At Last

by Mindy McKinley

  He was a one-night-stand kind of guy, a three-nights-if-you’re-lucky kind of guy. He didn’t attach, he didn’t care about a woman’s grandmother or lack of family or that she was at the hospital again all night.

  Fuck.

  He had sat in front of his giant box of research for hours and had accomplished very little. The three beers and half-eaten pizza didn’t count.

  Lula kept him updated as she promised, and he felt a ridiculous buzz every time that damn phone dinged and her name appeared. Nan was doing well it seemed, still asleep. Amy had gotten her out to eat a real dinner, for which he was grateful.

  Sighing with frustration, he pushed back from the desk and wandered around his house. What in the actual fuck was he doing?

  To occupy himself, he messaged Mason and Seb to see if they were up to grab a beer. They were both busy. Of course they were.

  Without any other options, he pulled War & Peace from his bag and sat on the sofa to read. He made it about four pages before setting the book down with a groan. He felt as if he was crawling out of his skin.

  As he was pushing up to grab another beer, his phone rang.

  He let out a growl and hovered his thumb over the phone as his mother’s photo flashed across the screen. It took a couple rings but he finally answered it out of sheer boredom. If she even mentioned Steve, though, he was hanging up.

  “Hi, Mom,” he said, fully aware of how unhappy his voice sounded.

  “Dom,” she said in surprise, he could hear that she was on the edge of tears. “Oh, I’m so happy you finally answered. I’ve been so worried.”

  “I know.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have ignored your calls, I just ...”

  “Dom, honey.” Her voice was softer. “It’s okay. I knew you would take the news the hardest. That’s why I took so long to tell you. I understand.”

  His chest felt tight. “I wish I did.”

  “You will,” she told him. “However, I would like you to meet St—”

  “No,” he bit and stood from the sofa. No way in hell.

  “Dominic James,” she admonished.

  He blew out a breath and tried to control the anger that was surging through him. He sat back down. “I’m sorry, Mom.” Jesus, he was a mess in every way possible.

  She was quiet for a moment and then let out a sigh. “We will discuss this another time, but it will be discussed.”

  “Thank you,” he breathed. One of the many things he loved about his mother is that she always seemed to know exactly when to stop pressing. It was miraculous.

  “Is anything else wrong, dear? You sound like you’re all knotted up.”

  She also had that power. Knotted up was a good way to put it. “I’m just tired.”

  She paused, waiting for him to say more, and when he didn’t, she asked, “Is it your book?”

  Thankful she had given him an out, he told her about the resources that had fallen in his lap a few days ago. She was genuinely ecstatic for him. Having been married to a historian for seventeen years, she knew what this find meant for him and his manuscript.

  “You deserve it, honey, no one works as hard and as passionately as you.”

  “Thanks, I hope I can pull it off. The story deserves to be told properly.”

  “I don’t think you have anything to worry about; you have your father’s blood in you and your writing is every bit as brilliant as his.”

  He hoped so. He truly hoped so. It had been his only goal for as long as he could remember.

  “Is there anything else bothering you?” she asked carefully, in a way that told him she knew there was but understood if he didn’t want to talk about it.

  How did she always know? “No, Mom, I’m fine, really.” He had toyed for an instant with the idea of telling her a little about Lula but knew that she would jump to the furthest possible conclusion and have their wedding invitations ordered before dawn, so he let it go.

  Besides, Lula wasn’t anything permanent. Just a passing dalliance that life interrupted. That was it, nothing to complicate by involving family. “I love you, Mom,” he told her.

  “I love you too, Dom, take care of yourself, okay? That book does not need to be written in one night.”

  “I will. Goodnight, Mom.”

  “Goodnight, dear.”

  He ended the call, and unable to wait any longer, sent a message off to Lula.

  DOM: How’s your night going?

  The speed in which she responded delighted him far more than it should.

  LULA: It’s okay, and yours?

  DOM: Just okay?

  LULA: Well, Amy is nowhere near as attractive as you.

  He laughed and his entire body warmed. Goddammit.

  DOM: Damn straight.

  LULA: And she doesn’t bring me cinnamon rolls.

  His grin widened and he settled in the sofa like a juvenile texting his first girlfriend.

  DOM: She’d better not, that’s our thing.

  LULA: And you didn’t flirt with all the handsome doctors.

  DOM: Didn’t need to, you were there.

  He imagined her flushed smile and it killed him to not see it. Did her dimple make an appearance?

  LULA: Amy wants to know why I’m blushing.

  He fist-bumped the air in triumph and was immediately grateful no one saw.

  DOM: Let her guess.

  LULA: I’m going to be at school tomorrow.

  A smile spread his lips at the thought of seeing her again.

  DOM: I’ll bring the tea and CR.

  LULA: You’d better. Goodnight, Dom.

  DOM: Goodnight, Lu.

  With that, he finally felt his body settle. He wandered back into his office and found that he was focused enough to get to work.

  Chapter 13

  Lula

  True to his word, Dom was standing outside Lula’s classroom door the next morning, dangling a bag of cinnamon rolls from his fingers and balancing two hot drinks. Her heart thudded deeply. This man.

  He was more delicious than any man, any cinnamon roll she had ever seen. He looked tousled, as if he hadn’t slept well but his eyes danced when he spotted her, and she felt tingles all the way to her fingertips.

  “Good morning, Dom,” she said, trying to keep the satisfaction out of her voice. It didn’t work.

  “Morning, beautiful,” he answered with a grin. “How are you today?”

  “Pretty good, considering the circumstances,” she told him as she unlocked the door. “I hate not being with her in case she wakes up.”

  “They’ll call you immediately, won’t they?” He followed her into the room and set the morning treats on her desk.

  “Yes”—she tossed her jacket over the back of her chair and turned to him—“but what if she’s afraid? If she doesn’t know where she’s at, she’ll be confused.” All the worries that had kept her up at night started to claw their way up her throat.

  “Lula,” he said gently. He took a step toward her, reached out, and took her face in his hands. “Everything will be okay.”

  His scent, his strong presence made her feel instantly better. Heat radiated from where their skin touched and she ached for his lips to brush hers. “But how do you know?”

  “Because I have cinnamon rolls,” he told her, letting his hands slide from her skin. He picked up the bag. “See?”

  She laughed. “But what are you going to eat?”

  “Nice try,” he said with a look and busied himself setting out the rolls and napkins. He pulled a chair up to sit with her at her desk.

  She dug in, there was no shame where cinnamon rolls were concerned. “Mmmm,” she moaned on the first bite, causing his eyes to flare open just as he was taking a seat. “What?” she asked.

  “Lula”—he pulled off a piece of his roll and shifted in his seat—“you can’t make noises like that this early in the morning.”

  She instantly flushed and looked at him with a dare in her eyes. Pleasure was zinging all over h
er body. His presence made her feel reckless. “I can too,” she responded, popping another piece in her mouth.

  He eyed her. “Don’t do it, Lu,” he warned.

  “Mmmm,” she moaned, overplaying it slightly. There was something so very delicious about being able to tease this man.

  “I’m warning you, Lula Stanley,” he said in a low, gravelly voice. His eyes were suddenly filled with desire and the electricity that always buzzed between them seemed to ignite.

  She had to squeeze her thighs together. That look alone could make her orgasm.

  Buzzing with energy and exhilarating boldness, she took some frosting from the roll in front of her and slowly licked it off her finger. She never took her eyes from his.

  He let out a low growl and was out of his chair in seconds. Before she knew what was happening, he was leaning over her chair, hands in her hair, kissing her as though there would never be another chance. He tasted like cinnamon and frosting and sin.

  She moaned again and he deepened the kiss as if he was starved. She couldn’t breathe but she didn’t care. Bright colors flashed behind her eyelids and she gripped onto his shoulders to keep from falling out of the chair. There was no way her legs were going to work.

  As if he knew exactly what she needed, he pulled her easily out of the chair so she could wrap her legs around his waist. She moaned again when she felt his hardness against her sex. Good God, she wanted him so badly.

  The warning bell rang and stunned them from their kiss.

  Dom growled in frustration and put his forehead against hers. “This is not over,” he told her. His voice was gruff and dark.

  Barely able to breathe, she whispered, “Promise?”

  “Oh, Lula”—he pressed against her—“that’s a promise.”

  She closed her eyes. She felt dizzy as she slid from his arms and her legs wobbled when she landed on her feet.

  He tucked her hair behind her ear and touched her lips; she could only imagine how pink they were. “Have a good day, beautiful.”

  “You too.”

  Dominic

  Teaching while sexually frustrated was not something Dom was prepared for. All he could think about was Lula’s red, swollen lips and the delicious heat coming from between her legs. He groaned inwardly every fucking time.

  It was the longest day of his life.

  The beeline he made for her room when it was over was intense.

  She was already putting on her jacket and she blushed deeply when she saw him. “Dom,” she breathed, “hi.”

  “Hi, Lu,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. He didn’t know exactly what to do or how to pick up from where they left off, he just knew it was an absolute necessity. He wouldn’t be able to breathe until they finished lighting this fire.

  “I’m going up to see Nan,” she told him, her voice unsure. He could sense that she was torn between her desire and her need to be with her grandmother.

  He nodded. “Any news?”

  “No.”

  An awkward silence filled the space as he stared at her and she looked everywhere but his face. Shit, he didn’t usually feel clueless. Never, actually.

  She picked up her purse. “I’ll let you know ...”

  “Lu”—he cut her off before she could scuttle away—“can I pick you up at the hospital later and take you to dinner? I mean, as long as Nan is doing okay?”

  Her hands froze and the most beautiful smile lit her face. He felt it move through him.

  “I would like that,” she answered.

  He grinned. “So would I.”

  “Pick me up at seven?”

  The relief he felt was enormous. “I’ll come up to the room, I’d like to meet Nan.”

  “You don’t have to,” she started.

  “I want to,” he told her. Amazed that he actually did. Who was he?

  She gave him another small smile. “Thank you, Dom, that means a lot.”

  And that was the problem. He was getting in too deep. Normally by now, he would have bailed without looking back, but it seemed all she had to do was look at him with those gorgeous amber eyes and he was putty.

  She got all her things together and met him by the door. “See you later,” she said with a soft smile.

  “Yes, you will,” he answered and watched her walk down the hall.

  He groaned silently, both from the sight of her backside and his lack of willpower. Lula Stanley just might be the end of him.

  Chapter 14

  Dominic

  Dom walked into room 842 later that night as nervous as he was for his first middle school dance. But the smile that lit up Lula’s face alone was enough to make the trip worth it. She was so fucking beautiful.

  To his surprise, she had changed into jeans and a pretty top and her hair hung in sexy curls around her shoulders. He had never seen her in anything other than her mismatched sweaters, skirts, and topknot. Except for that damn satin dress at Mo’s. He still blamed that fucking thing for starting all of this.

  He swallowed hard when she stood up to greet him; her jeans were cut perfectly—almost painted on. They made her legs look miles long. He was desperate to see her ass in them though he wasn’t sure he’d survive the fallout.

  “Hi,” she breathed, cheeks pink, those curls bouncing around her shoulders.

  “Hey there,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets before he took her over his shoulder. “How is she doing?”

  “Stable,” she answered easily, he could see from the lightness in her eyes that the prognosis had improved. “The doctors say if she wakes up tomorrow and remains that way, there’s a good chance she’ll recover about ninety percent.”

  He beamed at her. “Lula, that’s amazing news.”

  “I know, right?” She returned his smile and they settled into the chairs next to her grandmother. The machines beeped and hissed around them.

  “How was your day?” she asked after a moment of silence passed between them. She played nervously with a small silver bracelet on her wrist. He longed to take her hands in his.

  Instead he cleared his throat and said, “Pretty good. It definitely started out in the most mind-blowing way.”

  She flushed bright red and squeezed her thighs together. “Funny,” she answered with a pretty smile, her eyes danced, maybe even dared, “mine did too.”

  Dom grinned and had to shift to cover his growing excitement. He briefly wondered if there was a utility closet nearby he could take her to. “Imagine that.”

  “I have,” she admitted and leaned closer, her voice dropped, “about a thousand times today.”

  Jesus. “Lula,” he warned, she was not helping him keep his hands to himself. Fuck, he wanted this woman.

  “You want to go to dinner now?” she asked suddenly, her breath was shallow.

  Yes. God yes. “If it’s okay with you.” He wanted to be respectful.

  “Um, yes. It’s more than okay,” she said and grabbed his hand. “Come on.”

  Like he wouldn’t follow her anywhere. Especially once he got a good look of her ass in those jeans. He groaned aloud and she threw an inquisitive look over her shoulder as she grabbed her coat.

  “I like your jeans,” he explained.

  “Is that so?” she asked and wiggled her rear-end at him just because she could.

  He growled again. “You are killing me, Miss Stanley.”

  She stopped at the door and gave him a pert look. “That’s the idea, Mr. Adams.”

  Fuck.

  Lula

  Lula was still blushing when he opened the door to his car. He liked her ass. He came to visit her grandmother. He was taking her to dinner. She was losing the battle with her heart.

  His car was a cocoon of smooth black leather and had a faintly new smell. She smiled at him when he slid into the driver’s seat. His smell was something else entirely—manly, erotic, all the things that made her panties useless.

  He grinned back and started the car. “Comfortable?”

 
She simply nodded.

  “I’ve been listening to some new music,” he told her and adjusted the volume. She tried not to imagine his strong fingers working across her bare skin, but failed.

  As Ella’s voice filled the space, her eyes flew open and she looked at the side of his head. He was listening to Ella? Her heart thudded. “Ella?” she asked.

  “Someone inspired me,” he said with a grin.

  She melted into the seat as the sound washed over her, and just listened for a few bars. “There’s no one like her, she sings and I just feel every vibration.”

  He guided the car out of the hospital parking lot. “I think I know what you mean.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah,” he answered, masterfully pulling into the busy Chicago traffic. “I went to this jazz club with my annoying-and not-at-all-good-looking brother and there was this singer there.” He smiled at her. “She completely blew my mind ... never heard anything like it before.”

  Her breath caught when her eyes met his. He was dead serious.

  “You were incredible,” he added, making her heart pound so heavily she thought they might need to go back to the hospital.

  It took a few moments for her to recover enough to speak. “That’s very sweet of you, Dom, but I think you might be talking about the dress.” She knew she was being flippant but couldn’t help herself; she had always been bad at receiving compliments. Besides, reminding him of that dress had its upside.

  He growled and she reveled in the sound.

  “The dress was really quite nice, Lula” he agreed, “but it didn’t sing. You did.”

  Flushing furiously, she looked out the window for a moment. Her heart was fluttering. “I ... thank you.”

  “You know you could make a career of it if you wanted.”

  His compliment thrilled her, to be even an ounce as talented as her mother and grandmother meant the world to her. “Thank you,” she said again, turning back to him. “But teaching is all I’ve ever really wanted to do. Don’t get me wrong, I love to sing, I’m just not cut out for a career that would have me moving around all the time. I love my kiddos and I don’t think I could ever leave them.”

  “I know you do,” he answered with a smile. “It shows.”