Fill Me (12 page)

"In something nice?"

"Now you sound like her." He kisses my forehead and pulls me into his arms. "You would not believe how tempted I am to cancel the reservation, stay in, and fuck your brains out."

I gulp. "I have no objection to that."

"Too bad. You're not getting out of this." He digs through his luggage and pulls out a pair of slacks and a silk shirt. God damn, he's going to look good in that. "You'll like this place. And after dinner, I'm going to take you to... it's a surprise." A surprise after dinner? My immediate thoughts are filled with dread, but I push past it. Luke looks at me like he knows what I'm thinking. "It has nothing to do with eating or not eating or talking about eating. In fact, I swear that I'm not going to talk about eating for the rest of my trip."

"I'll believe it when I hear it," I say.

He shakes his head playfully. "Still not a fan of promises from Luke Lawrence?"

"Definitely not."

There's an hour until we need to leave, so I drag Luke to the couch. We sit together, flipping through the channels and talking about nothing in particular. It's almost like a normal day at home, like I'm not in New York with my life turned upside down. For a minute, I can see this as a future. I can't see the big moments--the proposal, the wedding, the thirty year anniversary. I can't imagine us with kids. I really can't imagine me with kids. After all, I can barely take care of myself.

But I can see this. I can see lying next to him, doing nothing in particular. I can feel this, how safe I am when I'm around him, how much I know everything will be okay.

He gives so much of himself to me, puts up with so much of my bullshit. I have to do better. I have to talk to him, to explain that I see this too, that I want forever too. I have to show Luke that I'm as madly in love with him as he is with me.

But not yet. Right now, all I need to do is relax into his arms and soak in his presence. Right now, all I need is Luke.

***

The restaurant is, in fact, someplace nice. Insanely nice, actually. It's in midtown, hidden between a few skyscrapers. Best of all, it's private. Really private. Tinted windows. Drawn shades.

Our booth is in the back of the restaurant, in a quiet corner where almost no one can see us. It's still early in the evening, before the place is full of executives on dates with models, and there's almost no one here. Just me and Luke in our own private world.

Luke orders wine. Yes, wine. My mouth almost drops when he starts describing the flavor to me.

"Since when do you drink wine?" I ask.

"It's a special occasion."

"Is it?"

He nods. And is he... is he blushing? Luke fucking Lawrence, my obscenely confident boyfriend, is blushing.

This is unheard of.

And of course he doesn't look adorable or endearing. He looks hot as hell with his that color in his cheeks. He looks like he's just come down from an amazing orgasm.

"What are you thinking?" he asks.

I grin. "You don't want to know."

"Now I do." He sips his wine. His hands are shaking. It's a slight thing, barely noticeable, but it's there.

He's nervous.

He's never nervous.

"I was thinking about the way you look when you come," I say.

"Well, at least you are buying me dinner before you try and get in my pants."

"I'm buying you dinner here?"

He shakes his head. "No, it's on me." He flags down the waiter and orders another glass of wine. When the hell did he start drinking wine? He looks back at me, his confidence seemingly restored. "Really, Ally, when did you become such a pervert?"

"I'm the pervert?"

"Mhmm."

"Cause I'm the one who seduced you?"

He nods, his messy hair falling over his eyes. There's something different about him right now, and it's not just nerves. His eyes are always big and full of life, but they're especially bright today. They're lighting up the whole room. He's in slacks and a silk shirt. He almost always wears cotton. Hell, he brags that it's Egyptian cotton, amazing cotton, the best damn cotton in the world. He brags about how smooth it feels against his skin as he undoes his buttons, torturing me as slowly as humanly possible.

Usually when Luke is in a suit he looks like the epitome of confidence. He looks like the guy you would want behind your bench in court--serious, self-assured, with just a hint of sex appeal. But there's something about him today. It's almost like he's a little boy playing dress up or like a terrified teenager on his way to the prom.

He brings his gaze back to me. "Miss Summers, are you complaining?"

I shake my head.

"Because, if I recall correctly, I did deliver on my promise."

"And what was that?"

"To make you come."

"And you like to remind me."

"Well," he says. "I'm only trying to find the facts."

"Are you?"

"The truth is very important here."

"And what truth is that?"

"You were implying some sort of dissatisfaction. And I simply cannot have that," he says. "In fact, I'm not going to be happy unless you're incredibly satisfied." He runs his fingers along my arm. "Incredibly satisfied, incredibly often."

I look into his eyes. There's lust there, but there's something else too. There's a vulnerability.

"Mr. Lawrence, don't tell me you're suddenly doubting yourself."

"No, I still have vivid memories of that night and I'm quite certain that you came at least three times."

And now I'm the one with flushed cheeks. Luke smiles, his face lighting up again.

"I love when you get shy," he says. "There's an adorable innocence about it. I want to corrupt you."

Well, fuck. He's certainly pushed aside any nerves. Or maybe he hasn't. Maybe he's masking them with the one thing he can always be confident about.

I can't blame him. He's fucking fantastic with his hands, his mouth, and his cock. If I were him, I'd brag more than he does. If that's even possible.

The waiter returns with another round of drinks and we order. Luke says nothing when I order the usual seared fish and vegetables. Not a peep about treating myself or recovery or any of that bullshit. There's nothing on his face either.

Maybe he's going to mind his own business from now on.

No, that's not fair. I want to bring him into this. I want to tell him how I feel. But I have to do it on my terms.

"You can say it," I say.

"Say what?" He takes a long sip of his wine, his lips wrapped around the edge of the glass. God, have his lips always been that gorgeous?

"Make a comment about what I've ordered. We can get this all out of the way now, so I don't have to stew while you're watching me eat."

"No comments. I promise. You said you're doing okay. I trust you." He leans closer. "I love you so much, Ally. I'd never forgive myself if I did anything that hurt you."

"Everyone hurts each other. It's inevitable."

He shakes his head. "I have this painful urge to protect you."

"Then why did you tell me to do the play?"

"I have an equally painful urge to make sure I'm not getting in your way."

"You never could," I say.

"What if you stayed in L.A. because of me?"

"We'd have been spared this afternoon's fight."

He brings his gaze back to me. His eyes are on fire again. His whole face is animated and bright. "Be honest. Do you wish you'd turned down the play?"

I bite my lip. There have been a lot of awful moments, too many temptations to count, and it's terrible being so far from Luke. But I'm still glad I'm here. I was a nervous wreck for two weeks straight, but I'm finally calming down. And I'm on fucking Broadway.

"No," I say. "But I really wish there was a way you could be here with me without uprooting your life."

"My life is nothing without you in it."

My face flushes. I take a sip of tequila, but that only makes the situation worse.

"A year together and that still makes you nervous?" he asks.

I nod.

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or concerned." He lays his hand on top of mine and looks into my eyes. "Hell, you look so damn adorable when you're blushing. I don't think it's possible for me to feel anything negative when I see that."

And now it's much, much worse.

He laughs.

"Shut your beautiful mouth," I say. "I will have none of your sass."

"Not even a little bit?"

I shake my head.

"Even if it's the only way you can get into my pants?

"Always the same trump card."

He shakes his head. His eyes lock with mine. There's something so intense about it, almost as intense as before in the park.

I swear, it's like he is looking straight into me.

I bite my lip, my cheeks no doubt even redder. He smiles and squeezes my hand. "You're amazing, Ally. I hope you never change."

"What if I become jaded and cynical in my old age?"

"I'll still love you."

"Even if I get fat and ugly?"

"You could never be ugly."

"What if I was in a disfiguring accident," I say. "A truly horrific one."

"Doesn't matter. You're still my Alyssa, even if you're my bitter, jaded, disfigured Alyssa." He looks around the room like he's checking for something, then he brings his gaze back to me. It's back, the nervousness. There's a hint of it in his eyes, in his shaking hand.

We lock eyes for a long time. It's disarming at first, but, after a few moments, there's something so comfortable about it. I study all the contours of his face--that messy hair, the big, brown eyes, the too beautiful, too skilled for words mouth. That's Luke. Yes, he's handsome as all hell, but that isn't what I think when I look at him.

It's just him. Luke. My boyfriend. The man I love more than anything. And, even though he still gives me butterflies, still takes my breath away, there's something about looking at him that makes me feel comfortable.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking," he says. His eyes turn back to mine, and there's something about his gaze. I can tell this is important.

"When you aren't torturing me?"

He nods. "My schedule of torturing you, maintaining my amazing body, and running a one-man law firm doesn't leave much time for thinking, but I make do." He smiles. His cheeks fill with a hint of color again. God, he really is nervous.

I let him speak.

"You're amazing, Ally. We can get the obvious out of the way first. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he says. "Really, I can't believe my luck every time I look at you. I mean, I know I'm sexy as all hell, but still."

He pulls his hands into his lap. "And you're so damn thoughtful. You don't even realize it. You're on another level. I love that you would rather spend your night reading than at a party. I love that you get excited about Tennessee Williams, that you aren't afraid to correct me or tell me when I'm being an idiot. And I love how shameless you are about your lust for coffee. It's so rare to see you allow yourself that much pleasure, but it's so damn beautiful."

My heart thuds against my chest. It's so damn sweet. Of course it is. It's Luke. But what is he getting at?

"I promise I won't get sidetracked by the part about you feeling pleasure." He smiles. "But, Ally, when you're happy, I'm so happy I think I could die. There's nothing I want more than for you to thrive. There's nothing I want more than to thrive with you."

No. There's no way... he can't be...

"There's no one else who compares to you, and nothing would make me happier than spending my life with you."

He slides out of his seat and drops to one knee. Oh my fucking God. He's... I can't breathe. I can't feel my limbs. The room is spinning or maybe it's me.

Luke looks up at me with those big, brown eyes. He pulls a ring box from his pocket and holds it flat on his palm.

He pops open the box.

It's a ring. A gorgeous round solitaire in a platinum setting. It's stylish, classy, timeless not trendy, subtle not hey look at me.

It's exactly the kind of thing I would pick out for myself.

"Alyssa Summers, will you marry me?"

My hand flies to my mouth. My heart is racing so quickly, and my stomach is full of butterflies. I can barely move to nod my head. "Yes," I nod. "Of course."

He slides the ring onto my finger. It's even more gorgeous up close. God, it's so perfect. He's so perfect. This whole thing is so damn perfect.

He stands and wraps his arms around me. I lean into him, hugging him as tightly as I can. His grip is strong around me, and I swear I could collapse in his arms.

Then I feel his lips on my cheek. I move to meet him, and we kiss, long and deep, not caring if anyone in the restaurant is looking at us.

When we break, I am dizzy and breathless. I slide back into my seat, gripping the table for support. He looks at me with a million-dollar grin, his eyes wide and bright. I expect some witty quip, but he says nothing. He just squeezes my hand and stares into my eyes.

Luke asked me to marry him.

I'm the luckiest girl in the whole damn world.

***

I'm too nervous to eat much of my dinner, and Luke doesn't make any comments about it. He sits across from me, practically in heaven, answering all of my obnoxious questions about how long he'd been planning this. I gather that it's been a little while, a few months at least. He probably wanted to do it in San Diego at some romantic place by the house where he grew up.

After dinner he tries to suggest we continue sightseeing. Yeah right. I tell our limo drive--yes, he arranged for a limo--to take us back to the apartment, but I can't wait until we're there. Luke's nervousness hasn't completely worn off and he looks so damn sexy with flushed cheeks and wide eyes.

I shift towards him and press my lips into his. I expect him to resist, to insist I wait the way he always does, but he kisses me back. He doesn't waste any time, actually. He slides his hands over my hips, groaning into my mouth. He plants kisses down my neck, soft and sweet and hungry all at the same time.

Then he brings his lips to my ear, his breath hot and heavy. "It's been torture trying to concentrate with you in that dress," he says. "You must pick these out just for how much they'll distract me."