Loving Lucas (14 page)

I scratch my head, then roll onto my side, staring at the clock. I’d prefer to snuggle up with her on the couch and watch a movie or take a swim. This on-edge shit doesn’t work for me. I like everything to be out in the open, all doubts and expectations given equal priority. Departmental regulations require all officers to seek professional counseling when there’s a life-changing event, defined as marriage, divorce, birth, or death. Add any significant incident in the field, whether a physical altercation or a shooting, and most officers are prepared to deal with life.

Just as my eyes start to close, my phone rings. I sigh, then pick up.

“Lucas?”

I’m speechless; it’s Willow. “Everything all right?” I immediately sit up. “Is Alex asleep?”

“He’s fine—I just . . .”
 

“What is it?” This is a first. Of course she couldn’t pick a worse time to call. My mind is saturated with Karlie. “Tell me, Willow.”

“I miss you.”

Silence. I suck in a deep breath, pissed off at what she said. “Where’s Paul?”

“Out-of-town business trip.”

“You don’t miss me, Willow; you’re lonely.” My ex always needed to be the center of the universe. Sometimes she even got jealous of our dog. I caught her telling our son to put on a dog costume so I’d pay more attention to him. “Hang up and go to bed.”

“Everything is always so black and white with you, Lucas.”

“After living with you,” I retort, “there’s little gray left in this world.”

She sighs, my words obviously resonating. “I admit I was selfish and difficult at times.”

“At times?” I repeat, laughing. She never gave me a chance to win her heart back after she announced she was leaving. That’s how Willow operated throughout our marriage, even when we were dating in high school. If she got mad, she left, regardless of where we were or who was in attendance. It made me a different man, and I’ll never accept that kind of behavior from another woman again.

“Plenty of times,” she clarifies.

“Glad you have the courage to finally admit it,” I say. “I’m hanging up now.”

If my ex-wife had called two months ago, I might have considered entertaining her, acting as her psychologist. But now, after sampling how pleasant life could be with a woman like Karlie, I’m finished dealing with Willow unless it concerns our son. I punch my pillow, then settle back down, wondering why she called. The goddamn world has a cruel way of fucking with a man’s head and heart. I don’t like it.

Then Karlie taps on my door.

“Come in.”

The door opens slowly. She’s wearing the fluffy, oversized robe I bought her; it makes her look like a Q-tip with a head and feet. I chuckle. Her hair is in a ponytail. “I couldn’t sleep,” she says.

I pat the edge of the bed. “Sit down, darlin’.”

She does. “I never answered your question downstairs. Do you really want to know what made me so skeptical of relationships?”

“Sure do.”

“Connor.”

I swallow, careful to contain the rage I feel hearing his name. “He cheated?”

“I don’t know,” she answers. “But there were nights he never came home. Trips across country on the racing circuit. Groupies . . .”
 

I recoil.
Groupies.
It helps explain why she reacted so adversely to Sarah. “I’m sorry you had to put up with his . . .”
 

She holds her fingers up to my lips to silence me. “I don’t want your pity, just your awareness. I have legitimate concerns.” She moves off the bed, then leaves my room.

Chapter Sixteen

I stare at the note Lucas left . . .

If I could change your past, I would. If I could do anything to assure you that the feelings I’m having come from the deepest parts of my heart, I would. If I convince you not give up on us, then I consider that a victory. I’m working late today, see you at nine.

Simple, but so romantic. I fold it in half, holding it close. Again, I let my past get in the way. Connor Seville is no longer a part of my life, but he’s still influencing the decisions I make and how I feel. It makes me angry. Bruises and defamatory language are so much easier to deal with than matters of the heart. And I know that’s where Lucas is coming from. He’s not in love with me; I’m not egotistical enough to assume that. But I know he’s sincere.
God help me.
I should have recognized his personality type at the racetrack. Just the way he seized control of the situation suggested he was honorable.

So he’s had casual sex with a few partners; most men do. I’m the freak, not him. My cell phone chimes and I jump off the sofa and race to my bedroom. I answer on the fourth ring.

“Marie?”

“Hey girl,” she says. “I’m in the neighborhood.”

“What are you doing on the island?”

“I’m wearing a bathing suit and you have a heated pool and hot tub—that’s what I’m doing in the ’hood.”

She hangs up and I smile. Marie doesn’t have a class this morning either. Typically I blow off all responsibilities on Friday and do whatever I want. A girl has to have a play day, right? I strip off my pajamas and grab the first bikini in my drawer, a light blue tiger print. By the time she knocks, I’m ready to go swimming. I open the door and she pushes past me, dropping her purse and backpack on the floor. She walks into the living room and spins around.

“This place looks amazing.”

“It should,” I say sarcastically. “I had a late-night cleaning frenzy.”

She cocks her head. “Did you guys argue?”

I shake my head. “A misunderstanding.”

“Nope,” she says, sitting on one of the bar stools. “Don’t make me squeeze it out of you.”

“We went out to eat last night and I met one of his fans.”

“A cop groupie? The kind you see on
CSI
?”

Marie is so dramatic. “Yes,” I confirm. “Dressed in a tight miniskirt and six-inch heels.”

“Hot?”

“Very.”

She studies me. “You need a new dress.”

That’s her solution for every girlie disaster: new clothes. “No money.”

“I have plastic—consider it an early Christmas gift.”

“No.”

“You really don’t know how beautiful you are, Karlie. But if you keep hiding those curves under long cotton skirts and hippie shirts, Lucas might miss something.”

She wouldn’t say that if she knew he’d tied me up. “I think Lucas has pretty much discovered every inch of me.”

“Naked is one thing,” she says. “But wrapping paper is another.”

“Is that what clothes are?”

“If you’re trying to keep a guy like Lucas . . .” She rolls her eyes. “I’m pretty sure it matters.”

I finally give in. “Are we shopping in bikinis?”

“Go change,” she commands. “I’ll put my jeans on.”

Thirty minutes later we’re in her car, driving to La Palmera mall. We end up in Victoria’s Secret. She picks a hazy lavender lace bra and matching panties—I get no say. Then we search the dresses. Marie is going through the racks like a madwoman. Finally, after hanging back and watching her chaotic search for whatever she’s envisioned me in, she holds up a black, twist-back dress. It’s sleek and sexy and short.

“Try this on.” She offers it.

“That’s an ultra-low-cut front, Marie. Look, it’s held together by a spaghetti string.”

“Precisely,” she says with that million-dollar smile. “Your DD’s will fill it out and then some.”

I reluctantly carry the garment into the dressing room. A few minutes later, I step out so Marie can see. She slowly circles me, making silly noises.

“Have you looked in the mirror, Karlie?”

“No.”

“Look.” She points at the three-paneled glass behind us.

I do. An involuntary smile lights my face. I’ve never worn anything so flirty, so revealing. And I can’t believe how well it showcases my body; my cleavage is sick. Marie makes such a fuss, two of the salesclerks approach.

“Look at her figure,” one says.

“That dress was made for you,” the other comments.

I agree, but it’s too expensive. “I adore it.”

“Good.” Marie smacks my ass affectionately. “Get dressed and we’ll get out of here.”

We end up at the cash register with the bra and panties, the dress, a pair of heeled, T-strap Mary Janes, shiny lip gloss, and baked mineral bronzing powder. Total cost? Over two hundred dollars. I immediately complain, but Marie holds her hand up.

“Get over it, Karlie.”

Under protest, she drives me home and drags me to my bedroom.

“You spent too much money,” I complain.

“And you spend too little.”

She knows I’m frugal to a fault. “I don’t have any money.”

“Yes you do,” she argues. “I know you’ve saved five thousand dollars over the last few years.”

I gape at her. “How?”

“You told me last time you got drunk.”

Sometimes I drink too much rum. That money is all I have in the world. Essentially, it doesn’t exist. I earned it working summers, most of it laboring away in Connor’s mother’s bakery for ten dollars an hour. “Don’t ever tell anyone.”

She pretends to zip her mouth. “I understand, sweetie, believe me. Now let’s focus on how you’re going to seduce Lucas tonight. Makeup sex is great.”

“We didn’t argue.” I retrieve his note from the nightstand and give it to her.

She scans it, then looks at me.
“If I could do anything to assure you that the feelings I’m having come from the deepest parts of my heart, I would.”
She blows out an exaggerated breath. “That’s hot. Wear the dress tonight.”

“He’s working late and we aren’t going out.”

“Trust me, Karlie, wear the freakin’ dress.”

After showering and dressing in the station locker room, I head to my truck. Should I go home or stop for a beer first? I’m still unsure where Karlie and I left off last night. Maybe the note helped. But she hasn’t called or texted—something neither one of us has done yet. We’re both hesitant to interfere with each other’s lives. I connect the seat belt and lay my iPhone on the center console. Starting the engine, I stare at my cell. I really want to hear her voice.

Screw pride.
I dial her number and she answers on the second ring. “Hello, Lucas.” She sounds fairly happy.

“Hello, darlin’. Need anything from the store?”

“Green grapes and a gallon of milk.”

I smile—it sounds so domestic. “That’s it?”

“Uh-huh,” she purrs. “How long are you going to be?”

“Forty-five minutes.”

“Okay. ’Bye.” She disconnects.

If love letters make her that happy, I’ll write one every day. I stop at H-E-B, pick up a few groceries, then arrive at the house. The lights are on in the backyard, and I peek over the fence. She’s not outside. I unlock the front door and step inside. I catch a hint of vanilla incense as I place my things on the table in the entry. I walk around the corner. A candlelight dinner is a great sign that she’s ready to move forward. There are flowers, salad, bread, Cornish game hens, and green bean casserole waiting for me. It smells delicious.

“Welcome home,” she says.

I find her standing near the fireplace, wearing a silky minidress and high heels. Her long hair is swept into an updo and she’s wearing a black choker. She has the prettiest neck, slim and exposed—ready for me to kiss and suck on. I’m so aroused I want to carry her upstairs.

“What’s all this?”

“A peace offering. I panicked last night—sorry.”

I nod, pleased she’s worked it out inside. “I meant everything I said, Karlie. I won’t hurt you.”

“I know.” She joins me near the table, then wraps her arms around my neck. We gaze into each other’s eyes. “Hungry?”

“Very . . .” Food seems to trigger our attraction. I laugh—knowing what’s going to happen after we eat, if we make it through the meal at all. I pull a chair out. “Ready?”

She sits, then I go to the kitchen to wash my hands. When I return, her pretty smile melts my heart. I claim my seat beside her and unfold my napkin, draping it across my lap. She serves me a generous portion of green beans and pours ranch dressing on my salad. I cut into the chicken, and steam escapes.

“There’s sausage, pecan, and cranberry stuffing inside,” she says.

I taste it and close my eyes in complete ecstasy. “I think you’re wasting your time getting a degree in political science.” I open my eyes again. She’s a culinary goddess. Why should I share her with the world? “This is the best stuffing I’ve ever tasted.”

She beams. “And the meat?”

I take another bite. “Moist and tender.” I chew slowly, watching her take tiny bites.

Thirty minutes later, we clear the table. I can’t keep my eyes off her sweet ass; the dress hugs every curve. And her breasts—if she dressed that way in public, I’d have to keep my firearm at the ready. Every time she leans over, her tits nearly spill out, and my dick is already hard and throbbing.

When she’s finished loading the dishwasher, she tugs me outside. There’s a full moon tonight, and the temperature is very mild for this time of year. There’s a fire burning in the outdoor gas fireplace and a bottle of wine already opened, with two flutes waiting on the nearby table.

“Thought of everything, didn’t you?” I’m beyond thrilled. She wants to make up, and so do I, desperately.
Now.
I fill the glasses and offer her one. “You take my breath away, Karlie.”

She smiles, looking down for a split second before she meets my gaze. Whenever I compliment her she blushes. It’s endearing, but it also reminds me of how fragile she is. She’s so unsure of herself and doesn’t know what damage she could do to a man’s heart. Her ex is a piece of shit. He had everything a man dreams of. But if he hadn’t mistreated her that night at the track, she wouldn’t be here with me, and she wouldn’t be mine. And that’s how I’m starting to feel: Karlie Augustine is mine. I accidently growl and her eyes go wide.

“Everything okay?” she asks.

I drain my glass, set it on the table, then gently walk her backward until she hits the fence. “Okay?” I repeat. I drop to my knees, gazing up at her. “Perfect,” I say, lifting the hem of her dress. She shivers.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“I should think that’s abundantly clear.” Once I have the soft fabric over her hips, I slide her panties down to her ankles, my eyes fixed on her center. I practically salivate at the thin strip of perfectly groomed red curls. “Beautiful.”