Too Late, Dear Nephew.
1688 Words
LUCIEN
The soiled book on the table was really none of my business actually because it was just my front for sitting here.
There was actually nothing inside the damn book that was important. But she didn't quit flinging the book around, as if it would dry if she flung it hard enough.
And the sight amused me. I scrunched my face when a sprinkle landed on my face. “You should keep it,” I said.
She didn't meet my gaze, instead her cheeks burned a brighter shade of red, as she struggled to fix everything. Her shoulders were tense, her hair fell in two strands on her face while the other was packed in a ponytail.
“I'm sorry, I …” she groaned, “ I just wanted to drop the croissant.”
“No need to struggle with it,” I said and grabbed her wrist. She froze and glanced up to meet my gaze. Her amber coloured eyes burned into mine.
They looked fiery, but yet there was this calm undertone to it.
She immediately pulled her hands away and cleared her throat.
“Urgh, yes. I would just get the waiter,” she said and turned towards the boy at the counter. She waved and he raised a brow, smiled, and scooted over.
“Can I get a fresh cup of coffee, and something to wipe this with?” She asked in a crisp clear voice, pointing at the table that was stained with coffee. The boy nodded with a smile, then walked away.
I leaned backwards and crossed my legs as usual. Her shoulders were still tense, her head lowered as she reached for her bag at the side and immediately pulled out what looked like a sketch book.
I almost laughed, but then again I just watched her. She wore a simple office dress, but it was her style on it. Butterfly bow for women.
I know this because I investigated the women Damien had been with. Liam gave it to me earlier. And it didn't even take much of my time in order to go through it, and show up here.
Elise Ashford. Her career, her marital status, her friendships, her office, her hobbies, and also, the frequented areas.
Not that I showed up here to meet her, I just wanted to see what was so great about this place that she frequented it more than any of her usual places.
“You seem to know the boy,” I started and she stopped sketching. She didn't lift her gaze, instead she hummed.
“How close?”
That was when I got her attention. I just wanted to know how close she was to him. I didn't actually care, because it was just harmless curiosity to me.
“He's been the waiter here for a long time, it's only normal that I am close to him,” she answered, her brows furrowed.
“Mhm,” I hummed.
She exhaled, ran her tongue against his lips again, and slowly kept the sketchbook on the sofa next to her.
“Mr. Lucien …”
“What did we say about the formality?” I asked, my voice soft, but with an edge. A cold smile was plastered on my lips.
Her face darkened, then she leaned forward, like someone who had had enough. Maybe of me.
Who knows.
“I'm sorry Mr Lucien, but you are my benefactor, and I can not comprehend why I should call you by your name.”
His brows lifted.
“Of course, you shouldn't. But I would actually prefer to be addressed in a more intimate way… by you.”
I made sure my voice dropped low on the last two words to imply something that I was sure she had understood instantly.
And I knew she had because her face burned. The confidence she had garnered prior shattered. “In—intimate?”
I nodded with my eyes closed, then opened them again.
She tilted her head to the side, her lashes flickering.
“Mr Lucien sounds a bit stiff. It doesn't roll off well, how about …”
I waited.
“...uncle-in-law?” she asked.
Amusement claimed me. At the words, and at the look in her eyes. She seemed so proud of what she had come up with.
“Is that a tease?” I asked, leaning forward so I could look at her face properly.
She grinned hard.
“Is it so hard to address me as Luci—”
“Yes, Lucien,” she dropped immediately, taking the words off my mouth. I was already demonstrating how I wanted the name to sound, my hands in the air.
My face inched closer.
“Say it again, lower,” I demanded. She gulped, eyes wide, but stern.
My lips twitched, and I withdrew my hands from hers and nodded.
“Lucien sounds better,” she said, repeating it without a drop.
“You're difficult.”
She nodded, with a smile. “Yes, I am.” And then, she reached for her sketchbook again and began scribbling on it.
I leaned in to look.
But, she didn't let me see whatever she was doing with it, although it didn't feel like she was doing anything to me.
The waiter soon came, served the new cup of coffee, and cleaned up the table, while taking the soiled tablecloth away.
My book was left there to dry.
She became immersed in her drawing. And I watched as her forehead creased, with her hands moving really fast.
Beautiful. That was how she looked when she was concentrating. Her long sweeping lashes were low, fanning her cheeks.
It was like an unknowing tease of the sharp eyes that lay beneath.
My body grew warmer with each second that passed. And her lips pouting did nothing to help the downwards flow of blood in my body, rushing, fast.
Damien was a fool.
Once again, why did Damien let her slip away? Why choose Vanessa over such an attractive, interesting woman such as Elise?
Because he was a fool.
He didn't understand Elsie.
Not only was she a talented designer and a professional crafts person, but she had such beautiful eye colour, luscious hair that looked better now that she was away from that useless bastard.
And her skin? It was so smooth, and shiny, especially around her collarbone area, and I wondered how it would feel to run my hand over it, again and again.
My d**k twitched in my pants, and I shifted a bit, reached for my glasses, and placed it on again.
Forget it. I shouldn't be noting and even pointing out such things.
Elise was still married to Damien.
She was not mine. Yet.
I would chase her. And I would make her mine. She would belong to me even before she knew I was her master.
She looked up and met my eyes: “You're staring,” she accused. I nodded.
My brows lifted.
“Any reason why I shouldn't stare?” I demanded, crossing my legs and leaning back on the chair in order to stare some more.
Her eyes rolled in their sockets.
“That can be assault.”
I bit my lower lip.
“I don't think so,” I said. “I am only admiring a masterpiece.” A blush rose on her cheeks, spreading unbelievably fast under her skin.
I liked the hue it gave her.
“You're so…”
She was trying to find the right word.
“Direct?” I assisted her.
She shook her head.
“Not really what I was looking for. I need a word to convey the fact that you turn every single word or action into something, you know, s****l?” She explained.
An amused chuckle slid past my lips.
“Is that so?”
She shook her head slowly.
“You're just… ugh.”
I leaned forward, too close, as if to kiss her.
“Your eyes are begging for something from me, Elsie, and I can tell,” I murmured.
Tension simmered between us.
And I watched her swallow, hard, before she spoke. “You are seeing wrong.”
I smirked. “No I am not.”
Her eyes dropped back to her sketchbook and I leaned back, smiling hard.
There was just something about her sharp tongue cutting me down that made my c**k quite hard in my pants, throbbing.
I was enjoying this charged atmosphere between both of us, maybe a little too much.
She reached for the new cup of coffee she had ordered. She didn't blow on it, she didn't take her eyes off her sketch, and outrightly prodded it to her lips.
“Don't drink that, it's —”
Too late. She already drank it.
“Oh holy…” She cursed, then hissed sharply. She immediately dropped the cup on the desk, her face twisted as she flung the sketch book away.
“I would get the waiter," I said, standing up.
“No, I'm fine,” she said with a raised palm. She sucked in a breath and covered her lips with her hands.
“Are you sure?” I asked, slowly sitting back done.
“I'm fine, Lucien.”
She didn't look fine. Her face was burning red, and I could see the wetness of her eyes even under the glowing yellow light. She lifted her gaze and beamed.
“I was just careless,” she said. I tilted my head, left eye raised.
Alright? With red cheeks and burning tongues? Did the meaning of ‘alright’ change in the last few minutes?
My phone pinged before I could say a word to her.
It was a message from my little nephew. I raised a brow, lifted the phone closer, and read the short message.
‘You should stay away from my wife, uncle. She is not your business.’
My hands tightened around the phone. And I slowly lifted my gaze to Elise while returning the phone to my pocket.
Too late dear nephew. Too late.
She was now my business.
- Writer
