When I'm With You Part V: When You Submit

When I'm With You Part V: When You Submit by Beth Kery

Book: When I'm With You Part V: When You Submit by Beth Kery Read Free Book Online
Authors: Beth Kery
“Who knew? I’ve heard of phone sex, but never thought it could be so . . . fulfilling.”
    “It never has been before. I suspect you set some kind of world record,” he replied thickly.
    “
You
did that. I was just an innocent victim,” she muttered, her pique just a limpid act. She felt supremely relaxed and satisfied.
    “You are about as much of a victim as Attila the Hun.”
    “I resent that,” she purred, grinning like the Cheshire cat.
    “You had better improve on your lessons by tomorrow at eleven thirty.”
    “Or
what
?” she postured.
    “You know what. You’ve met your match. Even the Huns were conquered.”
    She heard the hint of steel in his sensual purr and swallowed thickly. His tone had gentled when he called her name again across countries and an ocean, and it felt to her as if his head were on the pillow next to her.
    “Elise?”
    “Yes?” she answered groggily.
    “Get under the covers. I don’t want you to catch a chill,” he said. “And Elise?”
    She paused in fumbling with the comforter and sheet, doing what he’d said.
    “Yes?”
    “You’ll do better tomorrow with your self-discipline. I have faith in you.”
    A rush of feeling went through her. “Thank you,” she whispered.
    “Good night,
ma chère
. Sleep well.”
    “Good night, Lucien.”
    A choking loneliness overcame her as she hit the disconnect button, set the alarm, and turned off the bedside lamp. She snuggled into Lucien’s bed, struck by how enormous it seemed . . . how empty without him.
    Despite the pang of loneliness, Lucien had trained her body well—not just for pleasure, but for health. She was asleep within three minutes of hanging up the phone.
    * * *
    Two days later, Sharon peeped through the kitchen door while Elise was stirring a thickening béarnaise sauce.
    “Francesca Arno stopped in. She was wondering if you had a moment to speak?”
    Elise winced. “I can’t right now. I can’t leave this—”
    “I’ve got it,” Evan said, coming up behind her and reaching for the whisk. Elise glanced at Denise, who nodded to her with a distracted smile as she prepared a roast duck. She washed her hands and walked through the swinging door, looking for Francesca.
    “Hi,” Elise said, glad to see Francesca standing in the bar area, a glass of club soda and lime on the bar in front of her.
    “I’m sorry; I know how busy you must be. I promise I won’t take long. It’s a bit of an emergency.”
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Oh.” Francesca looked contrite when she noticed Elise’s anxiety. “I should have specified. Not a
real
emergency. A
bride’s
emergency.”
    Elise laughed. “My father used to say there’s no catastrophe in the universe larger than a bride’s, because she makes her panic everyone else’s.”
    Francesca joined her in laughter. “It’s so funny you mentioned him. He’s the reason I stopped by. Or one of them, anyway.
    Elise’s amusement vanished. “My
father
?” she asked, stunned.
    Francesca nodded. “Yes. Louis Martin.”
    Elise just stared, her mind racing. Lucien had specifically told her he didn’t want anyone here in Chicago to know of their former connection. She’d made a point of not talking about her family or her past because she didn’t want people to start to see the possible previous connections between Lucien and her. Lucien’s desire for anonymity coincided with her own desire to start a new life.
    How was she supposed to respond to Francesca?
    “Your father is Louis Martin, right? The famous fashion designer?” Francesca prompted.
    “I . . . he . . . How did you know that?” Elise sputtered.
    Francesca’s expression fell. “I’m sorry. Did you not want people to know?”
    I don’t know what I want, Elise thought anxiously. She wasn’t sure what secrets Lucien wanted her to keep and what he didn’t. Why was he always so infuriatingly vague about all that?
    “It’s just that I hadn’t told anyone here. I’m trying to start out

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