Insatiable

closer to her. Her appreciative gasp at the touch of his tongue, delicately tasting her skin,

caused him to tighten his grip on her hips….

And this pressed those black lace panties more firmly against the front of his suit

trousers.

Lucien jerked his lips from her breast. He could take it no more. He abruptly pulled her

from him, slipped one arm beneath her waist and the other beneath her knees, and then rose,

lifting her with him.

Meena let out a delighted laugh and tightened her grip around his neck.

“Don’t tell me,” she said. “You’re taking me to the bedroom to ravish me.”

“Yes,” he ground out.

And turned resolutely toward the darkened bedroom door.

He would be damned for what he was about to do.

But then, he was damned anyway.

Chapter Twenty-nine

9:15 A.M . EST, Friday, April 16

15 Union Square West, Penthouse

New York, New York

M eena woke to the smell of frying bacon.

For a few seconds, she thought she was back home in the house in which she’d grown up

in New Jersey. That was the last time she could remember waking to the smell of real bacon.

But when Meena opened her eyes, she found herself not in the purple and white bedroom

of her youth, surrounded by her childhood Beanie Baby collection, but in Lucien Antonescu’s

ultrachic urban penthouse, all soothing tones of gray and brown, with her dog, Jack Bauer,

standing on the mattress beside her head, panting anxiously into her face.

“Jack,” Meena said woozily. What had happened last night? “Get down.”

What had happened last night began to return in bits and pieces as Meena lifted the dog

and plopped him onto the black tile floor, on which his claws made a hectic skittering sound as

he turned and then made a running leap to bound back up onto the bed.

The countess. She had gone to the countess’s apartment with Jon—because he’d made

her—and he ’d been there….

Lucien, the man from St. George’s Cathedral, the man who’d saved her life. They’d

talked and laughed, and afterward, he’d asked if he could join her while she walked Jack

Bauer.

And then he’d broken into the Metropolitan Museum of Art. And they’d kissed in front

of the portrait of St. Joan. And he’d invited her back to his place. And she’d gone with him.

And then they’d…

They’d…

Oh, God, they’d…

Meena bolted upright in bed, then seized her temples—head rush!—and collapsed back

against the pillows.

Had she really made love with Lucien Antonescu all night long?

And was he really—if what she was smelling was any indication—making her

breakfast?

A huge smile broke out across Meena’s face. At least until her dog launched himself

strategically against her midsection.

“Oof!” Meena said. “Jack! That’s not funny.”

But Jack didn’t seem to be trying to be funny. He was whining and pawing at her—not a

pleasant sensation, since Meena was completely naked beneath Lucien’s dark gray sheets—

while attempting to shower her face with anxious licks.

Why, out of all the dogs at the New York City ASPCA, had Meena had to bring home

the most maladjusted one?

“All right, all right,” she said. “I’m getting up.”

A glance out the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that led to Lucien’s massive terrace

showed her that it was a beautiful spring day. The glass seemed to be slightly tinted, but

Meena could tell it was already late morning.

And a glance at her cell phone, which she dug out of her bag, sitting at the floor of the

bed, confirmed it. She was late to work. Great.

She also, she saw, had seven messages, four of them from Leisha, two from her mother,

and one from Jon (probably warning her that their mother had called the apartment looking for

her). Meena didn’t really go missing all that often (all right…ever).

But when she did, she did it in a big way.

Meena sat on the edge of the bed and texted I’m fine back to Leisha, whose messages

had gotten consecutively more and more frantic as Meena neglected to respond. More than

fine. I’ll call you later.

To Jon, all she wrote was, U didn’t tell Mom anything, did u? PS I ‹3 Romania

She wrote nothing back to her mother. She’d have to call her later. Her mother didn’t

know how to text.

She wondered what to do about work. What day was it? She couldn’t even remember….

Oh, right. Friday. What was happening today? Something about someone reading for

something…

“I thought you were up,” a deep voice said from the doorway, startling her. Jumping,

Meena turned and saw the most delectable sight she could remember seeing in a long time:

Lucien Antonescu wearing only a pair of gray silk pajama bottoms, holding a crystal

champagne flute filled with what appeared to be orange juice.

“Mimosa?” he asked.

Meena would have thought she was still dreaming if Jack Bauer hadn’t chosen that

moment to hurl a paw into her kidney.

“Ow,” she said, giving the dog a gentle shove off the bed while holding the gray sheet to

her chest. Jack let out a little yelp as he fell onto a tangled pile of Meena’s and Lucien’s

clothes. “How thoughtful of you, Lucien. I’d love one.”

Lucien came toward her with a loving—there was no other way to describe it—smile on

his face, and Meena was able to observe his half-naked body in the daytime. It was perfect…as

perfect as it had seemed the night before, large but without a hint of fat, athletic without

seeming muscle-bound, thrillingly masculine. Meena remembered running her fingers down

that broad back and circling her arms around that lean waist, trying to hold him more closely.

She even recalled—and now the blush grew distinctly deeper—kissing the trail of dark hair

along that firm belly.

Her blush deepened.

“Good morning,” he said, leaning down to kiss her as he handed her the champagne.

“Is that bacon I smell?” Meena asked, trying to change the subject…of her own sinful

thoughts.

“It is indeed,” he said. “You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”

“I should be,” Meena said, sipping the drink he’d brought her. The oranges had been

freshly squeezed. “Being an animal lover and all. But I’m just a hypocrite, instead.”

“I like a girl who eats,” he said, running a finger along her cheekbone. “I’m making

eggs, too. How do you like yours?”

Meena could not recall any man ever asking her this in her entire life, including her own

father.

“Um,” she said, “scrambled?” She smiled up at him, relishing his touch and trying to

ignore her dog, who was growling from the opposite side of the bed.

“Then they’ll be ready when you are,” Lucien said. “I thought maybe you’d like a hot

bath. I’ve run one for you in there.” He pointed toward a doorway opposite the one through

which he’d just entered. Meena noticed for the first time that white curls of steam were wafting

from it.

“Oh,” she said, stunned. “You did? That’s so sweet. Really, you didn’t have to do all

this.”

“No,” Lucien said. “Really. I did.”

He cupped her face, leaned down, and kissed her deeply. Meena was reminded of how

much kissing they’d done the night before. Her lips felt a little bruised by it all. In fact, all of

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