The heiress he left behind

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Lucas's kiss lingered between them like a question Amelia had no business answering. She could still feel his hand against her cheek and hear him saying she was unlike anyone he had ever met.

She should step back. Lucas Hart was a stranger, and she had come to the gala to save her studio, not lose herself with the most powerful man in Ashbourne.

But when she looked into his gray eyes, she saw something unexpected.

Loneliness.

"Lucas," she whispered.

His gaze searched her face. "Tell me to stop."

Amelia's heart pounded. She had spent the evening fighting to be seen after Julian Mercer dismissed her work and dreams as if they meant nothing.

Lucas saw her.

"I don't want you to stop," she admitted.

He kissed her again, and this time Amelia met him halfway.

Her hands moved up his chest as he held her carefully, one hand at her waist and the other against her face. She had expected Lucas to take what he wanted without apology. Instead, he kissed her as though she mattered.

That tenderness broke through the last of her caution.

Amelia leaned closer, and Lucas made a quiet sound against her mouth. His hand tightened at her waist, sending heat through her.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers.

"You're sure?"

Nothing about the night was sensible. She barely knew him and had no idea what he would think in the morning.

But she knew what she wanted now.

"Yes."

Lucas held her gaze, then took her hand.

His driver was waiting outside the private entrance, but Lucas passed the black sedan and led her toward the museum's private elevator.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"My apartment."

Amelia stopped. Lucas turned immediately.

"If you've changed your mind-"

"I haven't. You have an apartment here?"

"Not in the museum."

"I understood that part."

A genuine smile touched his mouth. "It's nearby."

The smile vanished almost as quickly as it came, but she had seen the man beneath the reputation. The man who listened while she talked about old buildings and her father's impossible optimism.

She stepped into the elevator, and Lucas followed.

The doors closed around them. Amelia became aware of everything-the warmth in her cheeks, her breathing, and the brush of his sleeve against her arm.

Lucas did not touch her.

The restraint became unbearable.

"You're being very quiet," she said.

"I'm trying not to rush you."

"I walked into the elevator."

"That isn't the same as permission."

His answer sent an ache through her chest.

In the mirror, they looked impossible together. Her simple black dress beside his tailored tuxedo. A woman terrified of checking her bank account and a man whose name seemed printed on half the city.

Yet when Lucas looked at her, she did not feel impossible.

She felt wanted.

The elevator opened into a private garage. Lucas led her to a dark gray car and opened the passenger door.

"You don't have a driver?" Amelia asked.

"I told him to go home."

"You drive yourself?"

"Sometimes."

"That is disappointingly normal."

"I'll try to be less disappointing."

Amelia looked away to hide her smile.

Ashbourne passed in ribbons of light as rain made the streets shine. They did not speak, but the silence felt charged. Every glance Lucas gave her at a red light settled beneath her skin.

She did not know what this was.

A mistake, probably.

But not every mistake had to be regretted.

Lucas's apartment occupied the top floor of a discreet building near the harbor. The lobby had dark wood, warm lighting, and a sleepy doorman who greeted Lucas by name.

The elevator opened directly into his home.

Amelia stepped inside and stopped. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the rain-soaked city. Books filled several shelves, and a low fire burned in a stone fireplace. It was beautiful, but there were no family photographs, personal clutter, or signs anyone had stayed long enough to make it feel lived in.

It was elegant and lonely.

"You can leave whenever you want," Lucas said.

"I know."

"I mean it."

"Do you always make everything sound like a legal agreement?"

His eyes softened. "Occupational hazard."

"Then let me be clear." She stepped closer. "I don't want to leave."

Lucas's breath caught, and the small break in his composure made her bolder.

She loosened his tie and let it fall over a chair. Lucas gently closed his hand around her wrist.

"Amelia."

The way he said her name sent warmth through her.

She lifted her face, and he kissed her.

This time there was no museum corridor or distant crowd. Amelia pressed closer, and Lucas wrapped his arms around her. His restraint lasted only a moment before desire replaced it.

He lifted her and carried her toward the bedroom.

The room was dim, with rain tapping against the windows. Lucas set her beside the bed and framed her face with his hands.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

Amelia touched his cheek. "I won't."

The night unfolded slowly. There was no performance or coldness. Lucas watched her as though every expression mattered, pausing when her breath changed and holding her with a tenderness that made her chest ache. They undressed each other and felt themselves closely, allowing the passion to flow naturally.

Amelia let herself forget the unpaid invoices, Julian Mercer's cruelty, and every warning that said this was foolish.

For one night, she did not have to fight to hold everything together.

She could simply be Amelia.

Later, she rested her head against Lucas's chest, listening to his heartbeat. His arm lay warm and heavy around her waist. The rain had stopped, and moonlight covered the city.

"This is dangerous," she murmured.

"What is?"

"This."

He was silent for a moment. "Probably."

Amelia looked up. "You agree too easily."

"Honesty saves time."

"And yet you haven't told me what you're thinking."

Lucas looked toward the ceiling. "That I haven't done anything like this in a long time."

"Like what?"

"Let someone stay."

The admission made her still.

She wanted to ask why and who had taught him to avoid closeness, but the questions felt too sharp for the quiet around them.

"I can stay until morning," she said.

Lucas looked at her. His expression remained unreadable, but his arm tightened around her.

"Stay."

Amelia closed her eyes.

For the first time in months, she fell asleep without worry chasing her.

When she woke, sunlight spilled across the bed.

For several seconds, she did not know where she was. Then she reached for the warmth beside her.

The other side was empty.

Amelia sat up and pulled the sheet around herself. The apartment was silent. Lucas's clothes were gone from the chair. There was no sound from the kitchen and no message on the bedside table.

Only a small velvet box rested on the pillow.

Her pulse quickened as she opened it.

Inside was a delicate gold necklace with an oval pendant, tiny dark-blue stones, and a luminous pearl.

Amelia stared at it, alone in Lucas Hart's bed.

He was gone.