubble rasping against the sensitive skin, she moaned again, her hands moving restlessly up and down his back. “Yes, Lucian. God, yes.”

  He murmured something that sounded a lot like “my Liv,” but the words were muffled against her skin. She shifted her hips, dying for some kind of pressure or friction on her pulsing clit, knowing she’d probably come on the spot if he simply put his hand between her legs.

  His mouth traced lower, kissing and licking across her collarbone. His fingers grazed the outer swell of one of her breasts and she gasped, arching her back into the touch. He kissed his way up her throat and back to her mouth, claiming her lips in a hot, deep kiss that made her blood sing and her heart pound. Her legs were shaking so badly she was surprised she was still standing.

  She didn’t want to be standing. She wanted to be on her back with Lucian above her, moving inside her, finally taking what had been his for the past five years. She cradled his face, loving the prickliness of his permastubble against her palms, and kissed him back with everything she had. He groaned, taking more of her mouth. This was more than a kiss. This was sex in kiss form, with the way he was fucking her mouth with his tongue, taking and owning and possessing.

  She shifted again, the wet slide of her panties against her swollen pussy torturous. She needed to come. Needed him inside her. Needed him to finally admit who they were to each other and take what she was offering.

  Her phone started ringing inside her purse, and he broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to hers, his harsh pants fanning against her tingling, kiss-swollen lips.

  “Answer it,” he said, his voice low and rough as though he’d swallowed a pound of gravel.

  She nodded and pulled it out of her purse with shaking fingers. “It’s my dad.”

  He nipped at her lips once more with a soft growl that had heat curling in her belly and then released her, pacing away and shoving a hand through his slightly disheveled hair.

  She answered the ca
ll and before she had the chance to say anything, her father’s voice came over the line. “Honey? Are you okay? Where are you?”

  She frowned, confusion clearing some of the lust fog from her system. “Hey, Dad. Yeah, I’m fine. I’m at the bistro with Lucian. Why? What’s wrong?”

  She heard him exhale a long breath. “Massimo called my office saying he was worried about you because he can’t get ahold of you.”

  She closed her eyes, her jaw going tight at the mention of Massimo. “I hope you told him to fuck off.”

  At her words, Lucian turned and looked at her, one eyebrow cocked. She held up a finger.

  “No, and I know you two broke up. I was surprised he called here. That’s the first time he’s done that.”

  “I’m fine, and I’m going to block his number because he doesn’t seem to be able to take a hint. I’m sorry that he worried you.”

  There was a pause. “It’s not that he worried me. I think he was fishing for information on where you are. And I was worried that if he found you…” He trailed off, sighing. “I don’t like that he’s keeping tabs on you. It’s over the line, especially after you told him you didn’t want to see him anymore.”

  “I don’t like it either. Don’t worry, I’m going to block his number.” And sic Lucian on him. But she left that part out. “He won’t bother you again.”

  “If he won’t leave you alone, I think we should contact the police.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” she said noncommittally. She glanced over at Lucian, who was watching her with intense, hungry eyes. “I’m okay, Dad. But I do need to go. I’m in the middle of a meeting.” Slash incredibly hot make out session.

  “Okay, honey. Be careful. If he calls here again, I’m calling the police.”

  She hung up with her dad then navigated to Massimo’s texts and handed her phone to Lucian. “It’s Massimo. He’s texting me multiple times a day, even though I never respond, and he just called my dad’s office wanting to know where I was.” She shrugged. “You told me to let you know if he was still bothering me.”