When I'm With You: The Complete Novel (2 page)

“You’re fired,” Lucien interrupted succinctly.

Mario blinked. Lucien started to walk away.

“Lucien, you can’t do that!” Elise exclaimed.

He whipped around at the sound of her voice. For a second he just stared at her.

“How long has it been?” he asked her, his quiet question for her, and her alone. He saw a strange mixture of emotions cross her beautiful face—discomfort, confusion . . . anger.

“It’s been close to two years since that night at Renygat,” she said, referring to his successful nightclub and restaurant in Paris. He had to hand it to her. Despite the riot of emotion that’d flickered across her face, she was all cool aristocrat by the time she spoke. Damn her. Any man who tried to decode the enigma of Elise was doomed to a lifetime obsession. Who
was
she? Uncontrollable bad-girl heiress or luminous, golden, elusive ray of sunshine that beckoned and taunted?

“Lucien, don’t be so hasty,” Elise said softly, a witch’s smile shaping lips that could probably tempt a man to do murder. “It would be silly to fire Mario because of how you feel about me.”

“I’m not firing him because of how I feel about you,” he said levelly. The vision of Mario’s hand on her white skin flashed into his mind’s eye
. Liar.
He willfully ignored the taunting voice in his head. “I’m firing him because he underhandedly procured the restaurant’s security code, broke into my private property, and stole from my personal stash.”

She’d cut her long, glorious mane of blond hair since he’d last seen her two years ago. She wore it short now, the gleaming waves combed behind her ears. He’d have thought the shearing of those curls and tresses might have symbolized the taming of Elise’s infamous wild spirit, but he’d have thought wrong. Elise’s rebellion came from her eyes. Anger stiffened her features. She must have forgotten that her typical charms didn’t work on Lucien.

“You can’t fire Mario,” she stated, all traces of seductive allurement replaced by annoyed stubbornness. Lucien had to force himself not to smile at the abrupt alteration.

“I can do whatever I please. This is my place.”

He saw a familiar defiant expression tighten her features, the same one she’d worn when she was fourteen and he’d told her that a stallion in his father’s stables was too strong and dangerous for her to control—an expression he was very fond of, despite it all.

“But—”

“There’s no but about it,” Lucien said, forcing his tone into its usual calm cadence and volume. He would
not
let the presence of Elise set him off balance. She had a habit of doing just that—of whipping the usually staid upper crust of European society into a scandalized whirlwind with her outrageous stunts . . . of sending a man spinning with her unparalleled beauty and the temptation of taming her. He remembered all too well how he’d nearly succumbed to her siren song during their last meeting at Renygat. He recalled Elise looking up at him as she unfastened his pants, her fingertips brushing against a cock that teemed with hot, raw lust, her lips red and puffy from his earlier angry possession of her mouth, her eyes shining like fire-infused sapphires, the taste of her lingering on his tongue, addictive and sweet.

“You want to forget your past, Lucien? I’m going to make you feel so good, you’re going to forget everything that happened with your father. That’s a promise.”

His body tightened at the memory. He’d believed her. If anyone could make him forget for one glorious, nirvanic moment, it was Elise. It had cost him to send her away that night, but he’d done it. She manipulated as easily as she breathed. She knew precisely how to slip the most formidable foe in her hip pocket and make him beg like a hungry dog.

And to add to that risk, Elise knew too much, after that night at Renygat.

She still did, damn it.

There’s only one way he would ever invite Elise into his life, and she would never agree to play by those rules. Not Elise Martin.

Would she? a small voice in his head taunted.

“I want both of you to get out of here. You’re lucky I don’t call the police,” Lucien stated, starting to turn again. He paused when he noticed Mario move jerkily toward him from the corner of his eye. Apparently, the chef had regained some of his typical hauteur in the intervening seconds.

“Don’t be a fool. You have to open Fusion tomorrow. You need me. What will you do for a chef?”

“I’ll manage. I’ve been in this business long enough to know how to deal with stealing employees.”

“Are you calling me a thief? An
employee
?” Clearly, Mario couldn’t decide which label was more insulting: criminal or paid worker. His color faded beneath his olive-toned skin.

Lucien paused, gauging, taking in the glassiness of Mario’s eyes. Apparently, Mario had imbibed his fair share before he’d brought Elise here to ply her with Lucien’s brandy. Did he plan to make love to her on the leather couch in his private office as well? The thought sent his anger to a low boil. He supposed Mario might be attractive enough to some women, but he was in his forties, and far too old to be seducing Elise. No matter that Elise had probably taken four times as many lovers as him, Mario was still a rutting cradle robber, as far as Lucien was concerned.

“I hadn’t yet called you a thief, but that’s precisely what you are. Among other things.”

“You
cannot
fire him!” Elise blurted out. Lucien glanced sideways at her, startled by the panic in her voice but unwilling to look away from Mario when the other man’s hands were balled into fists. Why was she so desperate over Mario? He’d definitely gotten the impression she was cool about the chef’s seduction.

“Stay out of this. It’s none of your business,” Lucien muttered.

“It
is
my business. If you fire Mario, what am I supposed to do?” Elise exclaimed, setting her snifter on the bar.

“What are you talking about?” Lucien bit out, but Mario wasn’t interested in their tense, private exchange.

“You’ve always been a smug French bastard, thinking you could lord it over me,” Mario bellowed. He grabbed Elise’s upper arm roughly. “Well, you can’t fire me because I quit! Come, Elise. Let’s get out of this devil’s lair.”

Elise kept her feet planted and jerked when Mario yanked on her. “Nobody tells me what to do,” she exclaimed. Lucien clamped his fist around the other man’s forearm and squeezed. Tight. Mario yelped in pain.

“Let go of her,” Lucien warned. He saw the flash of aggression in Mario’s expression and resisted rolling his eyes in exasperation. He really wasn’t up for this tonight. “Are you
sure
you want to start something?” he asked mildly. “Do you think it’s wise?”

“
Don’t
Mario,” Elise warned.

For a brief second, Mario hesitated, but then the alcohol he’d consumed must have roared in his veins—not to mention an Elise-inspired testosterone surge—mounting his blustering vanity. He released Elise and lunged, fist cocked. Lucien blocked Mario’s punch and sunk his fist beneath his ribs.

One, two, done. Almost too easy, Lucien thought grimly as air whooshed out of Mario’s lungs followed by a guttural groan of pain.

Lucien shot a “this is all your fault” glare at Elise and then put his hands on the shoulders of the now hunched over Mario. He grabbed his jacket off the bar stool and urged the gasping, moaning man toward the front door of the restaurant with a hold on his shirt collar.

When he returned a few minutes later alone, Elise still stood next to the bar, her chin up, her carriage held every bit as proud and erect as her aristocratic ancestors, her gaze on him wary. He walked toward her, unsure if he wanted to shove her into the back of a cab like he just had Mario, shake her for her foolishness, or turn her over his knee and punish her ass for the infraction of peering into his private world.

* * *

“What did you do with him?” she asked shakily when Lucien stalked toward her, his fierce, gray-eyed gaze causing her to quail inwardly, even though she didn’t show it. She understood what a potential threat Lucien Sauvage was. He could handle a drunk like Mario in his sleep. Elise knew of his athleticism, not to mention his years of experience in maintaining peace and the law in his popular, luxurious restaurants and hotels across the world. Many times organized-crime elements had tried to get a foothold in his establishments and failed, thanks to a combination of Lucien’s acute intelligence and raw power.

“I put him in a cab. Now—what to do with you?” he asked, his gaze dropping over her.

Her nipples tightened beneath a stare that was fire and ice at once. Her spine stiffened; her throat froze. The truth was still ricocheting around her skull:
Lucien Sauvage owned Fusion
. She’d unknowingly put her future in the hands of a man who had rejected her.

And nobody rejected her.

Well,
hardly
anybody, at least when she wanted otherwise. She’d definitely wanted “otherwise” with Lucien.
Just my luck
. Of all the restaurants and gin joints in towns all over the world, she’d had to walk into his, she thought with a panicked sense of amusement.

“You’re going to do the only thing you can do with me,” she replied, her voice cool enough for someone who was playing the poker game of a lifetime with a crap hand. It was a mark of their shared past—their onetime friendship—that they spoke English to each other. Both of their mothers were English, their fathers French. It was a commonality they shared, a small intimacy that used to seem significant to a fourteen-year-old girl who craved the feeling of closeness to a beautiful young man who forever seemed unattainable to her. “You’re going to have to let me fill in as Fusion’s chef now that you’ve made such a mess of things with Mario.”

He blinked and his expression went flat. “What are you rambling about? Are you drunk?”

Anger bubbled up in her chest. “I had one glass of wine all night,” she said honestly. She noticed his sarcastic glance at her brandy snifter on the bar. “Mario handed it to me; I took it. Lucien, what are you doing here?” she asked again, her curiosity about him trumping her worry about her future. “You disappeared from Paris over a year ago. None of your employees in Paris will say where you are. My mother spoke to yours recently. Even Sophia doesn’t know where you are. She’s miserable with worry.”

“Right,” he said sardonically. “My mother is sick to death at the idea of me not touching all that money she wants for herself ever since my father has been locked up in prison.”

Elise blinked. He had a point. She
had
heard he was being strangely stubborn and elusive about accepting his ancestral fortune.

“If you tell a soul you saw me here, I’ll make you pay, Elise.”

Quiet. Succinct. Completely believable.

Her heart leapt into overdrive. He’d paused a few feet away from her. She had to stretch her neck back slightly to see his face and hoped he didn’t notice her pulse throbbing at her throat. He struck her as even larger than she remembered—tall, lean, hard, and supremely formidable. He’d cut his dark hair since she’d last seen him, wearing it in a short, very sexy shake-out style that emphasized his masculine, chiseled features and an effortless sense of masculine grace. She’d always had a desire to run her fingers through that soft-looking, thick hair . . . wantonly fill her palms with it. He’d grown a very trim goatee since then, too. He wore jeans and a buttoned ivory cotton shirt, the color along with his silvery-gray eyes creating a striking contrast to smooth, caramel-hued skin. Mario wasn’t the first to refer to Lucien as a devil. Men said it with bitter envy. Women said it with covetous lust.

His size and an undeniable aura of physical strength had always thrilled her, but Lucien intimidated her as well. His quiet, calm voice; contained, confident manner; and brilliant, charming smiles belied a coiled power inside him. There was a darkness to him that didn’t exactly match the white, flashing smile and easygoing manner with which he charmed the upper strata of the social world and his affluent hotel and restaurant guests.

She had no doubt that Lucien could be dangerous when he chose. She also knew he’d never really harm her—not the young man who had once showed her kindness and taken her under his wing.

But that didn’t make his threat any less intimidating.

“Now,” he said calmly, stepping closer still and placing a hand on the rail of the bar. She suddenly felt cornered. “When are you leaving Chicago?”

“I’m not leaving. I plan to live here.”

“What?”

“That’s right. Chicago is my new home,” she said with supreme confidence, even though she didn’t feel it. Elise was nothing if not an actress, and spirited aplomb was her finest role.

Unfortunately, her father had been contemptuous of her plans to become a chef and relocate to Chicago, refusing to fund her new career. She couldn’t access her trust fund until she was twenty-five. Six months had never felt so far in the future to Elise. The nest egg she’d squirreled away after almost a year of waitressing in Paris had never seemed so pitifully small.

“Why would you come to Chicago? It hardly suits you,” he said, his downward glance at her evening gown infuriating her.

“You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“My culinary school in Paris has matched me up with Mario Vincente for my training. I’m staging with him, Lucien,” she said, referring to the process whereby a new chef trained for a period of time under an established chef. She studied his stoic expression anxiously. “I have a contract,” she added defensively when he seemed unmoved by her confession. “You can’t send me away.”

“You’re mad,” he said dismissively, picking up the brandy snifters on the counter and starting to walk away. The panic amplified in her chest. She despised the sight of Lucien’s back.

“I’ve completed my training at La Cuisine in Paris. The only thing remaining is for me to stage with a master chef—the master chef you just fired!”

He turned around and she saw he was smiling. Her heart swelled and seemed to press against her breastbone.
Merde
. Lucien’s smiles—the white teeth, the twin dimples, the firm, shapely lips. If the devil did exist, he’d definitely take on Lucien’s form in order to sow as much sin in the world as possible. She’d never seen a more handsome man in her life, and unfortunately, she’d seen more than her fair share of men.