Loving Lucas (8 page)

“We spent two years in high school together.”

I recline, absorbing everything we’ve learned about each other this morning. She returns my smile, all that hot nervous energy we felt last night seemingly gone. I finish my coffee and bacon, trying to remember the last time I talked this long with a beautiful girl.

“Can I take you out to dinner tonight?”

“A date?” she asks, standing up and gathering our plates.

She’s surprisingly calm. I guess a night in the same bed together, clothed or otherwise, accounts for something. I fight a smile. “Did I leave you speechless again?”

She arches an eyebrow at me before she enters the kitchen, reappearing seconds later with a washcloth. “Where do you want to go?” She wipes the tabletop clean, scooping crumbs into her hand.

“There’s a great place in Rockport called Poor Man’s Country Club. Blackened fish tacos and cold beer.”

She licks her lips. “Tempting.”

“Is that a yes?” My caveman instincts are kicking in again as I focus on her smile, then those beautiful breasts encased in silk.
Thump her on the head and carry her upstairs. Isn’t that how it used to get done?
I chuckle.

“Lucas?”

“Did I miss something?”

She thrusts her hand on her hip. “I said yes.”

“Good.” I stand. “I’ll pick you up at five.”

The last thing I expected was for Lucas to leave me here alone. He gave me a chaste kiss on the lips, then left via the garage. I watched him pull his Harley out and speed away. So last night and today are snippets of what life can be like with a normal man. I sigh as I load the last glass into the dishwasher, shut the door, and press start. The kitchen and dining room are spotless. I grab the cleaner caddy from the cabinet underneath the double sink and head to the guest bathroom. There are streaks on the mirror, so I wash them off, then the countertop. The bathtub and toilet are now sparkling clean, so I vacuum the hallway and living room next.

As I finish up with the downstairs, I head to Lucas’s bedroom. I make his bed, admiring the soft sheets and wondering how many beautiful women have shared this bed with him, what they’ve done.
Crap,
where did that jealous thought come from? Hurrying to push it out of my mind, I quickly straighten up the pile of magazines and books on his headboard. I’m obviously too damn efficient, as I now find myself with little else to do. But I check his bathroom just in case.
Wow
is all I can think—sunken tub with mirrors surrounding it, tastefully decorated with white, black, and gray tiles—this shitter is outfitted for a man of importance. On the way out of his room, a silver picture frame sitting on his dresser catches my eye. Smiling back at me is a pretty brunette and a too-cute-for-words little boy with the same hair color as his daddy. I let out a frustrated cry—not because I’m envious over of his son, who’s adorable. It’s just the fact that I’d never be able to fill the void in Lucas’s heart knowing he has a beautiful family out there.

Although his ex is apparently remarried, the way he talked about his family this morning proves he hasn’t recovered from losing them, and probably never will. In racing, second place is the first loser, and I’m used to that. Seems to me that logic can be broadly applied to life in general. I collect the cleaning supplies and go downstairs. I peek in the garage next, curious what a man like Lucas tinkers with in his spare time.

It’s a three-car garage. His workbench and tools are perfectly organized. There are two rolling tool chests on the far wall and two motorcycles. His Chevy Silverado is parked in the last stall. I edge closer to the bikes, my heart skipping a beat when I realize what I’m staring at. A 1950 Triumph Thunderbird in perfect shape, sleek and black. I timidly touch the leather seat.
Holy shit.
I love vintage English bikes, and this is the best specimen I’ve ever seen. This specific model was one of the fastest in its class and one of the prettiest.

I examine the second bike.
Oh. My. God.
I think I’m in love. With the bike
and
Lucas. A 2014 Ducati 1199 Panigale R—in blazing red. Now I’m envious—that Ducati is my dream bike. Italians engineer the finest machines, almost too pretty to drive. I drag my fingers over the tank, then the seat. This baby has more horsepower than some late-model sports cars. I sigh, realizing I shouldn’t touch his babies.

I turn out the light and head back inside, deciding I’ll take a swim. One thing I have lots of is bikinis. I choose my pink-and-white checkered Tootsie classic and grab a towel and my
 
sunscreen
 
from the bathroom. It’s already a beautiful morning, not a cloud in the sky. I spread my towel over one of the wood plank lounge chairs, then dip my big toe in the water. How did I get so lucky? Marie and Brandon have a pool at their apartment complex, but this is crazy nice; I don’t have to share space with anyone. I jump in and swim to the far side.

I snap my head up when I hear someone close the gate. Did Lucas get home already? I hope so. But it’s not him, although the tall man standing on the other side of the pool poses a striking resemblance to Lucas.

“Can I help you?” I ask, unsure what to do.

He takes his sunglasses off, revealing caramel-colored eyes. “Is Lucas here?”

“No,” I answer, staying in the pool.

“I’m Craig Hansen, his cousin,” he says. “You must be Karlie.”

How does he know my name? “Yes.” Now I paddle to the ladder.

“I don’t bite,” he jokes, the same line his cousin used to convince me I’d be safe.

“That’s what Lucas said.” I roll my eyes and climb out, water splashing all over the place.

We stare at each other, his gaze sliding down my body. But he quickly returns his attention to my face. Thank God. “A family thing,” he teases. “Women tend to be afraid of us.”

I wonder why. Giants, both of them, not to mention good-looking, clean cut, and unbelievably virile. My teeth start to chatter and he picks up my towel, offering it. I dash around the pool, only too happy to cover myself. “Can I offer you some iced tea or a beer?”

Craig looks at his watch. “Sure, a beer.”

I never expected him to say yes. I wrap the towel around my center, squeezing the excess water from my hair before I pad inside. I open the fridge and grab a Corona and a can of Diet Coke. My guest is waiting for me at the picnic table. I set the beer down and sit across from him.

“You moved in yesterday?”

I nod; obviously Lucas gave him details. “It’s such a nice place.”

He looks around, then back at me. “My wife and I live three blocks from here.”

Wife? I take a deep breath. That’s comforting; Corpus can’t handle another Lucas running around. “Lucas told me he had family in town. Are you excited he transferred?”

“Lucas is a damn good cop. The department is lucky to get him. We work together,” he informs me. “And my wife is thrilled he’s here.”

I smile appreciatively. Craig takes a long swig of beer, studying me.

“Did you come here to check me out?” I let slip.

He laughs. “You would say that, wouldn’t you?”

I giggle nervously, shifting forward. “Probably,” I admit. “I assure you Lucas and I have a
legitimate
arrangement.”

“That’s good to hear,” he says, getting up. “Let Lucas know I stopped by, okay?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer, but abandons his half-finished drink and gets ready to leave.

As I follow him out the gate, I notice the cherry-red Mustang in the driveway. He gets in and screeches away. Did I piss him off? I return to the backyard and my cell phone rings. I rush to the lounge chair and look at the screen.
Connor.
Should I answer?

Chapter Nine

I meet Connor at Jack Ash’s Drinkery on South Staples Street at three. Supposedly he has a pair of earrings I left at his house. I checked my jewelry box before I agreed to go. He’s sitting on the patio, at a table shaded by an umbrella, smoking a cigarillo. He stands as I approach.

“Karlie.” He tries to kiss my cheek, but I jerk away, uninterested in any physical contact.

I sit across from him, wondering why I ever lived with him. Just the negative vibes he gives off make me want to vomit. “I appreciate you bringing my earrings.”

He reaches inside his shirt pocket revealing my diamond hoops, a Christmas present from his mother I don’t want to lose. I treasure any memories that make me smile, and at times, his mother reminded me of something I never had, but always wanted. I stick my hand out, but he grabs my fingers instead. “I miss you.”

I roll my eyes. He misses his whipping post, not me. Sadly, I don’t even know how I got into the situation; it just sort of happened. And now that I’ve escaped, I’m determined to forget Connor. “I’m not here to discuss our nonexistent relationship.”

He takes a drag off the cigar, blowing an enormous smoke ring. “I disagree.”

I glare and start to rise, but he yanks my hand. “Stay.”

I lower myself onto the plastic chair.
Good dog.
“I don’t have time for this.”

“You’re on
my
time now.”

A waitress finally comes outside and Connor frees my hand. “Need another drink, sweetie?” She throws me a
who the fuck are you
look.

“Bring us two margaritas,” he says, slapping her on the ass before she leaves.

I frown, offended by his lewd behavior. After the first dozen groupies popped their breasts out so he could autograph them, I learned to ignore the way he acts around women. Of course if I did anything remotely similar with men . . .

“Sorry, baby,” he says cavalierly. “Ready to come home? Mom misses you.”

I take in my surroundings, realizing we’re the only ones outside. Convenient for him. “I don’t want to be with you anymore, Connor.” My stomach churns with stress. “Give me the earrings, please, and I’ll be on my way. Maybe you can charm your way into that waitress’s panties.”

“Already did,” he announces.

I’m not distressed by his confession, only wondering how he managed to get an erection. “When?”

“Last night.”

Admittedly, I’m stunned. “Stopped drinking long enough to get a hard-on?” I laugh.

“Scared to admit you’re jealous?” He combs his fingers through his thick hair. “Don’t blame me,
you
left.”

I snicker. “I don’t give a shit what you do,” I assure him. “However, I
do
care that you lured me here under false pretenses. After I leave, I never want to see you again. Or your mother.”

It’s afternoon and he’s already buzzed and probably stoned. I can’t remember a single race he competed in sober. He slaps his hand on the table, leaving my earrings within reach. I gape at him, trying to figure out what his angle is. That’s the first and only time he’s given up so easily.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me, Karlie? To us?”

The waitress serves our drinks, collects the money, then leaves.

Connor sucks half of his drink down through an extra-thick straw. He burps, staring hard at me. “Aren’t you going to have some?”

I push the glass away. “No.” I slide the earrings closer, depositing them in the front pocket of my purse. “What about the rest of my stuff?” I don’t know why I’m asking—he already told me what he intended to do. If there’s one thing I can say about Connor, he follows through with anything that hurts or humiliates the target of his sick kind or revenge.

He leans back, folding his hands behind his neck. His intense stare makes my skin crawl. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“My flat-screen, DVDs, my rocking chair . . .” To name a few things I didn’t have time to pack.

“Donated to the Salvation Army.”

“Bastard.”

He laughs. “I warned you.”

“Karlie?”

Who?
I glimpse over my shoulder; it’s Lucas. He’s leaning against the door frame, dressed in a pair of gray New Religion jeans and a plum V-neck shirt. I practically salivate he looks so hot, and undeniably furious. I left a note just in case he got home early. But I never thought he’d come here.

“Time to go, darlin’,” he says.

“Answering to that piece of shit?” Connor pipes in.

“Shut up,” I hiss. “Keep your opinions to yourself.”

Connor shoots up, knocking his chair over. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Lucas closes the distance between us in under a second, pulling me behind him. “Ready for another round?” he challenges, fisting his hands.

Connor staggers back a foot and picks up the chair. “Take the bitch,” he says. “Already fucked her stupid.”

Lucas lunges, but I catch his arm. “He’s not worth it,” I whisper. “Can we get out of here? Please.”

His body relaxes a little. There’s a tense moment of silence before he clutches my elbow, steering me inside the bar. We walk outside, straight to my truck, and I notice his Harley is parked next to it. I reach for the door, but he gently flips me around.

“What were you thinking?”

I stare at the ground, ready to accept whatever ass chewing he intends to give me. “I needed to get back a pair of earrings.”

He tilts my chin; our eyes meet. “Earrings?” he repeats, incredulously. “Don’t you understand he’ll do anything to keep contact with you? He’s a predator, Karlie.” He loosens his grip on me slightly, shaking his head in utter disappointment. “Please don’t see him again.”

“I didn’t want to
see
him,” I defend myself. “I don’t have a lot of money right now, Lucas. What few possessions I own mean something.”

He narrows his eyes. “I can loan you some money.”

Man logic. I shake my head; he’s missing the point. “I appreciate everything you’ve done. Believe me. I’m already indebted to you.”

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t want your money, Karlie,
I want you.
”

Before I can counter, he slants his beautiful mouth over mine, his tongue seeking entry. I open up to him, releasing a helpless sigh. He backs me up until I’m wedged between him and my truck. He cups my face with both hands, driving his tongue deeper, summoning desire that invades every corner of my body. I kiss him with equal desperation, tasting and sucking the breath from his lungs. My fingers slide up his powerful arms, stopping on his shoulders. When he pulls back slightly, my eyes are still closed.