Loving Lucas (25 page)

He looks at me, then buries his face in my hair. “I’ve missed this the most, nuzzling close, smelling you—feeling your arms around me. I don’t want to spend another minute apart, Karlie. Promise you’ll come home with me today.
Please.
”

I blink away my tears, my mind working doubly hard to process everything that’s happened over the last few days. I’ve been disconnected for too long. I want to feel better; I want Lucas to breathe life into me. “I promise.”

“You won’t regret it.”

I run my palms up his chest. “Show me, Lucas. Make love to me.” Gazing into his eyes, I feel like an idiot for ever leaving. I never intended to hurt him, only to protect his relationship with his son. Growing up without parents is a hell all its own, but knowing my presence might jeopardize Lucas’s chance of getting custody—I couldn’t let that happen. Of course, I was wrong.

We can have it all, if I let it happen.

He growls, showering my face with feather-light kisses. I’m still wearing pajamas—an extra-long V-neck and panties. I watch intently as Lucas strips his clothes off. My breath catches as I admire his body, my eyes naturally drawn to his long shaft. He’s fully erect—ready to love me. And I’m ready to reciprocate—to prove my devotion. I shouldn’t have left. Now I want to taste him, lick him to orgasm. I drop to my knees, inching close enough to suck him into my mouth. Salty-sweetness hits my tongue as I pump him with my right hand at the same time, milking him slowly.

What started gently explodes into fierce desire. We both need to purge the doubt and fear from our hearts. After minutes of what I’m sure is intense bliss, he throws his head back, releasing a guttural moan.

“I need you to stop, baby. It feels too fucking good. I don’t want to come yet.” His dark gaze paralyzes me. “Stand up for me.”

Once I’m on my feet, he spins me, relieving me of my shirt. “Mine,” he whispers close to my ear. He circles his hips, jamming his erection into my lower back, teasing and tempting me. “Is this what you want, Karlie?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“I want you inside me.”

He blows softly across my skin, blazing a trail of gooseflesh down my back. My shoulders quake in response.

“Do you like that?”

I nod—loving anything he does.

He raises my arms above my head, tethering my wrists together. I arch my back and he slips his hand down the front of my underwear, peppering hot kisses along my jawline at the same time. I turn my face in search of his perfect mouth and find his
fuck-me
kiss. Pulses of pleasure shoot through me as he works my clit.

It’s impossible to deny that he completes me. “I love you,” I whisper. Pure and simple.

As if my words unleash something wild inside him, he spreads my ass cheeks with both hands. “Gorgeous, baby.”

I can feel the intensity of his stare even though I’m facing the wall. However selfish my desire to whirl around and plaster myself against his body, I can’t. He wants to fuck me doggie style. And I love when he takes me from behind; it’s primal. Keeping my palms firmly planted on the wall, I brace myself for entry . . .

Why is he waiting? I want him to punish me a little, make sure I never forget what I missed. Seconds later, I get what I asked for.

He pumps hard and the throbbing ache inside my core spreads, every nerve ending in my body on fire. I feel him tremor and he stops abruptly. “So perfect and wet—I can’t believe what you do to me.” Then he begins a slow grind that melts me like butter in a hot skillet.

“I love you, Karlie.” Powerful arms lock me in place as he delivers blow after blow.

And I’m happy to surrender, pleased to pay the price for my momentary lapse in good judgment. This is my forever—my past and future—my life.

“I’m going to make you scream now,” he roars.

I do—letting go of everything I’ve fought so hard to protect. Lucas Lafontaine is in my heart.

Chapter Thirty-one

My bedroom closet is never going to be the same. All of my clothes have been relegated to the lowest bars, and Karlie’s, to prime real estate. I smile as I search for my favorite shirt. Sharing the master bedroom is the first serious step we’ve taken together as a couple. The afternoon she came home, we began reorganizing. I want her to enjoy this house, to feel like it belongs to her, too.

I opened a joint account at our favorite department store, giving her the freedom to buy whatever she wants: dishes, furniture, clothes . . .

Today we’re meeting her father at a café and she’s nervous as hell. It took a week of serious discussions to convince her that if she was ever going to make an informed decision, she needed to give the man a chance to explain himself. Life isn’t easy. That’s the first rule of the human condition. We all have a story to tell; Karlie’s is just a bit harder to swallow than most. But if she feels like she’s in control, I know for certain it will minimize the pain.

I refuse to interfere with her decision process. That’s
her
father. But I will stand by her, making sure Steven Augustine’s intentions are as pure as he says they are. She still doesn’t know about her aunt and uncle. Their cruelty and neglect is an unnecessary detail at this point. She needs to focus on her father. At least he loves her.

I don my shirt, tuck it in, and zip my pants.

“Lucas?” she calls from downstairs.

“Coming, darlin’.”

“Am I overdressed?” she asks as I enter the living room.

She’s wearing a dark blue tweed skirt and matching jacket. “You look smart.”

She feigns a smile. “Smart is good.”

I nod. If she wore a paper sack she’d look good. “Ready?”

We head outside.

Half an hour later, we’re standing in Coffee Waves. Karlie searches the tables, spotting her father in the corner. She nuzzles close and I wrap my arm around her shoulders. “Where’s my brave girl?”

She gazes up at me. “I can’t believe we’re here.”

“You said the key word—
we.
You’ll never have to do anything alone again.”

Determined, she breaks away from my grasp and walks to the table. Steven stands. I slide my hand his way and we shake. But his attention is solely focused on his daughter. Karlie sits first.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet,” he says unevenly as he sits again.

“I’m not sure where to begin,” she offers.

“I’m sincerely sorry you had to find out about me the way you did.”

“Why didn’t you write or call?”

Steven’s gaze shoots down. I know he feels guilty—the pain shows in his eyes. “Guess I was ashamed mostly. It’s no excuse, but the truth. Take it or leave it.”

“And my mother . . .” It doesn’t come out sounding like a question, but Karlie’s father doesn’t let her tone dissuade him.

“I loved her, but I cared about you more.”

A waitress saunters over with three glasses of water. “Coffee?”

“Yes,” I answer. “We’ll have two double-shot mochas. Steven?”

“Americano, black.”

After the server is out of earshot, Mr. Augustine continues. “I’ll answer whatever questions you ask—Lord knows I owe you that. But I’ll try to save you some trouble here . . .” He folds his hands on the table, leaning forward. “What I did is unforgivable—I know that, have lived with it since the day I ended her life. I don’t expect you to understand or forgive me. Hell, I’m shocked you’re even here.” He lifts his water glass and takes a sip.

Karlie stiffens, but doesn’t look away. Then she takes a deep breath. “Why’d you do it?”

Oh God.
I close my eyes, wishing she’d skip that question. But it’s part of her healing process; she deserves the truth. Many victims and their family members ask the same thing. Stark reality isn’t something a lot of people can deal with. But I know my Karlie; she’s strong.

“Because I hated what she did to you.”

To my surprise, he answers with a straight face, not a hint of emotion.

“How long was I in the hospital?”

Steven spends the next fifteen minutes describing her condition, what medical benchmarks she needed to meet before she was taken off oxygen and eventually released from the ICU. Of course she spent another month under careful surveillance, until the doctors were satisfied she could thrive outside the hospital environment. “And I missed it all,” he adds, tears welling in the corners of his eyes.

I grab Karlie’s hand, lacing our fingers together. She smiles at me. “Did my mother love me?”

Another tough question.

Steven shifts, obviously feeling like he’s on the chopping block. I have to admit, he’s taking everything in stride. Now I know where Karlie gets her backbone. “Between her alcoholism and addiction, I know she cared. When she found out we had a daughter, she smiled so big. She named you after her grandmother.”

Magicians make things disappear, and if I could, I’d chant a few words and all of this cold reality would give way to something happy and warm. There’s a long moment of silence, and I swear I can hear Karlie thinking out loud. I keep reminding myself to remain impartial.

“I have your eyes,” she murmurs.

Steven gives her a small smile. “And your mother’s hair.”

She nods and sips her coffee. “You could have tried to find me, to contact me through the state. Did you know where I lived?”

“Yes and no,” he answers, edging closer to a subject we both decided to avoid. “I knew you lived in Corpus. But I couldn’t; my heart was broken. I’m a different man now, Karlie.”

“I want to believe that,” she says.

“If you’d give me a chance . . .”
 

“Thank you,” she cuts him off. “I’m sure it’s not easy revisiting your past. But I still need some time.” She’s decidedly finished. I’m sure after spending twenty years in prison, Steven knows when he’s being dismissed.

He nods in understanding. “I’m always here.” He gets up, then drops a twenty on the table. “Take care of her,” he says to me.

We both watch Mr. Augustine leave the restaurant.

Once we’re in Lucas’s truck, he takes my face in his hands. “There’s nothing you can’t do. Remember that. The hardest part is over. You gave him the chance to speak his mind, to plead his case.” He kisses my forehead, then lets go.

“Truth hurts,” I say as he starts the engine.

It does; there’s a nagging ache in my heart. And I’ve been silently mourning the loss of a woman I never knew. My mother—an addict
and
victim. Guilty of so much, yet she chose to bring me into this world. How do I choose between her memory and my living, breathing father? His words are etched in my heart. I know he snapped when he found her in bed with a needle in her arm. I know he’s suffered. I know he wants a relationship with me.

Lucas enters the cemetery at Seaside Memorial Park and I brace myself for the final part of my journey today. There’s a small bouquet of white roses on the console between us. My mother is buried here, and it feels right visiting her after speaking to my father. If there’s a chance she can hear and see what I’m doing, I want her to know I care and forgive her.

The narrow walkways that cut between the gravesites are numbered, and I search for Lane Ten among the palm trees and statues of angels and the Virgin Mary. “Over there,” I say, pointing.

Lucas parallel parks. “Want me to come with you?”

I appreciate his love and loyalty so much, but right now, I need to be alone. “Would you mind waiting here?”

“Of course not.”

I grab the flowers and open the door. It’s an overcast, windy day. The weather matches the dark emotions whirling around inside me. As I walk reverently down the footpath, I read the names on the headstones. This is the first time I’ve ever visited a cemetery and I’m beyond nervous—my heart is pounding. When finally I see the black marble marker with my mother’s name,
Candice Walker Augustine,
I sigh. Her birthdate is written underneath her name, then the sentiment,
A beautiful life cut short.

Those words tell their own story, and if I were a passerby, I’d never know it. But I do. I hug the bouquet to my heart, whispering a quick blessing. “Hello, Mother,” I say. “I’m your daughter . . .”
 

I kneel, placing the flowers in front of her headstone. I trace her name with my fingers. Admittedly, I feel relieved knowing where she is, who she was. Never mind her sordid history; I have a mother now.

I have everything, really, and I’m not an empty canvas. Those black streaks I described before are really just gray. Lucas is the center of my universe.

I’m confident I’ll find my way in this world without ever doubting myself again as long as I remember how blessed I am. I kiss my fingers and press them on the headstone. Then I walk back to Lucas’s truck, grateful he’s here. He leans over, pushing the door open for me.

“Feel better now?” he asks as I climb in.

“Complete,” I answer. “Can we go home?”

He smiles. “Anywhere, Karlie, as long as we are together.”

Chapter Thirty-two

We’re eating breakfast on the deck when the house phone rings. I reluctantly get up, kissing Karlie on the cheek before I go inside. I check caller ID—it’s Willow. I blow out a frustrated breath, knowing I shouldn’t answer. My attorney advised me to document her phone calls and any other attempts at communication, but under no circumstances am I to have direct contact with her. No matter how desperate she acts, no matter how many lies she’s told, she is the mother of my child.

I pick up.
 

“Willow—we’re not supposed to talk.”

“Why?” she cries.

“Because I finally took the initiative to defend myself.”

“You’re trying to destroy me.”

“No,” I counter. “I’m doing what’s best for
our
son.”

“Two weeks,” she hisses. “The letter your attorney sent gives me two weeks to decide what my course of action will be. How can I choose right now? Please don’t challenge the custody agreement while I’m in the middle of divorce proceedings.”

I laugh. “That letter is an attempt to resolve our problems quietly. Consider it a favor.”

She snorts. “I don’t deserve this.”

“Really?” After everything she’s put me through? “You used Alex as leverage, Willow. Failed to honor court-ordered visitation. Three phone calls a week, remember? I’m lucky if I got one a month. You publicly humiliated me, accused me of neglect and alcoholism in court. I’ve had more psych evaluations than a goddamned lunatic. And don’t forget those alcoholism assessments—compliments of the department. I’m done being your doormat.”