When You Defy Me (When I'm With You Part 2) (4 page)

Lucien checked the platinum watch on his wrist. “Come on, we have time before the lunch preparations. I’ll take you for something
else the Americans do big.”

“What?” she asked, her heartbeat escalating when he took her hand in his.

“You’ll see,” Lucien said elusively.

She gave him a doubtful look when he led her to a small restaurant nestled innocuously among expensive Gold Coast town houses.

“The House of Pancakes?” she asked dubiously.

Lucien just smiled knowingly and led her inside. The delicious aromas of ham and maple syrup made her mouth water.

“Is there a party going on?” she asked, bemused as she took in the crowded restaurant and rambunctious atmosphere.

“No. This is a typical Saturday or Sunday morning here. The Americans love weekend breakfast. It’s an occasion for them,”
Lucien explained quietly before the hostess greeted them cheerfully and seated them at a small Formica-topped table.

“Look at all the families . . . the friends,” Elise said, examining the diverse crowd, everyone talking amiably or diving
into mounds of syrup-drenched pancakes or fluffy omelets. In France, breakfast consisted of coffee and a croissant and was
hardly an occasion. The first meal of the day was the least important, and definitely the least social, in her opinion.

She opened the plastic-covered menu and stared in wonder at page upon page of decadently rich food. Lucien must have noticed
her amazement because he was smiling when she looked up.

“It’s like culinary Disneyland.”

“I’m always telling people, when it comes to cooking, the Americans do one thing like no other: weekend breakfast. Look at
them,” he murmured. He grabbed her hand on the tabletop in a gesture that seemed entirely natural on his part but made her
heart jump. She followed his gaze.

“And people say Americans will never understand the true meaning of a French meal,” he murmured under his breath to her,
eyeing the tables of happily relaxed people, friends and families talking about their week in a non-pressured manner while
they sipped steaming coffee or indulged in a doctor-prohibited meal for one precious moment during a busy week. She saw a
teenage boy showing his dubious but interested grandfather something on his iPad, a man reading his
International Business Times
while his female companion perused a self-help book, their hands held fast on the Formica tabletop. Kids colored on the restaurant-supplied
kid’s menu, looking adorably like they’d just rolled out of bed with uncombed hair and sweatpants, shorts, and occasionally
even pajama bottoms.

“I find,” Lucien said quietly across the table, “they’re at their best at breakfast.”

She looked at him and they shared a smile.

“I admire the chef,” she said.

Lucien chuckled. “I imagine it’s more of a cook than a chef. It hardly compares to the complexity and nuance of what you
do.”

“Thank you, but I meant I admire him because he gets to bring all these people together. These families,” she added, once
again studying all the relaxed, happy people with longing. “You miss having family around, don’t you?”

“I miss having a family. Period.” She was surprised when he reached across the table and squeezed her hand. She saw something
in his eyes—something she understood all too well.

We are alike, you and I. Both alone. Both misfits
.

But not alone when we’re together, she added in her head. A powerful feeling swelled in her chest.

“How is your father?” he asked quietly.

She grimaced. “He’s growing more stubborn in his old age.”

“He always could have used being a bit more stubborn when it came to you,” Lucien said with dry amusement.

Elise rolled her eyes, even though she actually thought Lucien was right. She hadn’t minded half as much as she thought she
would have when her father cut her off financially. Maybe part of her had been waiting for someone in her life to show a little
backbone; although, when it came to her father, she suspected he wouldn’t hold out if she begged him hard enough. She’d just
been tired, too worn out to exhibit the required amount of wheedling and bargaining to get him to relent.

“Other than his newfound cantankerous streak, he’s much the same as always. Still gay, and pretending to all the world that
he’s the Heterosexual Bull of All of Europe.” She saw Lucien’s small smile and matched it sadly. “Bless his heart. If only
he realized it wouldn’t matter a bit to most of us. It
hasn’t
mattered to those closest to him for forever, if only he’d step outside of his brilliant head for a moment and notice. Although
if he declared himself, my mother would be lost. How could she possibly justify all her affairs then?”

Lucien grunted softly in understanding. “A lie disguised by a mask wrapped in yet another façade. That’s how I thought of
my childhood.”

“How is one ever to recognize the truth?” Elise replied softly.

Their stares met. She felt a little bereft when the waitress came and he released her, leaning back in his seat.

Nearly an hour later, she groaned in a mixture of discomfort and supreme gustatory satiation as they left the restaurant.

“Those carrot cake pancakes were soooo good,” she said, rubbing her stomach as Lucien held open the door for her. “So was
the bacon and cheddar omelet.”

“Don’t forget the hash browns or blueberry waffle,” Lucien said dryly as they walked onto the tree-lined street, the sidewalk
separated from the green lawns by a low, iron-gated fence. She saw his amusement and laughed. She’d asked to try far too many
items from the menu, her culinary curiosity piqued by the cheerful, packed crowd and Lucien’s description of American breakfasts.

“How could I forget them? All the ingredients were fresh, and it was so delicious.”

He nodded in the direction of Division Street and the farmers’ market. “They buy the produce right there.”

“It was brilliant. This was a wonderful morning. Lucien, can we do a breakfast at Fusion?” she asked, enthralled by the idea.
“I’ll put a spin on it you’ll never forget.”

He glanced swiftly back at her and caught her dreaming about her breakfast. His expression went hard. He turned and she found
herself in his arms.

It happened so suddenly, she didn’t have a chance to exclaim in surprise. One second they were walking down the sidewalk
and she was teasing and dreaming, and the next she was pressed against his hard body, her chin just below his nipple line,
and he was lifting her face to his. She got a glimpse of the fierceness of his gaze before his mouth claimed hers.

His tongue pierced her lips, agile and possessive. His taste permeated her consciousness and she melted against him, her
body going soft and supple against his solid length, their tongues sliding together in a manner that made her forget where
she was. Lucien’s kiss on a Chicago sidewalk on a shiny new day was the most delicious thing she’d ever experienced in her
life.

She moaned in regret when he lifted his head a sensuous moment later.

“You’ve already got me spinning,” he said quietly against her lips, his intensity stealing her breath. His gaze moved over
her face, narrowing.

“I’m sorry. I told you I wasn’t going to do that. What kind of a model for self-control am I?”

“Don’t be sorry. I liked it. A lot,” she finished on a whisper, pressing her body closer to better feel his heat, his masculine
contours. She grinned. “Who cares about self-control?”

His nostrils flared slightly. His expression went flat. He stepped away, keeping her hand in his.

“I do. Come on,” he said. “We should get over to Fusion.”

She hurried to keep up with his long-legged stride, disappointment swamping her. She didn’t know what to say. He was obviously
attracted to her, but he just refused to fawn over her like other men did. He’d said she had
him
spinning, but it was she who was struck completely off balance by his cool aloofness interspersed with moments of intense,
entirely addictive, raw sexuality.

She glanced at his handsome profile and scowled. He’d said he wanted her to learn self-control, but it just wasn’t fair,
how much control he wielded over her.

The following Tuesday, Elise waited nervously in the examination room of the Michigan Avenue medical practice.

She hadn’t seen a lot of Lucien since they’d gone marketing on Saturday, much to her disappointment. He wasn’t avoiding her—or
at least she hoped he wasn’t—it was just that their paths didn’t cross often at the busy restaurant. She’d been excited when
Lucien had covertly pulled her aside this morning at Fusion, but he’d merely given her a few instructions and handed her a
piece of paper with the address and time for her doctor’s appointment. When he’d told her his appointment was at a different
time, and that he wouldn’t be accompanying her, she’d heaved a sigh of relief. She was highly anxious about this appointment,
and she didn’t want him witnessing her nerves with those cool, knowing eyes of his.

When the gynecologist entered a few minutes later, introducing herself as Dr. Sheridan, Elise was glad to see she was fairly
young. Maybe she wouldn’t laugh at Elise’s questions or confessions.

“When was your last pap smear?” The doctor asked the inevitable question a few moments later as she did the interview portion
of the exam.

“I . . . I’ve never had one before,” Elise said.

Dr. Sheridan masked her surprise well. “Are you sexually active?”

“I’ve never had intercourse with a man. I know you must think it’s odd, since I’m twenty-four.”

“Not at all,” the doctor reassured. “Lots of women are choosing to wait these days.”

“But can you do an exam if I’ve never had intercourse?”

“Certainly. It’s good that you told me, though. I’ll use a smaller speculum. The vaginal muscles will be tight, but the chances
of you actually having an intact hymen at age twenty-four are rare. You’re in very good condition. Are you an athlete?”

“I run. I used to ride almost every day, even though I haven’t had access to a mount for a year or so.”

“More than likely, the hymen was ruptured long ago if you’ve ridden that long. We’ll take a look.”

“If the hymen is broken, then the man would never know, would he? That I was a virgin?”

Dr. Sheridan hesitated. “Is that important to you?” she asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“Probably not. Not many men are all that experienced in gauging the subtleties. But I would encourage you to talk to your
partner if you do become sexually active. It would be better if he could be as gentle as possible.”

She nodded. Dr. Sheridan must have noticed her anxiety as she flipped back the cover on the tray that held the instruments
for the exam. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell you everything I’m going to do beforehand.”

The exam was slightly uncomfortable, but nowhere near as bad as she’d worried. According to the doctor, her regular horseback
riding or some other activity had indeed long ago ruptured her hymen. Elise was relieved to hear it.

When the doctor had finished and told her to dress, Elise grasped for her courage. Lucien had arranged this appointment and
was paying for it, after all.

“What I told you about not being with a man before, that’s . . . that’s confidential, right?”

The physician looked nonplussed. “Absolutely. I’ll supply you with your records, and whom you choose to share them with is
your business. But there won’t be anything in the record but pertinent testing data.”

She gave a heartfelt thanks and the doctor left the room.

Elise’d had her share of men and exchanged sexual pleasure with some of them. But she wouldn’t make herself vulnerable. The
simple fact was, she was one of the wealthiest women in Europe. Men had tried to ingratiate themselves sexually and emotionally
with her since she was fifteen years old. She didn’t trust that there weren’t males out there who would use her body against
her. They might strive to impregnate and use a child as an excuse to marry. That had happened to one of her acquaintances,
a girl named Lucinda Seacon. After Lucinda had gotten pregnant at seventeen by a worthless combination of skirt chaser and
fortune hunter, Elise’s mother had given her a pack of birth-control pills. For once, Elise had followed her mother’s advice
and taken them.

Better safe than sorry.

But a man might simply use intimacy to emotionally manipulate and gain the upper hand. In addition to all that, she had the
example of her mother when it came to sex—not an example to follow, but an example to guard against. Any handsome man of any
age was fair game to Madeline Martin, including many of Elise’s boyfriends. Elise flatly refused to sleep with a man who had
shared a bed with her mother. Sometimes that seemed like half the men in Europe. Her mother had even had the nerve to come
on to her friend Michael Trent when she’d drug him along for a visit to Cannes, begging him for support during a compulsory
weekend spent with the sharks.

It hadn’t even mattered to her mother that Elise had told her Michael was gay, she recalled disgustedly. Her mother thought
so much of her beauty and allure, she’d believed she could lure a gay man to heterosexuality. It hadn’t worked in the case
of her husband, but that seemed to make Madeline all the more determined to try.

Classic Madeline.

For a variety of reasons, Elise had never felt secure or confident in romantic or sexual relationships. So she had been the
one to maintain control. She grew skilled at giving a man what he wanted, of satisfying him sexually, while maintaining a
safe distance. She hadn’t planned to still be a virgin at age twenty-four, but she’d never encountered anyone in her adult
years with whom she was willing to take the risk.

Until now.

Not only was she majorly in lust with Lucien, but she cared about him. She probably always would, after that summer they’d
spent together. She’d believed him when he’d told her in his office that he cared about her as well. Some sort of invisible
bond had been forged between them that summer, and it warmed her heart to know he felt that connection, too. She may frustrate
him and she may infuriate him, but he cared.