Three and a Half Weeks (18 page)

“Tomorrow.”

The waiter returns with our wine, pouring Lucien the first sip and then fills both glasses after he approves the wine with a nod. I take a sip and it’s delicious: Lucien must know his wines. Ian does, too. Every time I think of Ian, my heart hurts. I don’t understand why he’s avoiding speaking to me and it’s leaving me unsettled.

“Oh, my literary agent mentioned that she knows you, Lucien.”

“Really? What’s her name?”

“Mo Jackson? She said she met you at a gallery opening?”

“Ah. I can’t say I recall the name. Describe her to me.”

I do, and he nods his head. “Yes, I recall meeting her now. She seemed very interested in my project. So, she’s your agent? I wasn’t aware that you’re a writer, Ella. A woman of many talents, I suppose.”

“Hardly. I wrote a book on a lark, as a Christmas gift for my friends. They started sending it around and it went viral online. Before I knew it, I had a contract and a film deal. It was rather absurd.”

“A film deal? Really? What’s the title of the book?”

“Oh, do I have to tell you? I’d rather not.” Saying that to him is like dangling a carrot in front of his face. Now, of course, he’s dying to know what book it is. “Can we discuss the St. Sauveur interview?”

Smiling with an enigmatic look in his eyes, he allows the conversation to move on. Whatever else he is, Lucien is a gentleman. “Surely. Do you have any questions?”

We discuss the interview in minute detail throughout lunch—which was absolutely delicious. After we polish off the bottle of wine, Lucien asks me to take a walk with him, agreeing to show me the Bridge of Sighs and Piazza San Marco. He even buys me a bag of food to feed the pigeons, an experience so exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. Anyone who has ever seen Hitchcock’s
The Birds
can’t help but think of it when all those pigeons come swooping down toward the poor person holding the feedbag. I throw the rest of the bag of food down in a big hurry, and run toward Lucien, who is laughing so hard he’s clutching his stomach.

“Oh, Ella, it hurts to laugh so vigorously on a full stomach. Did you not expect that outcome?”

I shake my head, a rueful grin on my face. “No, I suppose I don’t always think ahead. Where to next?”

“Let’s take a look at the Palace of the Doges,” he suggests and takes my hand unexpectedly. I don’t pull it back but I’m immediately uncomfortable. It seems an awfully intimate thing to do and inappropriate for our relationship as colleagues who’ve just met recently, no less. Once again, I think of Ian’s reaction to Lucien and wonder if it indeed has merit.

After seeing the Doges’ palace, we stop for espresso at a bar. I have to admit that Lucien is a lot of fun to hang with. All around us, women are eyeing him as if he were made of chocolate. When I’m with Ian and other women flirt and swoon over him, it makes me jealous and insecure because I consider him mine, right or wrong. With Lucien, though, it’s fun because they all think he’s mine, yet I don’t mind the flirting since he’s not. I can and do appreciate his finer qualities and I wonder what might have happened between us if I hadn’t already been with Ian when this job arose.

At dusk, Lucien walks me back to my hotel. As soon as we step into the lobby, I turn around. “Thanks, Lucien. I had such a good time. I appreciate your showing me around the city.”

“You’re so very welcome, Ella. I like working with you and I’m looking forward to getting back to New York and further collaborating.” He grasps my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it softly. “I hope you have a safe trip back to Portland. I suppose I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

I jerk my head. “Yes,” I say quickly. Having him this close is
tipping my equilibrium. I mean, yes, I’m faithful and monogamous, but I am female and only human, for God’s sake, and Lucien is a rare specimen of gorgeous male. He smells good, too—like an expensive man.

Kissing me on both cheeks, he says goodbye and takes his leave. I rush to my room to pack and text Ian, letting him know I’m coming home and what flight I’ll be on. I sit down to worry about what awaits me when I get there and began contemplating how strange it is that life took me to Ian in the first place.

My flight is delayed by nearly an hour so I arrive at Portland International at 11:03 a.m. that same day. It was odd because I’d left Venice at 10:30 in the morning and I arrived in Portland at eleven so it was as
if I never lost any time. I am startled to see that Ian is waiting for me just past the security gate as I make my way out. Seeing him stops me in my tracks for a moment: he looks mouthwateringly good. Before I even know what I am doing, I run into his arms.

“Ian!”

He catches me, but is clearly not expecting my… enthusiasm. “Ella. Did you have a good trip?”

“Yes, but why didn’t you call me or text me or take my calls?”

He ignores my question. “Do you have luggage to collect?”

“No. I only brought my carry-on. I’m an efficient packer.”

He takes my hand and leads me toward the exit and parking lot.

“So… are you going to answer my question?”

“I was angry, Ella. I didn’t think it productive to continue to argue with you and I knew any conversation would devolve into an argument. I’ve made my feelings crystal clear when it comes to your job.”

“Yes.” I bite my lip, wondering whether I should tell him about Lucien showing up in Venice. I decide to put it off for now and change the subject. “Ian, how do you know Mo Jackson?”

His expression is blank. “Mo Jackson? I don’t.”

“She claims to know you… or know of you.”

“Describe her to me.” Funny that he uses the exact same words as Lucien did before him.

“Tiny, about five feet without heels but she wears giant ones, dark red hair, cute, sort of elfin face, late thirties, maybe early forties, dresses very expensively.”

“And she claims she knows me?”

“Yes.”

“Mo,” he says, thinking. “Mo is short for Maureen, isn’t it?”

“Is it? I don’t know.”

“A few years ago I was spending months at a time in New York—almost relocated there, as a matter of fact. I still own my downtown loft in the financial district, though currently there’s a tenant subletting. The woman I was… seeing… had a friend who threw these BDSM-themed parties in a loft in the meatpacking district. That’s probably how she knows me. I seem to recall someone of that description being one of the regulars.”

“There is no way Mo is a submissive. She’s crazy strong.”

“I didn’t say she was a submissive. But there was a tiny, redheaded Domme…”

The laugh that
erupts from my throat sounds more like a death rattle. “You have got to be kidding me? Is everyone in the world some kind of deviant?”

He gives me a sidelong glance and smirks. “Everyone in New York, certainly. Personally I felt very comfortable there… Now, tell me about Venice.”

“Venice?” she repeats, as if stalling for time. Ian doesn’t like the hesitant look on her face. “What about it?”

He couldn’t wait for Ella to return to Portland, and unequivocally refused to analyze his feelings for her—mainly because it rather terrified him. Ever since Natasha, he’d managed to keep emotionally detached from every woman with whom he’d become sexually involved, no matter how attractive or affectionate she turned out to be. After what he’d endured five years ago, he vowed never to let down his guard and he hadn’t. For some reason, though, Ella Strong wasn’t letting him get on with the program.

What was it about her? Not only did he immensely enjoy her company, the joking and the verbal sparring, but he also felt very protective of her. Right now those protective instincts were kicking into high gear over the prospect of Alexis getting anywhere near Ella. He’d already pulled the glass house off the market and his staff would move his things from the houseboat to the estate while they were in Japan. He’d tell Ella about the threat once they were out of the country—he didn’t want to worry her. He was pissed because he’d been really enjoying his life on the water with fewer layers between him and the rest of the world. Now he’d have to retreat behind his self-constructed walls again… but he aimed to take Ella with him this time around.

And that was the one thing that scared him most—the fact that he never wanted to say goodbye to her, needed to keep her close at all times. That propensity was the most disconcerting of all to a dedicated bachelor like himself.

Ella had texted him her flight information so he left the office at ten to ensure he’d be waiting at the airport when she arrived. He’d almost sent Brad, his new driver, but he wanted to see Ella badly and he didn’t want to wait until the end of the workday—and, by all indicators, today was going to be a tediously long one. He’d have to immediately return to the office once he deposited her home. He didn’t dare take her to the houseboat.

Now he tries to chuckle but the look on her face chokes it off. “For one thing, your impressions. You’ve never been there before, correct?”

She nods, a slight smile on her lips.

“Also, your business there—how’d it go? How was the flight? What did you see?” He raises a brow. “Lots of things about Venice to discuss.”

“Okay,” she begins haltingly, “To start, Maya St. Sauveur was a most impressive woman and I enjoyed meeting her. She was a bit miffed at Lucien’s impatience to get the interview on tape… but other than that, she was charming.”

“Obviously I’m not the only one he rubs the wrong way.”

“No, apparently not. Um, what else? Oh, I fed pigeons in Piazza San Marco and they scared me witless… I think I gave everyone in the plaza a good laugh. We went to see the Palace of the Doges . . .”

“We?” The volume of his voice escalates—there should be no
we
in Venice. The look that descends over her face chills his blood because he recognizes it as one of guilt and his stomach twists.

And here comes the deep flush that colors her face instantly. “Uh, yeah, I was getting to that. Lucien showed up unexpectedly at the taping.”

“Oh?” He could hear the ice in his own voice as he struggled for control. Right now if that blond bastard was in front of him, he’d definitely take a swing at his stupid pretty face. Pretty faces irritated Ian—even his own.

“Yes. I was annoyed at first since if he was able to do the interview, I wouldn’t have had to drop everything to go to Venice. But he explained that he only realized he’d be able to make it once I was in the air so…” She lets the sentence lay where it drops.

“Things have a habit of working out conveniently in Phillips’ world, don’t they? So… he took you sightseeing then?”

“After the taping we went to lunch and he accompanied me when I went to see the Doges and the plaza. That’s it, Ian; nothing inappropriate happened and he knows that you and I are involved.”

“How observant of him. Tell me, what tipped him off? Could it have been my presence at your interview with my arm around you? He’s obviously quick on the uptake.”

“Stop it. You’re going to have to get past this antagonism. I’m going to be working with Lucien until June and then it’s done. Please tell me you’re not going to keep it up that long.”

“There’s something slimy about the man, Ella. I’ve learned to trust my gut instinct about people. It’s never let me down yet.”

“I promise, Ian, if Lucien does anything untoward, you’ll be the first to know. Okay?”

“So then I can assume from that comment that he behaved himself during your time together? He didn’t touch you?”

“Yes, he behaved admirably.”

“He didn’t touch you?”

“Ian! Stop it. As I said, if he did anything, I’d tell you. So, when are we leaving for Tokyo?”

She’s avoiding answering my question, Ian thinks, and wonders what exactly it means. Had Phillips touched her and she set him straight? Or maybe he touched her and she interpreted it as benign? There was something there—Ella was a God-awful liar. He decides to let it go for now.

“We’re leaving day after tomorrow. I’ll take you to Mariah’s so you can rest and get packed for Japan. I’m going to have a late night tonight at the office so I’ll head directly home and I’ll pick you up sometime tomorrow afternoon. Be packed and ready.”

“Oh. I was hoping we could have dinner together tonight.”

He touched her cheek affectionately—it was so incredibly nice to have her back with him. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m swamped at work—there’s too much going down next week to prepare for and I’m going to be away, obviously.”

“How long are we staying in Japan?”

“I need to be home by next weekend at the latest so I thought Thursday or Friday. I know it’s a short stay for such a long trip but it’s the most I can
manage right now.”

“That’s fine. I have work to do here anyway.”

He pulls up the SUV in front of Mariah’s apartment complex. “Look at that: a parking spot right in front. How auspicious,” he notes, smiling. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the door.”

“Okay. Thanks for meeting me, Ian. I know you’re busy so it’s all the more appreciated.” She reaches across the console to kiss him sweetly.

“I wanted to see you,” he says simply and honestly, and that earns him a beaming smile from her. When they reach the door, he sets down her bag and draws her into his arms. “I can hardly wait until tomorrow. A whole week I get to spend with you, Ella. We’ll have a very nice time, I promise.”

“I know we will, Ian. If you change your mind about tonight, just give a holler.”

“Will you hear me?”

“I’ll keep my window open,” she replies, her voice deepening in a very sexy way. When her voice deepens, other things happen in and on her body, Ian knows, and suddenly he can’t wait until tomorrow. He pulls her to him for a kiss that just gets deeper and deeper. Finally he
manages to end it—very reluctantly.

“Are you sure you have to get right back to the office?” she breathes. “We could make it quick?” She puts the key in the door and twists it open.

At that invitation, his eyes darken and with one hand he grasps hers and the other reaches for the bag, swinging them both inside the apartment. Ian drops the bag in the hall and bends down, his shoulder dipping into her stomach, picks her up and tosses her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She yelps but starts laughing so hard that she can’t catch her breath enough to complain.