Chapter 3 Diner Agreement

Celeste had been to fine dinners before once, at sixteen when her father tried to impress a wealthy investor. That dinner had ended in screaming and broken glass and tonight felt no different.

She stood at the top of the winding marble staircase of the Devereux penthouse, her skin kissed by a deep emerald silk dress that clung to every curve. The high slit teased the strength of her legs with every step she took and she hated that the damn thing made her feel sexy.

She hated more that she knew Lucien had chosen it for her, as she descended, her breath shortened. The entire space was drenched in low lighting and sinful elegance with dark woods, velvet chairs and wine as old as lies, and at the end of the long, black marble dining table sat Lucien Devereux, casually sipping a glass of red like the villain of her own personal tragedy.

He looked up as she reached the final step, his eyes slowly moving over her body like a caress,he didn't smile but she caught the flare of desire in his gaze and that terrified her more than hatred ever could.

"You clean up well," he said with his voice low and indulgent.

"And you're as arrogant as ever," she replied, taking the seat opposite him.

Lucien leaned forward resting his forearms on the table. "You didn't have to wear the dress."

"I didn't wear it for you."

"No," he murmured, "but you wore it knowing I'd look."

Her fork paused mid-air and every conversation with Lucien felt like walking a tightrope over fire,one step too far and she'd fall, burning on contact.

"You said this dinner was business," she said.

"It is,but business doesn't have to be boring."

The food came with seared duck in wine glaze, fresh truffle risotto and some over-priced bottle of Bordeaux neither of them touched. Celeste's appetite barely flickered and her nerves tasted everything. She tried to focus and tried to breathe.

Lucien watched her with unnerving patience,

"So," she said tightly. "What's the real reason I'm here?"

"I told you," he replied, "I need you to design a personal collection for my company. Exclusive, intimate, and... dangerous."

"Dangerous?" she scoffed. "You make fashion sound like war."

"It is," he said, eyes steady, "And no one understands that like you do."

The way he said it made her skin break into goosebumps.

"I don't believe you just want a designer,there are hundreds in Paris who would kill for this."

"I don't want hundreds, I want the one who keeps me awake at night."

Silence fell between them like a curtain and the implication wrapped around her throat with heat coiled low in her belly thenshe stood abruptly.

"This was a mistake."

Lucien rose with her, crossing the distance in three slow steps.

"Celeste," he murmured, "we're long past mistakes."

She turned away with her heart thudding wildly. "You think just because you're rich and powerful, you can own me,but I'm not your pawn, Lucien."

"No," he said behind her with his voice turning to gravel, "You're my obsession."

Then she spun around and nd then he kissed her with no warning, and no permission, just fire and hunger and unfinished grief.

His mouth claimed hers with a force that cracked something inside her and she gasped against him with his hands slipping to her waist, dragging her against his hard chest. It was wrong, it was dangerous and It was everything she swore she didn't want.But her body betrayed her and her lips opened for him, her fingers clutched at the silk of his shirt and her thighs pressed together as heat surged through her like a drug.

He broke the kiss first, breathless but in control.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he growled.

"Stop," she whispered. "You can't just touch me whenever you want."

He cupped her jaw, tilting her chin up until their eyes met.

"You signed a contract, Celeste,my house and my rules."

Her hand flew up and slapped him before she could think,the sound echoed through the dining room and his head turned slightly from the impact, but his lips curled into something far more dangerous than a smile.

"I've missed that temper."

She stepped back, breathing hard. "Don't push me."

"Oh, I intend to," he said, voice silky,"But not tonight."

He left her standing there with her heart torn between rage and arousal and her lips swollen from his kiss and her mind spinning.

Later that night, Celeste stood in the bedroom she'd been given that was larger than her entire flat with windows that opened onto the Paris skyline. She still wore the dress, though her skin burned where Lucien's hands had touched her.

There was a soft knock, then she turned and he was there again. Lucien stepped in slowly, watching her with those unreadable eyes.

"I need one more thing from you," he said.

She folded her arms, "Another rule?"

"No,a truth."

She blinked, "What kind of truth?"

Lucien closed the door behind him,"The night your father died,doyou really believe I caused it?"

The room spun and the question slammed into her like a bullet but she didn't answer, she couldn't. Lucien stepped closer, "He left a letter, didn't he?"

She shook her head sharply, voice caught in her throat.

He touched her chin again, gently this time. "There's more to this story than you think."And then he whispered words that changed everything.

"He was working for me, Celeste,that night,your father was a Devereux insider."Her blood ran cold and the walls of her hatred cracked, and the ground beneath her shifted violently.

"What... what did you just say?"

Lucien looked away, butthe damage was done. Celeste's entire world tilted, and everything she believed about her past and about Lucien was suddenly wrong.