CHAPTER 137
The kitchen was shrouded in an oppressive, ringing silence when Clara re-entered, save for the heavy, labored breathing of the man who remained leaning against the far counter.
The "Councilor" excuse had served its immediate purpose—it had cleared the room of prying eyes—but the air within the four walls remained thick and heavy with the sharp, metallic tang of Lucian's dark arousal and that persistent scent of Isabella's essence that still clung to the very fabric of the room.
Lucian did not so much as lift his head as the door swung shut. "There wasn't any car coming, right?" His voice scraped hollow against the silencle.
"The Councilor excuse... it was a lie?"
"Indeed," Clara acknowledged. "But we both know that wasn't why I sent her away. Look at me, Lucian. Look at me and tell me you don't see the precipice you're standing on."
