Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

L ucas

When the alert from Selecta Arrangements arrived I had just, with regret, decided that I wouldn’t see Alice again. I would give her an extra month’s allowance, of course, out of my own pocket if necessary, but the conflict I had felt as I left her building and stepped into my limo had told me prudence was required; the dangerous urge to go back up and climb into bed and hold my naughty girl until she awoke couldn’t be allowed to grow, as I could already feel it doing when my driver pulled away from the curb.

Three hours later, during a meeting with the controlling partner of Paris Saint-Germain, my phone buzzed. I glanced down.

Alice is likely to break a rule. Tap for details.

“Obviously, Lucas, you have a good deal of input here,” the sheikh, as I always thought of him, was saying. He had flown in from his emirate, on his private jet, of course, to meet with me. It seemed the least I could do to pay attention to him.

“Obviously,” I said, as dryly as I could manage given that the sheikh had just told me they had decided either to sell me to a new Japanese club or to let me retire peacefully at the end of the season with a reduction in my pay.

The Japan prospect had intrigued me enough—and the incentives involved seemed generous enough—that I had resolved to end things with Alice. It had seemed a stroke of fate to help me make the difficult decision, given that I couldn’t stop thinking about her. My reaction to the alert from the Selecta Arrangements app should, I knew, have strengthened my determination to start the final act of my career with a headline-grabbing move to the Far East, where—as the sheikh told me, and I believed—I would be worshipped like a god.

“So,” the sheikh continued after a pause, his dark eyes glittering as he studied me, obviously having detected my momentary distraction, “we’ll expect your answer by the end of the week.”

I focused on his face. “Certainly,” I told him. “Monday, at the latest.”

The sheikh nodded. “Shall we have a drink to the future?”

I knew that whatever whiskey he offered me would sell at the Ritz bar for hundreds of euros a glass. I usually accepted and relished these moments; I took pride in how many of them I had had with the sheikh over the years, toasting the club’s successes. My phone, however, seemed to have increased in bulk and in weight in my jacket pocket so much that I couldn’t think about anything else.

“No, thank you,” I told the sheikh. “I’m afraid I have another meeting.”

He frowned at me, understandably. I wasn’t the sort of man who has a great many meetings, after all. I told myself I hadn’t lied to him—not that I cared very much. I definitely did have a meeting and I needed to get to it as soon as possible. Alice Morgan was about to break a rule, and the urgency of her need for discipline—and my need to provide it—suddenly outweighed, for me, all the wealth in France and Japan put together.

Alice

When I saw Lucas in the corridor, waiting for me as I emerged from the bathroom with my face still blazing like the sun, I honestly thought I must be hallucinating. How could he possibly know where I was?

I froze in the doorway of the bathroom, my eyes widening in shock as I took in the imposing figure leaning against the wall opposite. His eyes locked onto mine, a dangerous glint in their depths.

“ M-Monsieur ,” I stammered, my face flaming even hotter. “What are you doing here?”

Lucas pushed himself off the wall, taking a step toward me. His presence seemed to fill the narrow corridor, making me feel small and vulnerable.

“I think the better question, ma chère ,” he said, his voice low and menacing, “is what were you doing in there?”

My heart pounded frantically in my chest. There was no way he could know… was there? I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady.

“I was just using the restroom,” I said, aiming for nonchalance but hearing the tremor in my words.

Lucas’ eyes narrowed. “Is that so?” He took another step closer, looming over me. “Because in addition to telling me where you are, the Selecta Arrangements app tells me when you do something naughty, like playing with what doesn’t belong to you.”

I shrank back against the bathroom door, my knees suddenly weak. “I don’t know what you mean,” I whispered, suddenly very glad that I had let the other occupant of the bathroom finish and depart before emerging.

In one fluid motion, Lucas gripped my upper arm and began steering me down the hallway. “I think you know exactly what I mean,” he growled in my ear. “And I think it’s time we had a little refresher on your rules and your responsibilities.”

“But…” I said as my feet moved mechanically despite the trembling of my knees. “But how…?”

Then I remembered. The sensor. I had thought they would use it only to make sure I was… like… that …

Like this , more accurately , I realized as heat seemed to fill my whole body, concentrated in my cheeks and, worse, between my legs, where I had just misappropriated my sponsor’s pleasure… trespassed on my lord’s rights.

“I don’t know how they do it,” Lucas told me, growling his words into my ear as he took me down a back staircase. “But I could see in your eyes the moment you came out of the bathroom that the app told me nothing but the truth.”

“Oh, God,” I whispered, turning to look at him as we reached the bottom of the steps. The grim determination in his eyes as he looked ahead, guiding both of us to the exit, seemed to have in it a certain conflict—as if his dominant sexual hunger had gone to war with his common sense. I wondered suddenly if he might even have been considering ending things with me. The dread that idea sent rocketing through my nervous system, to my dismay, utterly dwarfed my fear about Lucas’ plans with regard to disciplining me.

Then I saw his face change, just as he started to push the glass door open. I turned to look ahead of us, through the door, and I realized why: a large crowd had gathered on the sidewalk, between us and Lucas’ limo.

“Lucas! Lucas!” a voice called before he could even walk me through the door, and I heard someone say, “Oh, my God, it’s really him.”

Instantly the hand on my arm moved to go around my waist. I glanced over and saw that he had put on his face the same brilliant smile I had seen on… well, everything: screens, billboards, t-shirts, even. It had always struck me as genuine before, but now I could see that it represented Lucas’ primary defense against the prying eyes of the world’s millions of football fans.

The real Lucas definitely had that brilliantly sunny side—I had seen it at dinner, and felt almost instantly that I was falling in love. I had the sudden insight, though, that the intensity of my sponsor’s light could only exist in contrast to the darkness I had seen the previous night, the dominance that had brought to me a kind of pleasure and fulfillment I had never imagined.

Oh, God , I thought. How could I possibly be in love with a man I met yesterday? Who… who’s marching me out of a building with the intent of… of punishing me for playing with myself?

Who’s facing twenty fans and…

Not just fans. I saw someone who had a professional-looking camera. He was clearly the one who had shouted Lucas’ name, to get him to look in that direction and provide a good photograph.

No—a valuable photograph. The paparazzi. How Lucas must hate them, and yet his smile hadn’t dimmed, and his arm held me even closer.

“Lucas! Lucas! Who’s this?”

I could feel the tension in Lucas’ body, the rigid set of his shoulders and the tightness in his jaw. But to the gathered crowd, I knew he seemed completely relaxed, his megawatt smile never faltering. His arm around my waist tightened almost imperceptibly, a silent message of support and of warning.

“This,” Lucas said, his voice warm and jovial, “is Alice Morgan, a brilliant young scholar I’m sponsoring.” He turned to me, his blue eyes twinkling with what looked like genuine affection. “Why don’t you tell them a bit about yourself, ma chère ?”

My heart raced, pounding so hard I was sure the crowd could hear it. Sweat prickled along my hairline as I faced the sea of eager faces and flashing cameras. I swallowed hard, desperately trying to keep my voice steady.

“H-hello,” I began, wincing at the slight tremor in my voice. I took a deep breath, drawing strength from Lucas’ solid presence beside me. “As Lucas said, I’m Alice. I’m studying medieval French history here at the Sorbonne, focusing on the daily life of peasants in the fourteenth century.”

I paused, unsure what else to say. Lucas gave me an encouraging squeeze, and I found myself relaxing slightly into his touch. Despite everything—the lingering arousal from my bathroom encounter, the fear of punishment, the overwhelming crowd—I felt oddly safe with him. Suddenly I had the strangest desire to be back in my apartment, paying whatever shameful, painful penalty my sponsor decided to impose for my lewd, wayward behavior in the bathroom.

Lucas cleared his throat, drawing the crowd’s attention back to him. “While I’m always happy to meet fans,” he said, his voice carrying easily over the excited murmurs, “I must insist that the press respect Alice’s privacy.” His eyes locked onto the professional photographer, his gaze hardening slightly even as his smile remained in place. “She’s a student, not a public figure. I expect to see no unauthorized photos or speculation about her in the media.”

The crowd fell silent for a moment, absorbing Lucas’ words. Then, as if on cue, they parted, creating a path to the waiting limousine. Lucas guided me forward, his arm still firmly around my waist. I could feel the heat of his body through my clothes, a stark reminder of the intimacy we had shared the night before.

As we reached the car, Lucas opened the door for me. “After you, ma chère ,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only I could hear. I slid into the plush leather seat, my heart racing as Lucas followed, closing the door behind him with a soft thud.

The limo pulled away from the curb smoothly, leaving the clamoring crowd behind. Inside the quiet cocoon of the car, I could hear my own rapid breathing. Lucas turned to me, his public persona falling away like a mask.

“I apologize for that,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t have time to take the usual precautions when I left to come find you. Your clear need for your sponsor’s firm hand made me a little incautious.”

I gazed at Lucas, taking in the intensity in his ice-blue eyes, the firm set of his jaw. The facade he had presented to the crowd outside had vanished completely, replaced by the commanding presence I had come to both fear and crave. My body responded instantly to his dominance, a rush of heat flooding through me.

“I understand, Monsieur ,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

Lucas’ eyes narrowed slightly as he studied me. “Do you?” he asked, his tone low and dangerous. “Because I’m not sure you fully grasp the gravity of the situation, ma chère .”

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. “You disobeyed me,” he growled. “You touched what belongs to me without permission. And now, because of my haste to correct your behavior, you’ve been thrust into the public eye.”

A shiver ran down my spine at his words, equal parts fear and arousal. I squirmed in my seat, acutely aware of the growing dampness between my legs. My panties felt suddenly constricting, the fabric clinging to my heated flesh.

“The press will be relentless,” Lucas continued, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through my entire body. “They’ll dig into your past, speculate about our relationship, hound you at every turn. You must be prepared for this.”