Lucca's Lust: The Luminara Series Book 3

by SJ Molloy

  I get caught with some regulars on the way out. Some handshakes, general chit-chat, then I have my bags tossed in the back of my Aston Martin—top down, sunglasses on, heading for home.

  The enticing scent of a lamb hot pot, home-made steak pies, and freshly baked cinnamon buns await me when I arrive home. I meet Rose with a double-cheek kiss and pull her in for a warm embrace. This woman spoils me more than my mamma. Well, maybe not as much, but she is a good substitute. I love having her in my life.

  “The fridge is stocked with beers, potatoes are in the oven, and your shirts are all pressed and hanging up for you. I wasn’t sure which ones you would like to take,” she says sweetly, folding down that mumsy little apron she wears.

  “Have I told you how much I love you, and how beautiful you look today with your new haircut? I get to see more of your beautiful face. I like it on you.” I charm her and give her a wink before making my way over to lift the top off the cake tray.

  She swiftly smacks my hand away. “Not before dinner, young man, and yes, you tell me every day. Thank you for noticing my haircut. Don’t you think I perhaps look older?” she chirps merrily, turning the slow cooker down.

  “Older? Fuck no. You look twenty years younger. I cannot wait to parade you about on my arm in the village.” I beam a megawatt smile at her, dimple and all.

  “Language, young man. And stop flirting. It’s not good for Peter’s ego. Although, as always, I’m flattered. You really do need to get a girlfriend. This house is far too big for just you, Lucca. It is about time you had a wife and filled it full of kids,” she says, opening the oven to check on the spuds.

  “Your husband knows I have a crush on you. If I fill him full of whiskey, he will never know we have run off into the sunset. And I do not need a wife in my life, Rose, when I have you.” I wink, breaking a piece of cinnamon bun off and munching it. She tsk-tsks, rolling her eyes and waving me off with her finger.

  Rose has been desperate for me to find the right person. She goes on about children and me being lonely, but I do not really think about loneliness because I am too busy working. When I mention that she and Peter have gone through life without having kids, she points out that they have but they also have each other. She says I need someone. A significant other.

  There was a brief moment at New Year’s I felt a pang of emptiness watching my brothers bringing in the bells with their wives.

  It reinforced that I do not have anyone to share intimate and special moments with, but I dismissed the notion. I have not thought about it again, not until today. I think about Lexi, the feelings I had after sharing time with her, and the addiction she has left me with.

  I desire her like no other. My gut instinct tells me she would be someone to share special moments with.

  A warmth heats my skin just thinking about her. If I were ever to share my bed … my house … my life and my heart with someone, then it would be with a woman like her. It would be with her.

  I can imagine her walking barefoot around my home, standing in this very kitchen, sharing meals with me. I imagine being curled up on the sofa, having her legs wrapped around my waist in the pool, her small little body leaning against my chest in the bathtub.

  Shit, I feel a hard, sudden stab in my heart leaving a pang of hollowness. Emptiness. There is a void in my life and I know just how to fill it.

  Rose is right, just like my parents and grandparents … I need to settle down. Work is a good distraction, as is a quick mindless fuck now and then, but I will never feel complete or truly happy until I feel loved and can give love sharing my life with someone.

  I grab a quick shower before the lads arrive for the Champions league football final. Throwing on jeans and a plain white T-shirt, I return to my bathroom to pick up my running clothes from today and hold my T-shirt up to my nose, inhaling a sweet, head-tripping scent, recalling luscious chocolate eyes close to mine, plump lips close to mine, and the most beautiful smile in the whole damn world.

  Sweet flowers … traces of musky feminine perfume—the lingering kind. Fucking drug. I inhale it until I feel dizzy then catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Fucking pussy.

  What am I? Sixteen years old?

  Get a grip, I will myself. I fold the clothes, but as opposed to tossing them in my laundry basket, I sit them on the bedside drawers with consideration … deep consideration.

  Looking at the bed, an exhausted sigh escapes my lips. Empty … big … unused. In need of a woman to spread herself across it and fall asleep in my arms. Lexi. Taking a moment, I get my shit together then prepare to pack for my trip.

  I spend the next twenty minutes picking out clothes and laying them on my too-big-and-empty mattress before zipping up my travel bags. The fact that Rose has everything so orderly and tidy in my walk-in makes it easy to find what I am looking for. If I have forgotten anything it really does not concern me. I have my ways to order anything I need. Plus, I have a fully-stocked wardrobe at my farmhouse, and both my parents’ and grandparents’ villas.

  Savio and Armando, my brothers, are already in the kitchen unwrapping foil from what looks like parmesan chicken and tortellini. I greet them in English. Because we have spent many years in Scotland, we all speak fluent English. We do converse in Italian from time to time, but often at home we prefer English as our primary language, especially as their kids are expected to speak in English at school and nursery.

  “Hey, how are you? Good to see you both.” I give both of them a brotherly embrace.

  Savio grabs my cheeks the same way my papa does and kisses me. “We are great. Looking good, Lucca. All set for tomorrow?” he asks, raising a brow. He is referring to spending time with our grandparents and parents, knowing I will be flustered, faffed over, and spoiled within an inch of my life.

  “You are just jealous, Savio, my brother,” Armando says, giving me similar male affection. I laugh, grabbing some Peronis out the fridge. I flip the caps and pass them over. Before I forget, I set my beer down, retrieve the gifts from the lounge, and pass them to Savio and Armando.

  “That better not be more gifts for the kids. Sarah will fucking annihilate you if you keep spoiling them like this. You know how much she hates to see them spoiled with flashy things,” Armando says, looking conspicuously at the two rectangle boxes containing their goodies.

  “Tell Sarah to deal with it. If she thinks for one minute I am not going to spoil my nieces and nephews, then she is delusional. I love her, you know that, but she cannot deny me the fun of treating the little rascals,” I say, peering under the tissue paper of Antonia’s gift box. A beautiful white silk Dior dress. Cute. Kimberley and Suzanne have done well finding exactly what I asked for.

  “This will look good on her,” I add, patting Armando on the shoulder gesturing towards the box.

  “Nando is right. They all love you, Lucca. You do not need to lavish them in gifts for them to love you. It is completely unnecessary. We appreciate it, but honestly, Bro, you do not have to do this,” Savio adds, only to get an almighty scowl. He normally has my back.

  Is it pick on middle brother day today or what?

  And I do not think Kate, Savio’s wife, will object. She is a shopaholic and appreciates nice things, so I know he will not cop any shit from her. Why does he need to dampen my fun?

  “I am not trying to buy their love. I want to do it for them. I enjoy treating them. Fuck, it is not as if I cannot afford it and there are only four of them … it is not like …” Before I finish, Armando shakes his head, placing the boxes on the table, and Savio mutters something about me being stubborn.

  “Nando, give up. We are wasting our time. He will not fucking listen. Just you wait until you have kids one day. You will see that they do not need these expensive things. They just need lots of love,” Savio says nonchalantly, but the look on my face panics him, and his face pinches with regret. I feel like he has just kicked me in the balls when I am already down.

  I did almost have a chance of loving a son. My son,
who I would have spoiled endlessly with love and given him anything else he needed had God given me that chance. And … as for my chances of being a father in the future, he knows it is slim for me.

  Foolishly, I never froze any sperm when they told me to. My luck on the fertility front might run out. I might get sick again, I might need chemotherapy, and then my chances will be slim to zero.

  What am I even thinking? I do not even have a partner … someone to love … someone to cherish. The reality hits me like a tumble of fucking boulders. I might never be a papa … not like them.

  “Lucca, I am sorry, Bro. I did not mean that the way it sounded. I should have thought. I am an insensitive prick. I really did not intend to hurt you,” Savio says, wrapping his arm round my back in a manly but protective hug.

  “Hey, I know you never meant it. It is okay. Look, it is no secret to you both that I might not be able to have kids, but I am good with that … really I am. Life is what it is and if kids are not in the cards for me, then so be it. I have a great life and it is even better that I am blessed and lucky to have nieces and nephews, so if I cannot spoil my own kids, then let me spoil them,” I say, trying to keep my tone steady and sure. The wince of pain etched on Savio’s face is accentuated with a nervous twitch of unease and regret glossing over his eyes.

  “You are a great man, the best. We all love you dearly for your positivity and generosity. Thank you for the gifts. We do appreciate it, but just so you know, you will always have a special place in all the kids’ hearts, even if you never spoil them. They idolise you. Fuck, we idolise you … you are the most hard-working, kind, honest, loving man there is. You are a great role model for our kids. They are blessed to have you, Lucca,” Armando says sincerely, tapping his beer against the neck of mine.

  Fuck … I feel overwhelmed and a little emotional tonight. Rose’s words from earlier, having this talk with my brothers, thinking about the mysterious Lexi and the intense passionate desire she ignited in me tonight fucks with my mind.

  Mamma and Papa raised us all to be sensitive, open and honest, and to wear our heart on our sleeves. We have always been emotionally in tune with each other and very close, so why am I finding it hard to be honest with them? I should be able to tell them what I want and what I feel.

  I ask myself, do I want a family? Yes. Do I want someone to call mine? Yes. Do I want to be able to give love in abundance to a wife and kids? The answer is yes. How can I not, when I see my brothers so happy. They are already complete.

  They have everything I have never had. Family. Both of them say they look up to me, admire me, but they have no idea how much I envy what they have, how much I respect them for being the amazing papas and husbands that they are. I admire them, more than they will ever know, but the words do not come. I have a sorry-ass lump lodged in my throat.

  The simple, forgiving, loving relationship with a wife and kids is something I have convinced myself might never happen for me. It is probably why in the past a quick mindless fuck has helped me forget. Forget the bad choices I have made in life and forget the twisted hand of fate I was dealt with.

  But now I think of nothing else. Today has just reinforced everything I thought at New Year’s. My life is not complete.

  I need her.

  I need Lexi.

  I need love in my life.

  Do I truly want these things?

  Desperately, like my next breath.

  “What kind of tortellini is that? It smells good, like Nonna’s.” I point to the tray, trying to change the subject and shift the elephant sitting on my chest.

  “Yeah, it is crab, pepper, ricotta, and spinach. It is Nonna’s recipe. I am trying it out in the restaurant. Tell me what you think.” Savio stabs a piece with a fork for me to try.

  “Hmmm, good. Real good. I like it. This will do well on a lunch menu. Do me a favour and do not tell Chris what is in it. He is a fussy bastard and will not eat it if he thinks it is ‘fancy shit.’ His words, not mine,” I say, swallowing it down with a slug of beer. And like that, we have moved on from my unfortunate loneliness and the miserable reality of my empty life.

  Thank fuck. I need to think of something else. I feel emotionally drained.

  Both my brothers laugh. Chris McCarron is one of my best mates and incidentally my accountant. A walking fucking liability if you ask me. Loves football, chicks, poker, and stock investments … a shark when talking money, but he is a good friend and a very clever guy.

  It is probably why he will never settle down. Loves his money too much. Selfish prick. But he has looked after my investments for a long time, which I am grateful for.

  “Still a pie, chips, and gravy man?” Armando asks with amusement, lifting plates from the cupboard.

  “Fuck, yes, and mushy peas. I swear … he lives on that greasy shit. He must have a clogged artery by now.” I laugh.

  “What you dudes laughing at?” Chris asks, setting down a case of beer and a tray of southern fried chicken wings. I almost spit my beer all over him, shaking my head, and hold my hand out to shake his.

  Typically he brings deep-fried food. There is no way in hell, he dusted them in flour and fried them. They have takeaway written all over. Fucking cheating bastard. I tell him so.

  While he slaps my brothers on their backs, Omari Fayed, another good mate who also happens to be my very loyal solicitor, shows up with the chips, dip, and vodka. Omari is not shy from attracting the ladies, though he is a little more tactful than Chris.

  Where Chris tries really hard to win the ladies over, Omari has a natural charm. He is a good looking man, half-Asian, and looks like one of those fucking boxer shorts models, or at least he thinks he does. Omari delves right into Rose’s buns before he even has a beer opened.

  Both of them showing no sign of settling down. They love their life just as it is. Fuck, I remember some wild nights ending up with some seriously hot women. I believe Chris and Omari still indulge in picking up chicks on the weekends.

  They say it is the only way to top off a successful week at the office. We have always worked hard, but these boys know how to play hard too. They are good guys though. Decent, intelligent, and brought up well from respectable and loving families.

  Marco, my right hand man and best mate growing up in Tuscany, joins us next followed by Andy Graham, my project manager at Osurac Industries, and Lyle Graham, my head of contractors, with a tray of pakora and chocolate brownies from his wife. Terence Huddersfield, Casey’s husband, and Jonathon Myers, my PA Suzanne’s husband, also arrive with a bottle of good single malt and cigars.

  After lots of friendly banter giving Chris some shit when he tells us about the redhead he pulled last weekend who sucked him off then left him in the middle of the night because he was out cold, we grab plates and settle in the dining room. It is like a fucking bun fight right enough. You would think these lads have never seen food before.

  “Chris, what the fuck? That is just so fucking wrong.” Omari scoffs, watching him wedge a steak pie between two slices of buttered bread before dipping it in the gravy of the lamb hot pot. He eats like a beast.

  Chris mumbles with his mouth full. “Fuck off, dickhead. I played five games this week and have worked up an appetite.”

  I laugh and roll my eyes, watching him now chuck some pakora then deep fried chicken down his throat. “You are one greedy bastard. Slow down. We are not going to fucking take it away from you.” I pass him his beer before he chokes on a chicken wing.

  “Andy, pass me over that pasta shit,” he says, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand.

  I lean back in my chair, fold my arms across my chest, and watch with wide-eyed amusement. This should be good. Savio and Armando both cock their heads, eyebrows lifting, lips curling up.

  “What’s in this pasta shit, Savio?” he asks.

  “Oh, just chicken.” I almost choke on my beer. Funny stuff. Lyle has to thud my back until I catch my breath. Chris would have an aneurism if he knew it was seafood. But by the
looks of it, he has not got a clue. The daft fucker is eating it. Priceless.

  “Hmmm, tasty this pasta shit. You should sell it in your restaurant,” Chris suggests before wolfing down another forkful of tortellini. Savio and I exchange a silent look of hilarity.

  “Yeah, I might just do that,” Savio says calmly, hiding the obvious laughter in his voice.

  Once we are finished, Terence, Jonathon, and Andy sit outside on the alfresco area smoking cigars, enjoying a single malt. The rest of the lads head up to the top floor to the home cinema room with as much alcohol as they can carry and the cinnamon buns, chips, and dip before the game starts.

  I decline cigars and watch my alcohol intake as I have a flight to catch tomorrow, but the lads seem to be on a mission to get tanked tonight. I tell Savio I will be right up; I have a call to make first. Grabbing my phone, I head into my office and close the door. I have business to sort out.

  I casually stretch back in my chair, one leg across the other, and make a call which could potentially change my life forever, or at least I hope it will.

  “Hello, Mark speaking,” the guy answers.

  “Mark, this is Lucca Caruso, owner of Club di Energia. Are you free to have a quick chat?” I ask, firing up my desktop to quickly check my emails at the same time.

  “Eh, yes. How can I help you, Mr. Caruso?” he says with apprehension in his voice.

  “Please, call me Lucca. Nothing is wrong, just a courtesy call. Ronan gave me your number. I hope you do not mind me calling after hours. I have a trip scheduled tomorrow and wanted to catch you before I left.” I pick up some fundraising documents for the Jasmine Foundation, the cancer trials I support and donate to.

  “How can I help?”

  “Look, I would like to be direct with you. I was in the clinic today with lumbar back pain. Your colleague assessed me and encouraged me to book in another appointment. She suggested I book in with you, but the problem I have is, I very much want to book back in with her. I want her to treat me.” I tap my finger on the desk impatiently after I have neatly filed the documents in order.