3. Leia

Chapter 3

Holy fuck. Those gray eyes, that full mouth. I'd know those lips anywhere. I could still feel them on my own. I lifted my hand and pressed my finger to my mouth briefly as the memory washed over me, and Nicolas Dupont's pupils flared as he watched the movement.

My skin heated as I remembered dreams that had ended with me tangled in my sheets, odd half-thoughts of this man's tongue skating across my skin still echoing in my mind.

But right now, fury overshadowed sexual desire, repressing any crazy urge I'd had to sleep with him. No. Now, I wanted to karate chop him to the throat or knee him really hard in the balls.

What the hell, right? The man who'd sent insane awareness and desire whirling through me, stealing my self-control and making me want to forget myself, had just turned up in my home.

Apparently to take my home. I shook my head and glanced toward the staircase that had been ornate once upon a time. Maybe I was still asleep. Dreaming. Something.

"Dad?" I didn't do a whole lot hesitantly in my life—taking care of Dad and The Pour House had taught me I had to mean it or no one would take me seriously, but I couldn't help the tentative note in my voice now. "What's going on?"

"Miss Boucher." The man who didn't belong here stood and offered his hand. "I'm Nicolas Dupont."

"So my father said." I folded my arms and narrowed my eyes, even though the French pronunciation he gave his name sent a flutter of excitement through me.

After a moment of awkwardness that I was determined not to make any easier, Nicolas Dupont retracted his hand and sat down, reaching for the paperwork he'd laid out for Dad. "The terms are all in here. Your father has accumulated significant debt at La Petite Mort—"

I gasped. I recognized the name of the casino, but there was something strangely erotic about the phrase on Nicolas Dupont's lips. I wandered to the other side of the room because there was something magnetic about him, and I clearly needed to avoid his pull.

Dad held his head in his hands, not meeting my gaze, and I swallowed against the lump of anxiety lodged in my throat.

"How much, Dad?" My voice came out low, but not because I deliberately pitched it that way. Because fear had seized control of my vocal cords, and it was all I could manage.

Dad shook his head and groaned.

I asked him again, aware of Nicolas's Dupont's gaze on me like he was searing a brand to my skin, but I didn't dare look at him. As many times as I asked Dad how much he owed, I wasn't sure I truly wanted to know.

But the casino owner cleared his throat. "It's a vast amount, far exceeding one-hundred thousand dollars." There was no real sympathy in his hard words. Just statement of fact as my knees weakened and I placed my palm flat on the wall for support as he continued in that same eerie, all-business tone. "These legal documents allow me to take possession of this building—"

"My home," I whispered as pain tightened a band around my chest.

"And also a business." He shuffled the paperwork. "The Pour House?"

I met his eyes, and although he'd phrased the name as a question, it wasn't. He knew exactly what the documentation entitled him to, and he wasn't asking my permission.

"There's no way." I forced the words past my lips as I took stiff steps to the nearest chair. "I can't afford to settle those debts."

On top of the bills and mortgage repayments, and the refurbishment that clearly needed doing… Eye-watering gambling debt. My next inhale caught in my chest, and for a moment, I struggled to release it, like the air I needed to survive could kill me as easily as sustain me.

I shook my head against the truth of what Dad had done this time. Why hadn't I known? Well, this was truly it. No matter what I tried, my efforts to keep us afloat would never be enough.

"Dad." My whisper was a noise of pain and censure. Disappointment and disbelief.

His betrayal was a gut punch. Everything was about to be taken away. Perhaps this was what rock bottom looked like.

"Leia." Dad held his arms out, his eyes pleading. "Just listen. It's all going to be okay. I've been trying to extend my credit. I just need one big win and then I can stop. I can make everything better. I can fix up this place, make it so you don't have to work so hard. You can stop worrying."

"I'll never stop worrying, though, will I?" I hissed the words, too angry to yell. My eyes itched like a bitch as I withheld my tears. Neither of these men deserved to see my sorrow.

"I'll fix it." But Dad wheedled the words like a child, and I'd heard that tone often enough over the years that I knew he was only begging for one more opportunity to screw up.

"I'm done listening, Dad." I held my hand out to emphasize my point and I looked away, not meeting the piercing gaze of Nicolas Dupont, either.

And then traitorous hope reared its head, as it always did. Maybe I was just looking at this all wrong. I didn't need to give up. The battle wasn't lost until I stopped fighting. I curled my hands into fists, tightening them until my knuckles gleamed and strained white against my skin.

"You need to eat."

I turned my attention to the casino owner, the messenger I most definitely wanted to shoot, but he looked as if he hadn't spoken, even though the soft words had been laced with unexpected concern.

"I need to fix this shit, is what I need to do," I said.

Dupont's flicker of a smile was mocking with a touch of indulgence, and irritation flared hot through my veins. I didn't need this guy humoring me. I tensed my jaw and squeezed my fists harder, resting them in my lap.

"I'll fix this by any means necessary," I said. I couldn't just lose everything. I couldn't fucking allow Dad to rip it all away. Everything I'd held on to and built… My thoughts faded to the white noise of static as I met the businessman's eyes. "There must be something I can do."

"Well…" Dupont screwed up his mouth a little like he was considering something. Then he passed the paperwork to Dad. "If I can just draw your attention back to the subclause you just dismissed? A recently added item of collateral, I believe, if you note the date? Make sure you read it carefully."

Dad bent over the paperwork then shifted so a shaft of the dust-mote filled sunlight shone directly on the pages before bringing them closer to his face like he was trying to find the right level of focus.

He made an animal-like noise of grief and his face paled as he turned to look at me.

"What?" My whole body was rigid. "What the fuck did you lose now?"

Surely there was nothing else? Couldn't Nicolas Dupont see he already had everything, that he was literally sitting in the ruins of our lives? I crept around to be closer to them so we could talk this through.

But Dupont just turned toward Dad like they were in the middle of a private negotiation, his broad shoulders—made all the broader by the well-fitting suit that clung to his muscular back—effectively preventing me from participating in the conversation.

His voice rumbled back to me. "If you agree to honor the subclause, I'll forgive everything else."

I exhaled a sudden breath. Well, shit. That was a no brainer. "One subclause and everything else remains ours?" I asked, but neither man looked at me.

Dad simply gazed at our unwanted guest like he alone could save him. Then he nodded. "I agree."

"And what are you agreeing to?" Dupont's voice was quiet and calm, soothing as it wrapped around my thoughts, beguiling me with the idea everything could be fixed.

I didn't damn well care what Dad was agreeing to—he just needed to do it quickly so I could go and start my day's work at the bar. In fact, I was thinking so hard about all the things I needed to do I almost didn't listen as Dad began to speak. Until I heard my name.

"My daughter, Leia. You can have her as stated in the sub-clause of the contract."

I shot to my feet, heart racing. "What now? No. I'm no one's collateral."

But Dupont merely chuckled, never breaking his eye-contact with Dad. "I've accepted stranger things to secure freedom from accumulated debt."

"Dad." His name left my lips as a plea.

He didn't reply.

"Dad!" I tried again, more emphatic this time. "Dad, what have you done?"

He shrugged, his eyes darting to meet mine briefly. "I was drunk. Desperate. I don't remember. But this could fix everything. You have the power to fix everything, Leia."

I took a deep breath in, aiming for some sort of meditative calm, but I misjudged and filled myself with pure rage instead. "You stupid pair of bastards. No one calls in a woman to settle gambling debt. What about the law? What about sex-trafficking?"

"Oh? Will there be sex?" Dupont's voice was smooth and warm, and I trembled with anger.

"Never. This is about fifty shades of illegal, and you know it. Dad, you can't do this." I wanted to save everything, but not at the expense of me. "We've got to try another way. There must be something."

Dad breathed deeply and seemed in control of himself for the first time all morning as he finally met my gaze properly. "No, there isn't, Leia. I'm sorry, but I won't go back on a contract I signed. This might not be the outcome I expected, but it is what it is."

"It is what it is?" I fought to keep my voice under control. "That's all you have to say?"

Nicolas shrugged and answered on Dad's behalf. "It's unfortunate, but it's not for very long. You'll be able to return home soon."

That was the first positive thing I'd heard him say, but I wasn't about to let him know that. "Oh really? And am I supposed to be grateful?"

Dupont spoke again. "Your father set a stipulation on your availability when he added you to the contract. A one-month term." He shrugged a second time. "It should be sufficient."

When he glanced over his shoulder at me, his eyes gleamed.

"For what?" I ran my hand over the ornate tapestry arm of the antique sofa. The threads were loose with wear and age, tugging free of their complex woven pattern. I steeled myself for the conversation the three of us were clearly about to have. "Just for the record, I agree to none of this."

Dupont reached toward me and I shifted away. His eyes narrowed, his gaze growing colder. "Miss Boucher."

I nodded at the formality. Good. That was the kind of distance I could get used to. I was over the whole business of his tongue in my mouth. I waved my hand briefly like I could flick away my unwanted thoughts. "I'm listening."

But I was only listening because nothing meant more to me than Mom's family home and the business she'd worked so hard to maintain. I couldn't lose either. For those two things, I would have crawled to Nicolas Dupont's side over broken glass. I couldn't let her memory down. I refused to be the Boucher that ruined it all.

He nodded and kept his gaze trained on me as I shifted uncomfortably under those gray eyes that seemed to flash almost silver at times or darken with the threat of a storm. "I seek a business arrangement."

I nodded but said nothing. I wasn't about to put any words into his mouth.

"I have no need of anything…" His gaze skimmed me as he paused, his pupils dilating so briefly I might have imagined it. "Physical."

I crossed my arms, actively shielding myself from any more lingering gazes.

"I simply need a companion to accompany me to some forthcoming events with my family and my business associates."

"Arm candy?" I hadn't meant to interrupt, but surely I could be no one's first choice for that? My hair was always wash and wear, my clothes were thrift shop finds, and I wore the scent of beer and the sweat of hard work like other women wore perfume.

His lip curled a little. "Arm candy isn't a label I'd use. But this is certainly a business arrangement you'd be quite stupid to refuse. A mere one month of your time to retain everything your father has gambled away to me?"

I glanced beyond him to Dad, who looked broken as he stared unfocused at our cracked fireplace. But looks were deceiving. He'd only look so fragile until he had the bright idea to place another bet or return to the gaming tables at La Petite Mort.

A shiver raced through me, and Dupont's face tightened like my sudden, private fear meant something to him.

And they were both clearly holding back information. Deals like this one didn't exist. But Dad was right about one thing—we were desperate.

"So, it seems you have a choice." Dupont looked as though it took some effort to relax as he addressed me. "I can either take everything that's legally mine." He gestured, his one arm wave presumably encompassing the house and even the bar. "Or you simply agree to the sub-clause, a one-month term with me, and you can retain the other collateral. I'd ensure the deeds would be put back in your name, and…" He spared a glance for Dad. "No one could ever gamble them away again."

I struggled not to gape at him, my muscles aching with the strain of holding my mouth closed. "Mine?"

He nodded. "You have the power to fix this."

I waited a beat. "Maybe, but why do I also feel like I don't have much say?"

He gave an elegant shrug, that of a patient man, a predator. "No one is forcing your hand."

"Only offering me everything I've ever wanted while certainly not telling me everything."

He only shrugged again like he was completely unaffected by the turmoil in my head—turmoil he'd induced. I exhaled slowly. Maybe I didn't need to be conflicted over this. It wasn't like I was being offered up for sacrifice.

It was a business arrangement with a businessman. Escort to functions, nothing physical, one-month time limit. Put like that, it didn't sound so bad. Especially considering all I stood to gain.

Which was why there had to be something else—something I was missing.

But was that missing thing enough to prevent me from saying yes?

I just had to negotiate carefully, that was all. "Okay. And what if I have some conditions of my own?" I pressed my lips closed against a sigh of frustration. I hadn't meant to weaken myself at the start by making my additional demands into a question, something he could refuse.

But he nodded. "I'm willing to listen."

Okay. Okay, if he'd listen, I'd talk. I kept my sigh of relief in my chest. I wanted to look confident and assured.

"First." I ticked it off on my finger then glanced at him to check if he was aware this meant I was actually making a list. "I won't sleep in your bed. I want my own space with guaranteed privacy. Second, I won't do anything degrading or horrible."

He lifted an eyebrow.

"Like wear anything I deem too slutty or kill anyone or something like that," I expanded, waving a hand like this was something I was used to discussing. Negotiations I could do, although they were usually with the brewery or the utility companies.

"Got it. No killing." He sounded faintly amused, but I didn't regret actually stating the no killing condition. If he took women as payment, God only knew what else he was up to.

"Anything further?"

When I nodded, Dupont's jaw tensed briefly before he returned to looking relaxed.

"Two things. I can't be away from The Pour House for a month. It's too long to leave it closed up—there's no point retaining ownership to a business that's gone out of business due to being closed for a month, right? So I want a temporary manager. Someone to oversee it and keep it running while I can't be there. It isn't something I can trust Dad to do."

Dupont nodded. "Done. And the final thing?"

I rolled my eyes. I would have maybe tried to insert another last clause, but it looked like his desire to humor me was wearing thin.

"I want my Dad checked into rehab for his addictions and I want him to be unwelcome in La…in your casino." I couldn't say the name, although his eyes seemed to flicker slightly, like they could burn me, just from the fact I'd even considered it. But I pushed on. "I want him to be persona non grata all over Baton Rouge for gambling."

"There are other cities." Dupont dismissed my concern with a quick wave, but I glared at him, and he inclined his head. "But I'll talk with the others in my network, and Jean will no longer be welcome at La Petite Mort." He lingered over the last three words, his mouth and tongue seeming to caress them as he watched me. "Is that all?"

I ran my requests back through my head. "I covered privacy, dress, The Pour House, and Dad, so yeah. That's all."

"Don't forget no killing." His eyes gleamed with momentary amusement again, but there was a cold edge, and I shivered under his gaze. "Perfect. Done. I agree to your terms."

He held his hand between us.

"Wait. That was fast. What about negotiations of your own that need addressing? Don't you have anything to add or anything to try to get me to reconsider?" This was way too easy. Something was definitely up.

Dupont tilted his head as he studied me. "Anything particular need further negotiation? Sudden desire to kill someone or to sleep with me?"

Heat flared into my cheeks, and I curved my fingers against the cushions of the sofa. "No."

"Well then." He glanced at his hand, still suspended midair between us, and with reluctance, I took it, wrapping my fingers around his and remembering the way he'd touched me as he kissed me.

More heat flared through my body, scorching the inside of me with awareness before pulsing at my clit. I closed my eyes. There was way more to this business arrangement than I knew. There had to be, but there was also no other way to protect everything Mom had worked so hard for—my past and my future.

"Thank you." The words were out of my mouth before I could take them back, and one corner of his lips quirked up.

"I believe I should be thanking you, Miss Boucher."

But I'd already committed, so I continued. "Thank you for giving me the chance to save my home and my bar. It's sort of a legacy. My mother's family has owned both for a very long time, and my maternal family line can be traced back to the settlement of Baton Rouge." I glanced around. "I know it doesn't look like much. It's run down, fallen into disrepair, and Mom would hardly recognize the place now, but one day I'll bring it back to its former glory and make her proud. And you've given me that opportunity back."

I looked quickly at Dad, but he was half-dozing where he sat, certainly not listening, and not the least perturbed at the events he'd set in motion.

For a moment, Dupont was quiet, like I'd surprised him. Then he nodded. "I think sometimes we create our own opportunities. But I'm glad to see family means so much to you." He nodded again, the movement decisive and approving. "I think we'll be just fine this month, Miss Boucher. In fact, I think we might get along very well indeed. You might even be surprised at just how well."

Then he smiled, that strange, predatory light back in his eyes as he inhaled so deeply his chest broadened, and too many emotions took root in me. Apprehension, confusion, excitement, fear, and desire all warred under my skin.

What the hell had I just done?