Loving Lucas (6 page)

I refuse to make the same mistake as last night. No more confessions—no more spontaneous answers. Everything I do, everything I say from now on, will be perfectly measured and censored around him. “Blessing the house.”

“Remember what I said about you making a shitty poker player?”

I nod.

“This qualifies as one of those moments.”

I’m nearly addicted to staring at her and haven’t tried to hide my attraction. The first time our hands touched, something sparked between us, and I won’t let that go unless she asks me to. She’s wearing a short white sundress with sandals, and the neckline of the dress scoops low enough to catch a hint of her cleavage, a place my face would fit nicely. I should have demanded her bra size last night; I’m thinking 36DD. And her thighs are so slim and toned; I bite my fist. Another place I’d like to explore. As my gaze slides up her body, she retreats a few steps, her eyes never leaving mine.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

My core temperature is swiftly rising. Her eyes are hypnotic, and with her soft auburn hair cascading over her shoulders, she’s making it hard for me to to keep my thoughts and hands to myself. “Because you’re beautiful.” Why does she look like I just insulted her?

“Is that part of your
welcome Karlie
package?” Her tongue sweeps across her pouty lips.

“Do you think I’m teasing you?”

She hugs herself, inadvertently pushing her large breasts so high, I get more than an eyeful. I grit my teeth, my gaze naturally staying where I’m sure it doesn’t belong.

“You’re making me uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry.” The last thing I want is for her to be self-conscious or afraid to live here. “I naturally assumed after our conversation at the track . . .”
 

“That you’d offer me a place to live so you could get me in bed?”

I shake my head in disbelief. If she feels that negatively about me, why is she here? “Want me to lie, Karlie? I haven’t stopped thinking about you since last night. Like it or not, we’re attracted to each other.” She opens her mouth, but I quickly hold a finger up to my lips to shush her. “Care to push the reset button?”

Her gaze darts around the room. “If we go back downstairs and explore the rest of the house.”

I inhale, grateful she’s sensible enough to agree. We make it to the door at the same time, our arms brushing together. She jerks away and I stare down at her, realizing just how sensitive she is when our bodies make contact. I don’t like it. But I remember
everything
I overheard at the track—-including that she’s only slept with one guy. And that asshole never made her feel like a woman. I step into the hallway, hoping she’ll settle down.

God, she’s beautiful.

“Do you like to swim, Karlie?”

She walks by me, making it to the first stair. “Love to.”

“I think you’ll appreciate the backyard.”

We reach the French doors off the kitchen. After she steps outside, she squeals with delight. “A slide
and
a hot tub?”

There’s a small patch of grass off to the right and a couple of raised garden beds; beyond that, this space is dedicated to the pool. She stares overhead at the upstairs balcony that spans the width of the house and provides shade for the patio.

“How did I miss out on the balcony?”

“You practically ran out of my bedroom.”

“Oh.” She gives me a tiny smile.

“I also own the field over there.” I point to the fence line.

“Is that your RV and trailer?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“You have a lovely home.”

We look at each other again. She’s more relaxed now. I know I’ll have to be more careful in the immediate future with how I approach her; she’s been through her own version of hell. “Thank you,” I say. “Please consider it your home now, too. You’re free to use the pool and hot tub whenever you like. As long as my dinner is on the table every night by six.”

That makes her laugh. “Six?”

“Yep.”

“Starting tonight?”

I check my watch. “That gives you three hours to get settled. Why don’t I give you some alone time with your friends and meet you in the dining room at our prearranged time.”
Christ,
I want to kiss her.

“Is there actually food in your fridge? Probably expired milk and eggs.”

“Trust me, darlin’,” I say, patting my stomach. “This Texas boy never misses a meal.”

Chapter Seven

I’m standing in the middle of my new bedroom, wondering where to put my stuff. Marie and Brandon just left, but were kind enough to carry my boxes inside while I took the grand tour with Lucas. Thank God Connor’s mother let me pack some of my things when we went to get my truck. Although there’s still quite a bit left, I was able to grab my laptop and most of my clothes, books, and jewelry.

I open the closet door, then hang my dresses and blouses and arrange my shoes neatly on the floor. Next, I explore the en suite bath, which I overlooked before because Lucas made me so nervous. There’s a jetted tub, a shower, and double sinks, and just like in the kitchen, a black marble vanity. I open the drawers and find every kind of toiletry sold in the universe: shampoo, conditioner, lotion, facial scrub, Q-tips, soaps, toothpaste, toothbrushes, deodorant, and tampons. I slam the drawer shut.
Tampons? Really?
Thoughtful, but so embarrassing.

Towels and washcloths are stacked neatly on the shelves and a fuzzy, blue terry-cloth robe is hanging on a hook on the back of the door. Am I living in a five-star hotel or Lucas’s house? I smile, thinking this is just another reason to admire the man—he’s considerate. By the time I finish unpacking, it’s five o’clock.

I freshen my makeup, comb my hair, and spritz on my favorite French vanilla body spray. I take a final look in the mirror. He thinks I’m beautiful and claims there’s mutual attraction between us. He’s not imagining it; fear and guilt are what’s holding me back. No matter how shitty Connor treated me, I just broke up with him. Shouldn’t I go through a period of mourning before I jump into something else, or do I let nature decide? Regardless, Lucas Lafontaine is determined to seduce me. He’s all but admitted it, and my body is more than willing. However, I’m not too sure what my heart and mind want. Refusing to think anymore, I head to the kitchen.

I open cabinets as I investigate the spacious pantry. Next, I open the refrigerator and confirm what Lucas said: there’s plenty of food. I think he spent a small fortune at the grocery store today before I showed up. I peek in the freezer. There’s a package of lean skirt steak on top. I pull it out and place it in the microwave to defrost. Marie told him I was a gourmet cook. I am.
Almost.
I attended culinary school for six months before I enrolled at A&M. I’ll make him the best fajita dinner he’s ever had.

Starting with homemade tortillas. I gather the necessary ingredients: flour, salt, water, and oil. I measure them out, and knead the mixture until it forms a smooth dough. Then I divide it into twelve balls. I wash my hands. The microwave dings and I take out the meat. I turn the oven to broil and prep the beef. Fortunately, Lucas has everything I need to make fresh Pico de Gallo. I dice the tomato and chop the onion, jalapeño, and cilantro. I add garlic powder, salt, pepper, and lime juice to the mix. I put the bowl in the fridge to chill, using the remaining portion to season the fajitas, adding lime wedges for extra zing.

Thirty minutes later, Lucas turns music on upstairs. Enrique Iglesias’s latest hit, “Bailando,” fills the house. I laugh. Super cop likes Latino music? Does he smell the food? Is he trying to tell me something through the lyrics? Something about
your body says come and take me . . .
Secretly, I wish he would. Because that’s the only way I’m going to connect on a higher level with him. I’ve never chased guys or asked one to sleep with me. I wouldn’t know where to start.

By six, the food is on the table: fajitas, salad, fresh tortillas, and Coronas with salt and lime. When Lucas appears in the living room wearing khaki pants and a black ribbed T-shirt, I’m practically speechless. I look away from him, afraid my lingering stare will give my feelings away. He claims his seat at the head of the table and I join him, sitting in the chair to his right.

“It smells delicious,” he comments, lifting the ceramic top off the tortilla warmer. “Did you make these?”

I nod. “And the Pico de Gallo.”

He spoons beef and Pico into his tortilla, adding a pinch of shredded cheddar cheese. I hold my breath as he takes the first taste, praying he approves of my cooking. After all, if he doesn’t, I might be out a place to live. His eyes light up and he takes another ravenous bite. Satisfied with his reaction, I serve myself.

“Do you spend much time on the beach?” he asks.

“Whenever we get a holiday at school I like to go fishing.”

“I have a small boat; we could catch some reds some time.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good.” He takes another bite. “If all your meals are this good, I’m afraid I’ll have to tell my mama she’s fired.”

“You’d do that?”

“No.” He laughs. “But this is the best plate of fajitas I’ve ever had.”

“What’s your favorite meal?”

He leans back in his chair, then rubs his chin. “Venison maybe, or even elk.”

“You hunt?”

“Twice a year in Wyoming—a Lafontaine tradition.”

“Like wild duck?”

He licks his lips. “With a mild mint sauce and rice—nothing better.”

I think this gargantuan man just likes food, period.

“What do you like to cook?”

“Anything, really; it’s therapeutic, with a little music and a glass of wine. I like experimenting with spices, creating unique blends that people typically wouldn’t eat. But what I enjoy most is the reactions of the people after they taste my food.”

“I like your philosophy—some of the kids I mentored attended classes to teach them how to be independent adults. We spent several weeks on basic cooking skills. But nothing like this . . .”
 

It’s been so long since someone actually complimented my cooking. With Connor, I could make Hamburger Helper or prime rib and hecrème brûlée—wouldn’t notice the difference.

“Will you continue volunteering here?”

He nods. “As soon as I’m settled. Big Brothers Big Sisters of America is my favorite, but I occasionally teach a self-defense class for women at the YMCA.”

Is that little tidbit of information meant for me? “I’d let you be my instructor.” My gaze shoots to the windows behind him.
Big mouth—TMI.

He chuckles. “Any time.”

I’ve also missed nice conversation like this. Nothing puts me at ease more than a good meal and great company. And if Lucas is anything, he’s a wonderful dinner companion—expressive, complimentary, and hot.

A few minutes later, both finished with our first tacos, our hands meet at the warmer. I stifle a nervous laugh as he covers my hand with his, lifting the cover with me. He grabs two tortillas, placing them on his plate, and watches me as I replace the lid. His lips twitch.

“Delicious,” he says, taking a sip of Corona.

“Thank you.”

“Is everything you make spicy hot?” He licks his lips.

Tongue-tied, I mentally scramble to find an equally flirty answer.
Screw Connor.
I’m twenty-one years old and have never experienced mindless sex. Never climaxed. Never screamed in bed. I deserve that, with the perfect man sitting next to me at the table.

“I’ll let you be the judge of that.” My hands tremble and I quickly hide them under the table.

He shoves his plate aside, his dark eyes fixed on me. “Why’d you hide your hands, Karlie?”

If I answer, I won’t be able to stop this. “I-I . . .”
 

“Give one to me.”

I cautiously reach across the table. He cradles my hand in his, palm up. Lifting it, he feathers gentle kisses over my wrist. The ensuing chill hits my core and I let out a little moan. He grins and nips my tender flesh. I try to reclaim my hand, but he holds tight, shaking his head. He slides his chair back and stands, walking over beside me. I feel so insignificant in his shadow and look away.

He tips my chin. “Look at me, Karlie.”

I’m going to spontaneously combust. If I do, he’ll see the lust in my eyes.

He lets go and my chair is quickly flipped around. He kneels between my open legs, sitting back on his heels. Lucas has made it virtually impossible for me
not
to see him. My wrists are snared and he tugs me forward, then down. Our foreheads touch.

“Don’t fight it, Karlie. I won’t hurt you.”

“Oh God . . .” I’m near breathless.

His lips meet mine then, gently at first, silencing me, purging whatever doubts remain inside. Next, he invades my mouth, our tongues rolling together. I don’t know how I end up on his lap, but I do. He wraps his strong arms around me, my breasts grinding into his hard chest. Instinctively, I bury my fingers in his blond hair, my intense need to be held, touched, kissed, licked, and fucked unleashed.

“Wrap your legs around me, Karlie,” he whispers.

My ankles lock behind him and he slowly gets up. His hot breath caresses my skin, igniting my insides. He moves around the table, kicking his chair aside. I nuzzle into his neck, breathing in his spicy sent. I can’t see what he’s doing, but I hear dishes moving and some hit the floor.
No.
I’m lowered onto the tabletop.

“Let go of me, darlin’.”

I do, and he cups my nape, easing me back.

“Want me to stop?” he asks through ragged breaths.

“God no!” Is this what it feels like to be splayed on a stone like a virgin sacrifice? My legs are dangling over the edge; his eyes drill into mine. He growls his approval as he starts to unbutton my dress, pausing at the string belt, untying it, then continuing down. When he finishes, he opens my dress, revealing my breasts and white lace panties. His gaze sweeps up my body, stopping on my nipples.

“Tattoos?” He looks surprised.

I nod. Blue fire rings encircle my areolas and belly button.

“That’s fucking hot,” he rumbles, leaning into me.

I arch my back in reckless anticipation, wondering where those lips are going to land first. What part of my body does he crave most? His thumbs circle over my nipples as he kisses the corner of my mouth. Apparently it’s a toss-up between my mouth and breasts. I fist the front of his shirt, yanking him down, until I bear the brunt of his weight. I want to suck him inside me so bad. His tongue drifts between my parted lips and his groan reverberates up my spine.