Patrick didn’t care what Carlos thought—let the world know that Lucy was his. He brushed his knuckles along her pale cheek, marked with that fucking asshole’s thumbprint, the mark fainter now but still rankling him to no reason. “Some other time.”
Lucy figured it was better not to argue with Holden but as soon as Carlos got behind the wheel and started the car, she said, “Carlos, I need to get Mr. Holden a costume. Where do you recommend I do that?”
Carlos smiled into the rearview mirror, his big teeth blazing white against his darkly tanned skin. “I know just the place, Miss Divine.”
“Can you drive me there?”
Carlos hesitated, Holden’s wrath not being something any of his employees wished to invoke.
“I won’t get you into trouble, Carlos,” she assured, certain she could talk Holden out of anything dramatic, especially since the notion of wanting to coddle and hide her in the sanctity of his apartment—simply because she’d been forcibly kissed by a sleaze-ball—although romantic, was also very silly. Except for the slight fright, she was just fine and dandy. She was perfectly capable of buying a costume.
“Just the place”, as Carlos had said, was a huge warehouse in the Lower West Side of Manhattan. It had a red-brick exterior and a skewed, small green door that creaked on its hinges when she pulled it open. When Lucy entered the crowded space, she could barely make her way through the racks and hangers, packed together just about everywhere.
Eying the place over the tops of the racks, Lucy caught sight of a middle-aged woman with a turban and a wide-sleeved tunic calmly sitting on a stool behind a counter at the far end of the room. Through a pair of rare violet-colored eyes, the woman watched as Lucy approached. As soon as Lucy reached her, the woman took a card from the deck she’d been holding and smacked it face-up on the counter.
“Nine of Pentacles!”
“Excuse me?” Lucy said, slightly startled and glancing down at the card. It depicted a lovely woman with a long, sweeping gown and an arm lifted toward the sky, her knuckles serving as the perch for a beautiful bird that looked as if it was just about to take flight.
“Nine of Pentacles, lord of material gain. You’re lucky. It’s a card of hard-earned success and money.” Her violet eyes were ruthless as they studied Lucy’s face, as if Lucy were the keeper of some dark, mysterious secret.
“Pardon?” Lucy blinked.
“This means a mission has been accomplished, or you’ve received a gift or inheritance of great value.” At Lucy’s blank expression, she added, “It means money, blondie. Lots of it.” The woman smiled, displaying a big gold tooth.
Lucy frowned at her, suddenly wondering if the woman was referring to her whopping raise, then dismissing the thought immediately because she’d barely gotten word of the news herself. It was impossible for this stranger to know. “Ah…yes, how nice,” Lucy said, deciding not to argue with a person so clearly out of her senses. “Would you happen to have a good old-fashioned devil costume for an adult male?” she asked.
The woman set the deck down and said, “Follow me.”
Half an hour later, on her way to Holden’s apartment, Lucy told herself several times that she was only going to properly hang the costume in his closet and immediately retire afterward. But once there, she found herself lingering. First she rearranged the order of his ties, starting with the lighter colors and ending with the darker ones. Then she rearranged a few of his suits, pausing to smell them only to verify if they were clean—not because she felt a sudden urge to bask in the scent of his cologne, of course.
When she opened his underwear drawer, she finally realized she was turning into a little pervert. So she closed it and admitted to herself that she was merely making excuses to see him. Be with him. Although she’d have never thought it possible mere weeks ago, she physically ached to be in his arms.
After her encounter with Morris, all she’d wanted was to throw herself into Holden’s arms and ask him to hold her. But businesswomen needed to be tough, so she’d stifled the urge and tried not to dramatize. But the truth was, she realized—she had been scared. And when she’d seen Holden standing in the doorway she’d felt incredibly relieved, like a silly, whimpering little maiden being rescued by a knight.
Okay, knights shouldn’t scold the maiden afterward, and they shouldn’t curse and be all grumpy, but even that had made her heart swell—because it had been out of concern for her that he’d behaved so.
Just please, please don’t fall in love with him, she mentally pleaded with herself. She had her big dreams to pursue, had spent half her life drafting a perfect career plan and she would not, could not, should not spoil it.
As Lucy rearranged the devil costume on its hanger for the fifth consecutive time, she heard voices out in the hallway and her heart raced faster than a champion thoroughbred. Holden is here!
But when she crossed his room toward the sounds, she was surprised to hear Irene’s voice at the end of the hall, not Holden’s. Her voice sounded slightly slurred, and Lucy wondered if she’d been drinking.
“Shut that trap and kiss me, you old fart!” she bellowed.
And then Lucy heard the honorable Mr. Pimwick say, in that monotonous tone of his, “As you wish, madam.”
Lucy clamped a hand to her mouth to silence the delightful squeal that threatened to escape her lips. Oh my God, Irene and Mr. Pimwick are lovers! She would have never imagined. As she crossed the darkening bedroom and flicked on the lamp on the nightstand, she vaguely wondered what Holden would say about his widowed mother having a romp with the butler. But then, Holden was also having a romp with Lucy, so he shouldn’t judge his mother for it.
Is that all this is to him, Lucy wondered, a romp? Even the word was short. And Lucy didn’t want this to end, ever.
In fact, since they’d beg
un their totally-wrong-but-inexplicably-amazing sexual fling, Lucy had felt more alive than she’d ever felt before. Even her walk had a little more sass to it. She felt reenergized, invigorated, and if she had any fear at all now, it would only be to wake up and find this had all been a dream.
Hearing the door to Irene’s room slam shut only made her long for Holden even more. Why was he taking so long? Maybe he didn’t want to see her. Maybe he’d already grown tired of her. Maybe he did this sort of thing with his secretaries as well, and this was the night to fool around with Bitch Number One, Two or Three? Lucy would quite easily want to die if that assumption were true. She didn’t want Holden touching anyone else, kissing anyone else, holding anyone else. She also didn’t want to be one among many other women—because he was one of a very, very precious few. And yet, tomorrow he had a date with his precious Miranda, and Lucy feared that they might want to pick up where they’d left off that night he’d ended up fucking Lucy in the closet.
With new determination, she decided to go home. She was tired of having to brainwash herself every second of the day. It was exhausting to mentally repeat to herself that this was just sex. To her, this wasn’t just sex. And now something much more fragile than Lucy’s body was in the picture—and he could break it like that with something as simple as an unkind word.