Loving Lucas (7 page)

Then his callused hands seize my breasts,
lifting and kneading, until he finally pinches my nipples. Pleasurable pain radiates through me, piercing my core like a jagged blade. My center aches now. I feel wet heat between my legs and squirm invitingly, hoping to entice him, also wishing he’d take off his freakin’ clothes.

I’ve suppressed my passion for too long. Connor stripped me of confidence and self-worth and
never
shared pleasure. He only took it. Lucas has already shown me more tenderness.
Oh God.
I raise my head in time to catch him sliding my panties over my ankles. It’s so disconcerting being fully exposed. Only one man has ever seen me naked. My hands naturally migrate downward, but Lucas intercepts them before I cover up.

“Why?” he asks, pressing a kiss onto my stomach. “You’re perfect—beautiful in every way possible.” Then he showers light kisses on the inside of my thighs.

My eyes flutter shut and I lower my head a little too fast. I wince when it hits the table, remembering the bump at the base of my skull from last night.

“Are you comfortable, darlin’?”

“Yes.”

The shock of his tongue on my clit sends me into panic mode, and all that fear I thought I’d parted ways with comes surging back. I’m not ready for this. I slide sideways, nearly falling off the table. Lucas steadies me, his face filled with concern.

“Karlie?” His eyebrows knit together. “Did I do something wrong?” He palms the outside of my thigh.

I can’t concentrate. I’m naked and vulnerable, completely overwhelmed by physical need and anxiety. I shake my head, slipping off the side of the table, careful not to step on any glass. I scramble to find my dress and underwear. I scoop them up, then face Lucas. He’s silent. Maybe angry and justifiably so. I’m a prick tease.

But instead of saying anything negative, he pulls me into a tight embrace and kisses the top of my head. “I’d never push you into anything. You let me know when you’re ready, okay? And if nothing ever happens again—I’m here as a friend.”

I swallow, touched by his words, but still confused. “Please—” I start. My pulse is pounding in my ears. My breasts ache for his touch, but my mind is reeling. “I’m sorry, Lucas.” Tears sting my eyes.

Great.
A few kisses and I’m a blubbering mess. I run to my bedroom, slamming the door.

Once again I’ve been rendered useless by my past, held prisoner by a man I despise. Connor Seville is a demon. And if I don’t learn how to separate myself from those destructive memories, I’ll spend the rest of my life miserable and alone.

Holy shit. What just happened?
I scrub my face with both hands, eyeing the mess on the floor. My empty plate and the bowl of Pico de Gallo didn’t make it when I cleared the table. I stomp to the kitchen, confused and fucking hard as a rock. Should I give her space or check on her? I grab paper towels and cleaner. I walk back to the dining room and kneel, spraying Windex, then rip a fistful of towels off the roll, my heart hammering. Why’d I press her?
Goddamnit.
I finish cleaning up, throw the broken glass in the trash, and head for the hallway closet to get the vacuum.

It can wait.

Instead, I walk to her closed door. I try the knob; it’s locked. Then I knock. “Karlie.”

Silence.

“Don’t be ashamed, baby. I understand.”

“I don’t—”
 

I rest my palms on the door. “Please come out. Talk to me.”

I hear her shuffling around. “I need to be alone.”

“All right.” Instinct tells me to pursue this, but common sense says different.

I frown, desperate to hold and comfort her. But pushing her will only make matters worse. She asked for time. And I need a cold shower. Or a swim. I sigh and reluctantly retreat. I grab a towel from the guest bathroom and head out to the pool. I strip my shoes, pants, and shirt off, electing to swim in my underwear. The cool water relaxes my tense muscles. I swim a dozen laps, hoping physical exertion will purge the hunger. I acted callously, letting sexual desire override my principles. I’m not a heartless bastard, but I acted like one.

Finished with my laps, I wade to the shallow end. I drape my arms over the edge of the pool, letting my legs float. I spent six years with a woman who slowly cut herself off from me. Emotionally at first, then physically. My ex-wife got pregnant right after we graduated high school. I married her, welcoming my son into the world eight months later. Our divorce nearly destroyed me. Now I see my son twice a year. I close my eyes, wondering if I’ll ever recover. Wondering if I’ll find a new life in Corpus.

As soon as I open my eyes, the curtains in Karlie’s window move. She’s watching me. My cock stirs to life again. I haven’t been this attracted to someone in years—maybe ever. There’s something about that girl, those wide blue eyes and auburn hair. And that little body . . . I dunk myself, surging upward like a shark. What am I going to do with Karlie Augustine?

She’s under my roof and regardless of what just happened, I’ll protect her. I know Connor will eventually show up—he has an extensive criminal record for public intoxication, D.W.I., disturbing the peace, and dropped charges for domestic violence. I know his type. A serial stalking motherfucker with an inflated ego who doesn’t know the meaning of
no.
Who doesn’t understand how spiritual and valuable a loyal woman is. Anger swells inside me. I climb out of the water for a twenty-minute dip in the hot tub, a shower, then a drink at Farrah’s, a popular bar five minutes away.

I dress in shorts and a T-shirt, then slip into my tennis shoes. I grab my wallet and the keys to my new Harley-Davidson Softail Breakout. I haven’t had much riding time lately. I make it to the bottom of the stairs and find Karlie standing in the middle of the living room. She’s wearing a silky nightgown, her hair wet from the shower. She’s gorgeous without makeup. I try to keep my eyes where they belong, but it’s difficult. She’s unaware of the magnetic pull between us. Or on second thought, maybe she’s not. Perhaps that’s what scared her off.

“Lucas?”

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” I stay put on the landing, waiting for her to let me know it’s all right to approach. “I’m headed out right now. Need anything?”

She nods. “A hug.”

I wasn’t expecting that. But I don’t hesitate. She’s in my arms within a heartbeat, snuggling against my chest. She’s so petite, I’m afraid I’ll crush her. I sweep her up and carry her to the couch, sitting down with her on my lap. She smells like coconut oil. I take a deep breath, afraid to move. I don’t want this to end.

“I’m sorry.”

I tuck a stray curl behind her ear, looking down at her. “No apology necessary,” I half growl. “I’m the asshole.”

“You’re not,” she replies. “You’re a hero.”

She’s referring to my commendations again. I chuckle, happy to see her smiling. “Just doing my duty.” I don’t discuss my work much with anyone.

I want her. Hell, I need her. It’s been four months since I’ve felt the soft touch of a woman.

“Hold me?” she asks.

“In bed?”

She nods.

I grit my teeth, not wanting to disappoint or reject her. But . . . “Let me put on my tactical gear before we get too comfortable,” I tease, knowing full well body armor won’t keep me safe from the sensations her body elicits every time she’s close to me. “Are you sure that’s a wise choice?”

“Yes, Lucas,” she confirms. “I need to feel wanted right now.”

That’s all I needed to hear. I carry her upstairs, pull the comforter and sheets on my bed back, and gently deposit her in the middle of the mattress. I crawl behind her, tucking her into the curve of my body. Her heat envelops me, the scent of her long hair lulling me into much needed rest.

Chapter Eight

I shoot up, tangled in sheets.
Where’s Karlie? What time is it?
I check the alarm clock on the nightstand: six. In the morning?
Shit.
I’ve never slept for ten hours. Then I smell breakfast—bacon. I roll out of bed, still wearing my T-shirt and shorts from last night. Last thing I remember is rubbing Karlie’s back. I think she passed out pretty quick. I pad downstairs. It’s still too early for sunrise, but predawn light shadows the dining room.

The table is set and I take a closer look. Mushroom and cheese omelets, bacon, toast, and strawberries.

“Lucas?” She peeks around the corner.

“Good morning, Cat Cora.”

She gives me a strange look. “Who?”

“An internationally famous chef,” I explain.

She smiles. “Think we can keep the dishes on the table today?”

“Willing to try,” I say, checking the floor. The glass is gone. “You cleaned up?”

“I woke up at five. You were snoring away, so I came downstairs. Hope you don’t mind.”

Mind? I sit down, admiring the hot food, knowing I’m going to get hooked on her cooking. She places a cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice in front of me only to disappear inside the kitchen again.

“Sleep well?” she asks.

“Like the dead.”

Then she joins me, taking the same seat next to me as last night. “Can I explain what happened?”

She doesn’t need to. I overstepped my boundaries. Enough said. “Don’t feel obligated, darlin’. I meant what I said.”

“So did I,” she explains. “I admit there’s some kind of chemistry between us. I’m just not sure . . .”
 

I pat her hand.

“I’ve never . . .”
 

Climaxed? Been held all night? Or been treated like a lady? “I know.” I’ll never forget what Brandon said at the track.

She scoops a couple of pieces of bacon onto her plate. “After a year and a half in Connor prison,” she starts, “living in a place like this, where I’m free to be myself, well, it’s mind-boggling. I freaked.”

I clear my throat; anger jolts through me whenever I hear her ex’s name. “We’ll figure it out.” I take a sip of juice, shoveling a forkful of eggs into my mouth. It’s good. “Why’d you drop out of coronary, I mean, culinary school?”

She giggles at my quip. “I’m already a cook. And landing a position in a five-star restaurant is pretty hard, especially in South Texas. Not too many openings. I decided to pursue something a little more challenging, more academic. If I can’t find a job after I graduate, I can always cook.”

“I just might handcuff you to my stove.”

She laughs. “I wanted to thank you again for this opportunity. It means a lot.”

“My stomach couldn’t be happier.” Of course my dick is still raging hard. “What’s your schedule?”

“Monday through Thursday,” she says. “Classes start at nine, and I’m usually home by four unless I have a lab scheduled. There are no classes today—it’s some administrative holiday.” She nibbles on a piece of toast. “What about you?”

“Eight to six, three-day weekends twice a month. I don’t go back to work until next week. I need time to get settled.”

She nods. “Do you miss Lake Jackson?”

I shrug my shoulder. “If you blink you’ll miss downtown,” I say. “Thirty thousand people and a golf course. What’s to miss?”

“Family? Friends?”

“My parents live in San Marcos now. I have cousins in Corpus. As for friends, we’ll see each other on the weekends.”

“At the races?”

I grin, thrilled that she rides motorcycles. “Every chance I get.”

“What about that AMA title?”

“Is this a formal interview?”

She rolls her eyes.

“Just a regional title,” I say nonchalantly. “Got lucky in 2012. Now I’m a weekend warrior. Life kinda got in the way.”

“Your son?” she blurts, then covers her mouth.

How’d she find out about my family? My eyebrows jump in question. “Who told you?”

“I-I’m sorry. Brandon did a background check,” she confesses. “So we’d all feel better about
our
arrangement.” She gives me a nervous smile.

“At the bail bonds office?”

“Yes.” She looks at me intently.

I rest an elbow on the table, pleased she’s resourceful enough to go to such extreme measures to protect herself. “Alex is five,” I say. “Miss him every day.”

“And your wife?”

“Irreconcilable differences,” I muse. That’s what the paperwork says. I know better. “Remarried and living in St. Paul.”

She swirls her eggs around on her plate with her fork. “I can’t imagine what it feels like being separated from your son.”

I lean forward, using my napkin to wipe a crumb off the corner of her mouth. “Excruciating pain at first,” I admit. “But as time goes on, you get numb. Lots of phone calls, video chats, and letters.”

“Why’d she win custody?”

I opened the honesty door . . . “The judge sympathized with my wife. Just because I’m a public servant doesn’t mean my profession impressed the court. Long hours and high risk, that’s how they classify me. It’s in the best interest of my son to live with someone who can provide a stable home environment. Direct quote from the case worker who investigated me before the final hearing.”

“I’m truly sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I say hesitantly. “That’s what attorneys are for.”

“You mean . . .”
 

“Still battling it out.”

She folds her hands on the table and gazes at me thoughtfully. “It’s not a kind world.”

“There’s a lot of suffering,” I agree. “But I’ve also seen communities pull together and change the tides. People are generally kind.”

“They can be.”

“Did you have good foster parents?”

“They didn’t abuse me if that’s what you mean,” she says. “I think they cared more about the monthly checks the state sent. But I had clean clothes and food to eat. Mrs. Johnson still sends me a Christmas card every year.”

“Do you ever visit them?”

She shakes her head. “Tried to a couple of times. But Texas supposedly frowns on foster parents maintaining close contact with former wards of the state.” She sips her coffee, completely comfortable with the subject change. “There is one advantage.”

I appreciate her positive attitude.

“Most people can’t pick their families.
I
did.”

“Marie and Brandon?”

“Thick as thieves.” She crosses her fingers.

“Where did you meet her?”