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He walked out into the main hall, the walls tastefully decorated with a mix of contemporary and classic paintings by legendary artists. Sconces provided light all the way down to the top of the grand staircase. The marble marvel swept down to the main hallway, a large room lined with columns and a soaring ceiling that boasted a tiered chandelier crafted from diamonds.
The expense and beauty were lost on the people down below. Lazlo stalked out of his office, the figure at his side mostly obscured by his broad body. He moved with purpose across the hall.
“You are not welcome here again, Miss Sutton.” Lazlo’s voice, usually polite and refined, dripped with icy command.
“Aren’t you supposed to be serving your clients?”
The same husky, feminine voice Griffith had heard on the phone drifted up, wrapped around him with a surprisingly strong grip. He moved closer to the top of the stairs.
Lazlo turned and guided Miss Sutton toward the double front doors where two security guards waited. It gave Griffith his first glimpse of the tenacious attorney who had been badgering him these past few weeks.
His first impression was curls. A riotous mass of dark brown curls cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. She wore a tan trench coat that skimmed the back of her knees and navy rain boots.
“Yes. Mr. Lykaois doesn’t want to see you.”
“But if he doesn’t see me, he’ll risk—”
“Might I suggest calling his secretary?”
“I have. Multiple times. I’ve also driven to his offices in Liverpool, Portsmouth, Southampton...”
As if sensing his presence, she suddenly whipped her head around and looked up. Their eyes met. She held his gaze even as Lazlo continued to move her forward.
A current of emotion arced between them. The anticipation of two adversaries finally coming face-to-face charged the air. Yet something deeper wound its way through, added a dark, hypnotic power just before desire slammed into him. Vivid images filled his mind, carnal thoughts of a slender body arching beneath his as he tangled his fingers deep into those curls, kissed her bare throat as she curved against him—
Shaken, his hand shot out and gripped the banister, his fingers digging into the marble with such force it was a miracle he didn’t leave indentations in the polished stone.
“Mr. Lykaois?”
His chest tightened as he forced himself to stay in place. He was in the shadows. She couldn’t see him clearly. He couldn’t even make out any defining features, aside from an oval-shaped face framed by those unruly curls. But it didn’t stop the voice from slipping beneath his skin, wrapping around his taut nerves and teasing, coaxing, urging him to stay just a moment longer, to look his fill of the woman who had set his body on fire.
“Mr. Lykaois, please. I need to speak to you about your inheritance.”
The last word snapped him out of his reverie. Cold flooded his veins as his hands tightened into fists at his sides. He turned his back on Rosalind Sutton and returned to his suite, ignoring the fading sound of her voice calling out his name.
With each step he took, he grabbed the errant strands of his self-control and wove them back to order. If he had thought Rosalind Sutton a mere nuisance before, one who was pushing him to accept something he didn’t want to, he now saw her in a far different light. In the span of a heartbeat, lust had taken over, gripped him with a ferocity he’d never experienced before. That it transcended his previous hedonistic exploits, that just the sound of her voice had inspired him to act on impulse and go out to the lobby to get a glimpse of her face, were warning signs he couldn’t afford to ignore.
He had worked hard the past eleven months to correct his lifestyle. To listen to his father’s words, even if it had been too late for Belen to see the results of his tireless support and love for his only child.
Rosalind Sutton threatened it all. That he could not allow.
He stalked back into his suite and walked up the stairs, pausing on the landing to stare out the window that overlooked the street below. London was now awash in dark gray, the people below pummeled by sheets of a rain too cold for the beginnings of summer.
Just below him, an umbrella opened. It caught his eye because of the almost painfully bright yellow material. It moved amongst a sea of black and crossed the road, covering its owner from view.
He knew, even before he caught a glimpse of the navy rain boots and trench coat flapping in the rain, that Rosalind wielded the colorful parasol. The umbrella moved down the sidewalk and away from the Diamond Club at a brisk pace.
How had she managed to brazen her way into the club? Into Lazlo’s private office? The woman had guts, he’d give her that.
But she also wanted him to face a reckoning. To her, it was a simple signature, one last bit of business.
To him, it would be the final acknowledgment his father was gone.
He would need to sign the papers eventually. Alone, in a location of his choosing, with Rosalind far, far away. He could not risk another face-to-face meeting with a woman who tempted him to sin with her mere presence. Angry as he was at his reaction to her, it wasn’t her fault. His anger needed to be directed fully and completely at himself.
It would be easy, preferable even, to place the blame for his unnatural reaction on her. But that would also be indulging in his old ways. Not taking responsibility for himself, for his actions and the consequences incurred by his selfish nature.
He turned away, firmly dismissing her from his mind as he continued up the stairs. Eventually he would deal with the damned inheritance. But right now, he wanted peace. Needed it if he wasn’t going to go mad. Kent was no longer safe. While the Diamond Club offered refuge, the longer he stayed the more his guilt pressed on him, tightening until he could barely breathe.
