The Surrender: Falling In Part 3

Once Scout had the flowers and fruit loaded on a cart, she returned to the private bank of elevators and slid her key through B. No one was in residence yet and it was quick work, unloading the items for that suite.

Master suite B was quite different looking than the other master suite. Less lived-in and more generic. It had an air of luxury to it for sure, but it lacked the level of wealth and power the other suite projected.

Her heart raced as she took the lift back down and moved to the private elevator for master suite C. The ride to the top was way too short. Moisture built under the sleeves of her dove gray gown and her sweaty palms nervously smoothed her ap.r.o.n and adjusted her bonnet. He wouldn't be there.

Pus.h.i.+ng her cart out of the gilded car, she sighed and approached the entrance. Her knuckles rapped lightly on the frosted window of the door.

"Housekeeping."

Reaching for her key, Scout's relief was short-lived as a shuffle sounded on the other side of the entry and she stilled. The handle moved and the door opened. Smooth black patent leather shoes stepped into her view.

"Ah, Ms. Keats, do come in."

Her jaw unhinged as her gaze traveled up expensively clothed long tapered legs, a trim waist evident under a neatly tucked s.h.i.+rt, broad shoulders, and a tanned throat with a dark shadow of beard. The man from yesterday. He smiled at her. Very perfect, white teeth. His visage was nothing like the irritated expression he'd greeted her with the day before.

"I-I can come back at a better time," she stuttered stupidly.

"Nonsense. I was just sitting down to have lunch. Have you eaten?"

Scout's eyes blinked as her brain worked. His silk sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. The top b.u.t.ton of his s.h.i.+rt was undone and his tie hung loosely at his neck. Parker was the only man she ever really looked at. Parker's skin was still youthful, while this man's skin was tanned and roughened slightly with the dark shadow of coa.r.s.e hair under the surface.

Her dry throat swallowed back a lump that had formed somewhere over her voice box. He heaved a sigh and suddenly reached for her cart and pulled it over the threshold.

"Oh, sir, no. I can do that."

Scout followed him and her cart into the apartment like a kitten chasing a string. He needed to stop touching her things. He parked the cart at the end of the hall and turned. She staggered to a stop.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Your question?" she repeated stupidly.

"Have you had lunch?"

"I just finished my break. If you don't want me to come back later, I can be finished here in a few minutes. I didn't mean to interrupt your lunch."

Scout reached to the bottom of the cart for her bag of supplies, but he grabbed her arm. His large, tanned hand circled her wrist like a manacle and he pulled her toward the seating area.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she stammered. Her feet quickly hurried after his much-longer strides.

He released her arm and turned. "Sit."

Instinctively she dropped her weight to the edge of the settee. He lifted two pewter covers and the scent of warm, rotisserie-style meat filled the room. Her stomach cramped at the reminder of her hunger and her mouth watered.

Some sort of small chicken sat on each plate. There were long green beans with slivered almonds in a b.u.t.tery sauce, and a fancy-shaped pile of mashed potatoes that looked more like toasted ice cream the way it swirled into a peak. It suddenly occurred to her that there was two of everything.

"You were expecting someone."

"Yes."

He sat beside her and she was intensely aware of the way his warm thigh touched the naked flesh on her knee peeking from below her uniform.

"These are Cornish game hens. Have you ever had them before? They're a bit tougher than chicken, but equally as savory when prepared properly."

Her eyes went wide as he spread a linen napkin over her lap. She shot to her feet, catching the napkin before it fell to the ground.

"Sir, I can't eat your food."

"Of course you can. I ordered it for you."

"You-you ordered this for me?" Why would he do that?

"Well, not all of it. Half is for me." He smirked, only the corner of his mouth partic.i.p.ating in the expression.

She shook her head. "I'll lose my job. I'm sorry. I'll come back later." She quickly turned and walked toward the hall.

"Evelyn."

At the sound of her legal name she froze. Slowly, she faced him. "How did you know my name?" she whispered.

"It was on your paperwork."

"What paperwork?"

"Your application."

"You read my application?"

He raised one dark brow. "You rummaged through my desk."

"I-" This was insane. "Sir, I've already apologized about that. I promise you, it wasn't what it looked like."

"And what did it look like, Evelyn?"

No one used her real name aside from her mother, and even she rarely called her that. She hated that name. It didn't fit her.

"Like I was snooping," she admitted shamefully.

"Were you?"

"No!"

"Good. Now that that's all cleared up we can eat."

He replaced his napkin on his lap and sliced into the small bird on his plate. Succulent juices spurted from the crispy skin as his polished silver knife created neat little slices like fallen dominos. Her stomach made an obnoxious whining sound and she blushed.

"Come sit, Evelyn."

Her feet carried her across the carpet and her eyes glazed with hunger as his nimble fingers worked. His silverware was thick and s.h.i.+ny, nothing like the dull stuff they gave them at the shelter. He speared a small bit of the tender white meat and popped it in his mouth.

"Mmm. You should really try some while it's still warm."

"Sir-"

"Lucian."

"What?"

"My name is Lucian."

Scout shook her head. He took another bite and groaned.

"Lucian, I thank you for the offer, but I'm an employee and I have a job to do."

"I'm quite aware of your purpose, being that I pay your salary. I find your work ethic quite admirable, Evelyn, but you're spoiling my thoughtful gesture."

As his words set in she stared at him. She couldn't move. Did he just say he paid her salary?

"What did you say your name was?" she asked in a hoa.r.s.e whisper.

He sighed and placed his fork on the edge of his plate. His fingers swiped quickly over the linen napkin and he leaned back. His eyes studied her for a long moment and she fought the urge to cover herself from his penetrating gaze.

"I'm Lucian Patras, hotel tyc.o.o.n and seasoned entrepreneur. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Keats. Now that everyone's been introduced, I'd like to eat."

No. It couldn't be. No.

He sighed and crossed his arms over his broad chest. His strong build was evident even covered by the silk of his dress s.h.i.+rt.

"What's the problem, Evelyn?"

"I-I don't . . . understand. You own the hotel?"

"Correct."

"Are you firing me?"

He laughed. "Why would I fire you?"

"Because of yesterday."

All humor fled his expression. "You told me it was an accident, that you weren't rummaging through my personal papers. Did you lie to me, Evelyn?"

"No." Her jaw trembled. What was happening here?

"Then you have nothing to worry about so long as you never lie to me." He paused and looked over her clothing. "Your shoes are too big."

Scout awkwardly tried to hide her feet from his view. "I don't understand what's happening here, Mr. Patras."

"Lucian."

"I can't call you that."

"Why not? I have no problem calling you Evelyn."

"No one calls me that."

"Scout's no name for a beautiful woman."

His words made her incredibly uncomfortable. Her brain ran out of things to say. Lucian Patras was a man of great determination and she found his presence exhaustingly challenging. He was breaking her down, but she wasn't sure why. Her hunger had become more than the unending nagging ache it always was, and she was suddenly very weary.

He narrowed his eyes at her then reached for the phone. She stood silently as he dialed.

"Ms. Jones, Lucian Patras. Evelyn Keats is finished for the day. She'll be back in the morning. Please make sure she's paid for the rest of the afternoon." He waited a moment. "Very good." The phone returned to the cradle with a light click.

Chapter 4.

In Good Company "Sit down, Evelyn. We're going to eat and then we're going to talk."

Her body slowly lowered to the settee. Lucian pulled her plate closer to him and made quick work of slicing her meat. Once the white meat was stacked in neat little bite-size pieces, he slid it closer to her and handed her a fork.

"Eat."

The silverware was cool and heavy. She slowly stabbed a piece of food and placed it in her mouth. She wanted to say she was too shocked to process the flavor, but that would be a lie. It was perhaps the most divine thing she'd ever tasted.

They ate in silence. The beans were so fresh and flavorful Scout could've cried. The potatoes were unlike anything she'd ever tasted before, crisp yet fluffy, nothing like the bulbous, mushy spuds they served at the shelter. She wanted to bring some back for Parker to taste, but that would be impossible.

As her mouth closed over the last bit of food, embarra.s.sment had her blood rising. Lucian still had quite a bit of food on his plate. With a trembling hand she placed her fork on the edge of her plate like he had done. The touch of heavy silver to the delicate china seemed all too loud and uncultured to her ears.

"Thank you. That was amazing."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. Do you like working at Patras Hotel, Evelyn?"

Her limbs trembled, knowing what was coming. He'd lied. He did plan on firing her.

"Yes, sir."

"Where did you work before you took this job?"

Her fingers nervously wrung her napkin in her hands and she looked at her lap. "I was a waitress for a while."

"And before that?"

"I worked at a car wash and answered phones for a mechanic."