Chapter 179
Chapter 179
Katie
The next evening, I found the dress hanging in the closet—deep emerald silk . Of course Lucas had thought of everything. I ran my fingers over the fabric, smooth and cool, and tried not to think about how well he knew me, how the color would look against my skin.
"You don't have to wear it," Lucas said from the doorway, reading my hesitation like he always did. "I just thought—"
"It's perfect," I interrupted, because it was, and because I was tired of fighting every gesture. "Give me twenty minutes."
He left without argument, and I took my time getting ready, trying to convince myself this was just dinner, not some kind of declaration. But when I finally looked in the mirror—hair loose, minimal makeup, the dress clinging in all the right places—I knew I was lying to myself. Everything with Lucas was a declaration.
I found him waiting on the deck, and the way his eyes tracked over me made my stomach flip. He'd changed into charcoal slacks and a wine-colored silk shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, top button undone. Effortlessly devastating, as usual.
"Ready?" His voice was carefully neutral, but I caught the heat underneath.
"Yeah. Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
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The restaurant sat on the island's highest point, a converted colonial mansion that probably had more history than I wanted to know about. Lucas gave his name to the host, who led us through the main dining room—all white tablecloths and hushed conversations—to a private terrace carved into the cliff face.
"Oh my God," I breathed, stopping at the railing. The sun was setting over the ocean, painting everything gold and pink and impossible. Below us, waves crashed against black rocks, and the whole world felt like it was holding its breath.
"Worth it?" Lucas asked, and I realized he was watching me instead of the view.
"Yeah," I admitted. "Definitely worth it."
Dinner was ridiculous in the best way—some French-Caribbean fusion concept that shouldn't have worked but did. Molecular gastronomy lobster with mango foam that dissolved on my tongue, rum-cured tuna tartare topped with caviar, coconut-braised lamb with truffle mashed potatoes. A jazz quartet played somewhere behind us, soft enough to ignore, present enough to fill the silences.
Lucas ordered wine I couldn't pronounce, and I let him because I was too busy trying to process the sheer absurdity of my life. Two years ago I'd been eating protein bars in a Montana barn. Now I was sitting on a cliff in the Caribbean, wearing silk, watching the boy I loved pretend he wasn't nervous.
"You're staring," he said without looking up from his lamb.
"So are you."
He smiled, that rare unguarded expression that made him look his age instead of like someone carrying the weight of a financial empire. "Guilty."
We finished eating as the sky turned purple, and when Lucas suggested the cigar lounge upstairs, I didn't argue. The VIP level was all dark wood and leather, empty except for us because of course Lucas had arranged that too.
He poured whiskey from a crystal decanter, handed me a glass I didn't ask for, then settled into an armchair with his own drink. I watched him swirl the amber liquid, the way his fingers wrapped around the glass, the slight furrow between his brows that meant he was thinking too hard about something.
"What?" I asked, perching on the arm of his chair.
Instead of answering, he set down his glass and reached for his collar. I watched, confused, as he unbuttoned another button, then another, until I could see his collarbones, the hollow of his throat, the upper edge of his chest. Then he reached inside his shirt and pulled out a thin silver chain I'd never seen him wear.
My breath caught when I saw what hung from it.
The pendant was black stone—obsidian, I realized—carved with symbols I recognized from my mother's stories. Tlingit protection marks, the kind her grandmother used to draw in the dirt. But woven through them were mountains and waves, abstract but unmistakable, and right in the center, so small I almost missed it, was a tiny baseball.
"Lucas," I whispered, my throat tight.
He stood, moving behind me with the chain in his hands. I felt the cool metal settle against my skin, his fingers brushing my nape as he fastened the clasp. Then his mouth was at my ear, his breath warm, and he said, "This is my answer."
I turned to face him, my hand going automatically to the pendant. "Your answer to what?"
"To everything you've ever asked me." His eyes were dark, intense in a way that made my pulse race. "Whether I understand where you come from. Whether I respect it. Whether I see you as more than just—" He gestured vaguely. "Whatever everyone else sees."
The weight of the pendant felt right, like it belonged there. Like he'd known exactly what I needed even when I didn't.
I picked up his whiskey glass from the table, my movements deliberate. "Drink."
He obeyed without question, his eyes never leaving mine as I held the glass to his lips. He took a sip, and I let my hand shake—just slightly, just enough. Whiskey spilled over the rim, running down his chin, dripping onto that expensive silk shirt.
The dark stain spread across the wine-colored fabric, and I watched it happen with something like fascination. Lucas went very still, his breathing shallow, and when I looked up at him, his pupils were blown wide.
"I like breaking pretty things," I said softly, and meant it.
His control snapped. One second I was standing there with the glass in my hand, the next he'd pulled me onto the terrace, his mouth crashing into mine with a hunger that stole my breath. I kissed him back just as hard, my fingers tangling in his hair, the pendant trapped between our bodies.
The night air was warm, the sound of waves distant, and I let myself get lost in it—in him, in this, in the terrifying knowledge that I wanted this more than I'd ever wanted anything.
I bit his lower lip, hard enough to sting, and he made a sound low in his throat that went straight through me. Then we were moving, stumbling back inside, and I barely registered the furniture before he had me on the leather sofa, his weight pressing me down, his hands already pushing the silk dress up my thighs.
"Wait," I gasped against his mouth, and he froze immediately.
"Too much?"
"No." I shoved at his chest, using the momentum to flip us. His eyes widened in surprise as I straddled him, my hands catching his wrists and pinning them above his head. "My turn."
I saw his belt draped over the sofa arm where he'd taken it off earlier, and grabbed it without thinking. His breath hitched as I wrapped it around his wrists, pulling it tight enough to hold but not hurt. He could break free if he wanted—I knew that, he knew that—but he went completely still, watching me with something like awe.
I took off the pendant, the chain still warm from my skin, and looped it loosely around his throat. Not tight enough to restrict, just enough to remind him it was there. Then I settled my weight on him properly, my knees bracketing his ribs, and put my hand on his jaw.
"What's the point of all this?" I asked, my voice steady even though my heart was racing. "Love, I mean. What's it supposed to be?"
His throat moved under my palm. "Conquest," he said, his voice rough.
"Yeah?" I tightened my grip slightly. "Who conquers who?"
He held my gaze, and I saw the exact moment he made his choice. "You," he said, the word barely above a whisper. "You conquer me."