When the kitchen door closed, Luke shot Charlotte an amused look. “He knows you’re twentysomething and not fifteen, right?”
She sighed. “Doesn’t seem to. See you later.”
Luke had to stare as she moved from table to table. He had a feeling tonight would be pretty great. Whether or not he ended up in her bed.
“Christ, you’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” Luke grunted and pushed his back against the leg press’s chair. Slowly he started to move the two hundred thirty pounds Michael had loaded onto the weight rack.
“You can handle it. Quite bitching and push.” Michael leaned against the wall of mirrors next to the press machine. He was the most fit guy in here and had been giving the socialites a good view of what they wished they could have, while Luke sweated and strained, red-faced, to move the weights. “I moved six hundred pounds on this thing once.”
“Once. The key word there was ‘once,’ jackass.” Luke blew out a breath and pushed again. “I’m on my third set of ten.”
“And we’re going to do a nice jog as a cooldown next.” Michael’s grin was evil.
Luke’s stomach growled loudly. Michael’s idea of a “nice jog” was usually five miles. It was already four thirty, and Luke still needed to clean up, buy some flowers for Charlotte, and make it back up the mountain by seven. He might starve to death before then.
Michael gave him a hand up off the leg press machine, nodding when Luke’s legs shook beneath him. “It takes a lot to tire out your quads, man, but day after tomorrow, when we go back up to the course, you’ll see a difference.” He flipped Luke a protein bar. “Eat that, rest a bit, then we’ll run.”
Luke sank onto a weight bench and devoured the bar. “Seriously, how are my chances? No bullshit—what’s the truth?”
Michael looked thoughtful. “Having second thoughts?”
“No.” Luke had told his trainer about the family thing, mainly to see if Michael wanted a temporary roommate. Michael’s boyfriend had vetoed that idea. Luke was apparently too good-looking to be roaming their apartment in his underwear. “Okay, maybe. I just want to make sure this is worth it. I actually like my family, cheesy as that sounds. I don’t want to be disinherited and come in ninth at the trials.”
“Fair enough. I think if you continue to work hard, you can beat anyone up there, including Kit. Now, beating Kit might take an act of God, or some special luck, but you’ve got everyone else down cold. The team will take five. If you make it to nationals and don’t wipe out, you have a shot.” Michael paused. “But it’s going to take total focus. Cut down on booze, sugar, and distractions.”
Luke closed his eyes, pretending to rest even though his stomach churned, wondering what waited for him at home. “Yeah, because my family isn’t distracting me at all.”
“I know it’s hard, but you can’t do anything about family, which means you’ll have to be Zen everywhere else.” Michael wagged a finger. “For instance, I saw you chatting up that girl yesterday. Save some of that tension for the race, my friend.”
Luke frowned. “She’s not a distraction. And it’s not your business.”
Michael’s smile held a challenge. “Prove she isn’t. Quit sitting around, whining.”
Luke wiped his forehead with a towel, then threw it at Michael. “Start up the treadmill, asshole. I have work to do.”
Two hours later, limping and sore from the hips down, Luke showed up at the café, bouquet in hand. He’d gone home for nicer clothes before his workout, relieved that everyone was out, then cleaned up at the gym. Maybe if he kept this up, he could avoid seeing his family for another few days.
He knocked on the café’s front door, not sure how to get to Charlotte’s apartment. A moment later, the lock buzzed, and he pushed it open. The main dining room was dimly lit, but it grew brighter as he headed back through the kitchen. Here, a door to a staircase stood open. Grimacing, he made his way up the stairs on sore legs, determined not to let Michael’s ass kicking show.
At the top, there was a door painted peacock blue, complete with brass knocker and security peephole. He knocked.
“Coming!” A moment later Charlotte opened the door. “Good, you found me. I lost track of time studying earlier, so I need a minute. Want to come in?”
“Sure. No hurry.” He handed her the flowers and stepped into the apartment. It was tiny—about the size of his parents’ living room—but all Charlotte, with bright colors and trinkets. A coffee mug that read “Trust me, I’m ‘almost’ a doctor” rested upside down on a drainboard by the sink. Other than that, everything was perfectly in place.
Charlotte emerged from the closet carrying a pair of boots. “Sorry to make you wait. You can sit if you want.”
Luke settled himself on the couch. “You know, if you want to stay in, I know how to cook. Think Mr. Bzdyl would care if I used his food and kitchen? I’d pay him back for it.”
Charlotte glanced up from tying a boot. “Um…probably not?”
Good. He didn’t feel like going out. He attracted too much attention in clubs, and he wanted time to get to know Charlotte better, without all the noise.
And if her bedroom was conveniently located, that was her call. He wouldn’t say no. Seriously, the way her sweater hugged those magnificent curves, he was going to have trouble seeing straight, let alone navigating the Jeep back down the mountain with her by his side. No, he’d rather stay up here.
“I’m going to look around, see what I can pull together for dinner.” He smiled at her, slow and sexy, loving how she ducked her head when he did. Shy girls, they were the best. Once they let go, they could blow a guy’s mind. “See you downstairs when you’re ready. Unless you want to eat up here?”
“Downstairs is fine,” she said, a little too quickly.
Luke stood. Was he moving her along too fast? Maybe. “Sounds good.”
He turned to go, betting she needed to collect herself before she came down. Hell, he did, too. If he caught one more look at her ass, he was going to explode.
Damn, it had been too long since he’d pursued a girl like this.
Cold trickled down his spine—the last girl he’d pursued full tilt was Zoey.
Maybe that’s why he’d stuck to quick hookups for the past year. He hadn’t been willing to risk himself. The less he felt, outside of plain old lust, the better.
But Charlotte? Like entering the competition, he had a feeling she was well worth any risk he took.
Shaking off the guilt that clung to any thought of Zoey, Luke went to the fridge to see what he could raid for dinner. There was chicken, as well as cream, Parm, linguine, and spinach. He even found a bottle of olive oil in the back of a cabinet, along with a full spice rack. He was certain they had bacon, so that was covered. He set everything out, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work. He’d been surprised when he’d moved into his first apartment to discover he not only had decent cooking skills, but he enjoyed it, too. He’d expanded his menu over the last two years, primarily because it impressed women. Living on something other than ramen like most of his friends was even better.
He had the chicken and bacon cooking with some garlic while he combined everything for a sauce. Once he had it all in a pan, along with the linguine, Charlotte appeared. She took a deep breath, her eyes falling closed, and groaned. “My God, what is that? And how much of it is mine?”
Luke laughed, although that groan had spiked his blood pressure into the red. Jesus. “Just a pasta dish I kind of created based on a few recipes, and you can have half.”
Charlotte pulled some plates off the shelf and set them by the range before laying silverware at one of the tables close to the kitchen. She came back and bent over to pull something out from under the bar. Luke took a good, long look. God damn. Does she even know how hot she is?
She straightened back up with a small bottle of white wine and a pair of glasses. “Sometimes we have special happy hours. And sometimes Evangeline and I have our own happy hours.”
; He smiled at her over his shoulder as he tossed the pasta without looking. Her eyes widened. Exactly the reaction he wanted. “How would I go about scoring an invitation to one of those?”
“Um…what?” she asked.
“Never mind.” He plated the pasta and dropped some chives on top. “Let’s eat.”
Chapter Twelve
Charlotte
Her insides in a tangle, Charlotte followed Luke to the table. Not only could he actually cook, but he made tossing pasta look sexy.
God, she was in trouble.
He pulled out her chair, and she slipped into it. A plate full of sin sat at her place. Creamy chicken, spinach…bacon. He put bacon in the pasta. It was all she could do not to dive headfirst into it. “How’d you learn to cook like this?”
He sat across from her and picked up his fork. “It was learn to cook or starve when I moved out on my own at school. I took the first option.”
“Really? Because I took the ‘Taco Bell option’ when I moved into my first apartment.” She took a bite of the pasta, and her eyes crossed. It was every bit as good as it smelled. If he was using food to get into her bed, he was doing a damn good job. “You’re really good.”
His mouth quirked up on one side. “You have no idea.”
Charlotte flushed. Had he read her mind? “How was your workout?”
Yeah, because that wasn’t an obvious subject change. Luke can probably make innuendo out of that, too.
“My trainer decided to wage war on my legs.” Luke took a sip of wine. “I, uh, had a little trouble with your stairs just now. My quads are killing me.”
“You know, I minored in sports medicine in college, and I was a student trainer for the football team for two years. I could work out the knots for you.”
Oh Jesus, why did you just say that?
Luke’s eyebrows rose. “Could you now?”
Charlotte burst out laughing. “I’m such an idiot.”
“Not at all. I have to admit…I’m interested in the offer, but I’ll leave that up to you.” Luke pointed his fork in her direction. “What do you want to specialize in as a doctor?”
“Neurology,” Charlotte said. “I want to work with MS patients, primarily.”
“That’s really specific. Any reason?”
His tone was curious, light, but the question was a wrecking ball to Charlotte’s chest. She swallowed hard. “My mom. She has MS.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Luke said, his voice soft. “But it sounds like a good reason to practice medicine.”
“Yeah, I think so. Assuming I pass the damn MCAT.” She shrugged. “If not, I have a backup plan, but this is what I want most.”
“I know a little something about having a big goal but needing a backup plan.” He held up his wineglass. “Here’s to getting what we want.”
She clinked her glass against his. “Cheers.”
“So when will you go to medical school,” he asked, digging back into his pasta.
“Not for a year and a half. That’s how long it takes to get through the interview process.” She’d be twenty-four, almost twenty-five, by the time she got there, but the average age entering med school had increased to twenty-four, so she wasn’t the only one.
Luke nodded. “I might be back at ASU by then. Depends on how I do the next few months. I still need to finish my degree. I have a couple of semesters to go.”
Wait…how old was this guy? “A couple? You’re not a senior?”
“No. I’m a junior.” He gave her a searing glance that made her wonder where the fire extinguisher was, because she was going to burn any minute. “Look at you, going out with a younger man.”
“Not that much younger. I just turned twenty-three.” Charlotte took a big gulp of wine, which only made her feel more lightheaded. Her gaze strayed to his mouth. No…no. Just, hold it together. “Still, it’s funny that we both went to ASU but never hooked up.”
Luke’s expression went from seductive to predatory—in a good way—in a blink. Charlotte closed her eyes. “I meant…met.”
“Uh-huh.” His voice was this rich baritone, the kind of voice reserved for smoking clubs and radio hosts, but with a hint of heat underneath that sent Charlotte’s pulse up to highway speeds. “What did you think of the pasta?”
Nice bailout. “It was great.”
“Good.” He stood and took her plate. “I’ll wash these.”
“I can do it,” she said.
“I know, but I’m going to.”
Pulling out all the stops…and she liked it. Between that, and the two glasses of wine she’d downed, being cautious sounded boring. “Do you think you can climb back up the stairs? I can make us some coffee.”
“For you, I’ll definitely climb the stairs.” That smile again, the one that made her skin light up. “See you in a second.”
Charlotte nodded stiffly, then trotted up to her apartment. Maybe if she opened the blinds that looked over the resort, she could claim she’d invited him up to see the view? Yes, that’d work. By the way her hands shook while she measured out coffee into her tiny coffeemaker, she couldn’t make herself believe the lie.
Especially since Evangeline had slipped a box of condoms into her purse at the café this morning.
Charlotte took a deep breath and let it out slow. It had been a long time since she’d invited a guy in for “coffee.” She was nervous. How sad was that? Not nervous enough to call it off, though.
No way was she calling this off.
Luke’s steps sounded on the stairs, and Charlotte pulled out two mugs. She’d dimmed the lights—for the view, of course—but the vibe was definitely more intimate than she’d expected.
He stood in the doorway, watching her.
She stopped moving, coffeepot in hand. “Um, want some?”
“Sure.” He came into the apartment, his movements slow and sure. He stopped in front of the window. “That’s gorgeous.”
See? She wasn’t lying to herself. Not really. “I thought you might like to see my version of the resort.” She gave him a mug, holding her own tight so he wouldn’t notice how her hands trembled. “It’s really beautiful at night.”
And it was—the orange circles of streetlights glinted off the snow and the bright buildings lower on the mountain. Farther out, downtown Aspen glowed along the horizon, cars snaking down the roads into town. All of it shone bright against the black sky.
Luke reached for Charlotte’ mug and set them both on the coffee table, then took her hands and led her to the couch facing the window. Neither of them spoke.
He pulled her close, leaned in, and kissed her. That kiss, barely a touch of his lips, struck a spark deep in her middle, and she opened to him. Luke’s arms tightened around her, and he pulled her into his lap. She ran a hand down his shoulder, undid the first couple of buttons on his shirt, and slipped her fingers inside.
“Jesus,” he murmured against her mouth.
Charlotte sighed, her hands no longer shaking. Everywhere her fingers explored, she was met with taut muscle, tense and strong. He splayed one hand against the small of her back and slipped the other under her shirt. His skin against hers was everything she’d been waiting for.
She pressed closer, finding out how hard he already was. She couldn’t think straight. Did she even want to? His fingers skimmed down to her thigh, and she shivered. She wanted to shuck her jeans, let him touch her bare skin. To enjoy everything those confident, skilled fingers—and lips—could do.
“Charlotte,” he murmured against her neck, his lips leaving a trail of heat all the way down to her collarbone. “I have to ask…”
She took a shuddering breath. “Yes.”
His lips dipped below her collarbone. “Was that a ‘yes, keep going,’ or were you asking me to say more?”
She pulled his head back up to hers. “Luke? Shut up and kiss me.”
Chapter Thirteen
Luke
Charlotte didn’t have to ask twice. Luke covered her mouth wit
h his, groaning when she shifted in his lap again. Now that he had permission, he slid his hand inside her bra, learning where to touch her to get the best reaction. He knew how to take his time, and he was going to damn well drown in her.
Charlotte finished unbuttoning his shirt, shoved it off his shoulders, and pulled his undershirt over his head, barely breaking contact in the process. Lightheaded with want, he took off her sweater, nipping lightly at the skin on her shoulders as he did. She trembled against him, her body soft and so warm against his.
If they kept going this way, he might not be able to make this last as long as he wanted, but luckily, she seemed every bit as hungry as he was. He gripped her thighs, wrapping her legs around his waist, and stood. Hell, he couldn’t even feel those sore quads anymore. It took only a few quick steps to get to her bed, then he was on top of her, every inch of her pressed against him.
He reached around to undo the clasp on her bra, and it popped loose…
…just as his phone rang in his pocket.
Charlotte, flushed and loose with pleasure, blinked up at him. “Do you need to get that?”
“Hell no.” He slipped the straps of her bra off her shoulders. He couldn’t wait to see her—all of her. So far, she was every bit as beautiful as he’d imagined.
The phone started ringing again.
Charlotte put one hand against her bra, holding it in place, and one hand on his chest, giving him a little push. “Just check. That way we can forget it and pick up where we left off.”
Her voice was silk and honey, and he groaned in protest. She raised an eyebrow. God, he wanted her, but he knew if he didn’t check the phone, she’d worry, and that wasn’t how he wanted the first time to be.
Sighing, he rolled upright and pulled the phone from his pocket. He ached all over and decided he might have to kill whoever was calling him.
The caller ID said “Little Bro.”
“It’s my brother.” He stared at the screen. “He never calls me.”
Charlotte sat up and kissed his shoulder. “You should answer it, then.”
Crazy Love Page 7
