by Lauren Layne
He looked at her. “You’re messed up.”
“I’m serious!” she said, scooting closer, her fingers finding the fabric of his shirt and clinging. “Would anyone have anything to say about me that wasn’t related to my career?”
“Yes. They’d also mention your unpaid parking ticket.”
“Luc,” she said on a little laugh, shaking him.
“Okay, okay…you want to play this creepy, morbid game, let’s play it. Are you driven? Yes. Ambitious? Sure. Have you maybe let your parents push you in a direction that isn’t you? Maybe. But Sims, none of that makes you a bad person. Not even close.”
“But—”
“Your dad is an ass,” he interrupted. “Frankly, your whole family sounds like a bunch of smug jerks. Family is meant to boost you up, not tear you down, and you got the short end of the stick on that front.”
“But my eulogy…”
Luc groaned. “You’re such a weirdo. Okay, you want to know what I’d say if someone asked me to sum up Ava Sims?”
She nodded and started to reach for her wine, but his hand grabbed her wrist. He tugged her forward until she was almost on top of him, leaving her no choice but to lift up and straddle him on the couch.
The cat, in turn, had no choice but to hop to the ground, and Ava was pretty sure she was just on the receiving end of the feline equivalent of the stink eye.
Ava refocused on Luc, assuming he was trying to distract her with sex, and she was all for it, but then she saw his face and froze.
He looked…tender.
His eyes were warm in a way she hadn’t seen before, and he gently reached up to straighten her glasses before his big hand rested against her cheek, before stroking along her messy ponytail with a gentle smile.
“Sims,” he said quietly. “I haven’t known you long. I don’t even know that I know you well. I don’t know your favorite ice cream, or whether you love or hate scary movies. I don’t know if your first kiss was a total dud, or whether you prefer lazy beach days or checking out prissy museums while on vacation. And while I do know that you love sushi and hate high heels and tend to be bossy, none of that’s what I’ll remember about you when we’ve parted ways.”
Ava’s eyes were glued to his, mesmerized by his quiet words.
“What will you remember?” she asked, her voice husky.
His hands slid up to her face, cupping her cheeks. “I’ll remember the way your lips feel against mine. I’ll remember the way you trust me enough to take off your high heels around me. I’ll remember the way my chest squeezed when I first saw the real you, in the sexy glasses and messy hair. I’ll remember the way you wiggled your way into my family in record time, managing to make Vincent smile, Anthony laugh, and remind Elena all the reasons she’s always wanted a sister. Mostly, I’ll remember the way that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the moment I saw you in Brinker’s office.”
“Liar,” she said with a smile, trying to lighten the moment.
He narrowed his eyes before wrapping an arm around her waist, shifting forward so his other hand could pull his wallet out of his back pocket.
Ava frowned in confusion as he fished out a piece of paper, holding it out to her.
She took it, her fingers faltering just slightly as she recognized it.
“The parking ticket.”
This time he refused to meet her eyes, looking adorably embarrassed as his eyes locked on the stained ticket in her hands.
“I told myself I was holding on to it for the exact right moment to make you pay it. Which you should, by the way…But then I just…I kept it.”
His eyes lifted to hers then. “I know this is a short-term thing. For both of us. But don’t ever think you’re just a meaningless fling to me, Sims. You’re not cold. You’re…lovely.”
Sims. She was always Sims. What was with that? Some weird way of keeping his distance?
Yet Ava’s heart still melted at his awkward admission. “Lovely, huh?”
He shrugged. “Or whatever.”
“Or whatever,” she agreed with a smile, leaning forward to place her lips gently against his.
He kissed her back. Softly at first, although the kiss quickly heated as it seemed to every damned time they were together.
“Thank you,” she said against his mouth.
“You’re welcome,” he said in response. “And Sims…”
He pulled back to look at her, his expression serious as his hand cupped her face. “Promise me something. Promise me that you’ll stop living your life for your parents, or some outdated dream that isn’t yours anymore. Promise me you’ll follow your heart. Go with your gut. Whatever.”
Her eyes watered at the earnestness in his expression. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” she whispered.
You’re asking me to betray you.
“I do know what I’m asking,” he said, leaning forward so that his forehead rested on hers. “I’m asking you to do what’s right. Because I know you’re the type of woman who can do great things. Amazing things. You just have to give yourself permission.”
Ava closed her eyes in agony. It was everything she wanted to hear. And it was from precisely the person she needed to hear it from. But doing as he asked…doing what was right, would mean losing him forever.
“Hey,” he said softly, his thumbs rubbing gently across her cheeks. “What’s wrong?”
I’m going to lose you.
But not yet. She didn’t have to lose him yet. They still had tonight.
She tipped forward, finding his mouth with hers. In response, his hand slipped around to the back of her neck, tilting both of their heads to deepen the kiss.
Ava’s fingers tangled into the soft fabric of his shirt in an effort to pull him closer. His kiss was hot and possessive, and she responded in kind, reaching her tongue for his.
It was their most intense kiss yet, made all the more intoxicating by the fact that neither seemed in a hurry to take it to the next stage. In the back of her buzzing brain, Ava registered that somehow, this kiss wasn’t about sex—at least not just that—it was about something deeper and infinitely more alarming.
Luc must have felt it too, because he pulled back just slightly, resting his forehead to hers with a slightly puzzled frown, and when his eyes met hers, she saw her own unspoken question:
What is this?
She shook her head just the tiniest bit.
I don’t know.
And then she crushed her mouth against his once more, the force of her body pushing him back against the couch cushions.
His came to rest lightly on her back, and although he returned her kiss, he also let her take control, as though sensing her need to make him hers, if only for one night.
When Ava finally pulled back to breathe, Luc gently tugged at the bottom of her shirt and obediently lifted her arms so he could pull the shirt over her head, letting it drop to the floor.
She was wearing one of her new bras. Nothing as outlandishly sexy as the black number of her semi-striptease, but it was white and aqua lace that she’d picked simply because she’d thought it was pretty.
Luc apparently agreed. His fingers traced softly over the top of the cup before he leaned forward and planted a sweet kiss on her breastbone.
“Lovely,” he said, echoing his earlier statement. “You are lovely.”
Then his fingers flicked against her back, and the bra went the way of the shirt, and in silent agreement, she lifted up to remove the rest of her clothes while he did the same.
“Bedroom?” he asked, standing above her.
In response, she placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back to the couch before launching herself on him once more.
If their kiss had been slow and purposeful, the pace now was frantic, as hands and lips grew greedy and restless. And when she reached between their bodies to stroke him he groaned and lifted his hips to hers.
“Damn it, Sims. Now.”
She pulled back with a frus
trated moan, tapping a finger against his chest. “Don’t. Move.”
She disappeared into the bedroom, coming back seconds later with a condom that he tore open and rolled on in record time before pulling her down once more to straddle him.
Her hands found his face, pulling him into a hot kiss as his hands found her hips, guiding her until she was poised above him. He paused for a heartbeat before pulling her down, sliding in inch by inch until they were as close as two people could be.
Luc pulled back from the kiss just enough to meet her eyes. He lifted a questioning eyebrow, and somehow she knew exactly what he was asking.
Me or you?
In response she lifted up slowly before sinking down on him again. She repeated the motion, even slower this time, and she gave him a silent response. Me. I’m in control.
Ava alternated between fast and hard and slow and torturous, Luc’s hands on her hips as he let her ride him.
And when she leaned over him resting her face against his shoulder, asking him to touch her, he did, his hand sliding down to press her clit in a perfect rhythm as he rocked up into her.
Ava came first—how could she not with a guy like Luc Moretti beneath her?—and when she collapsed against his chest, he let her, stroking her back and letting her savor the sweet aftermath of her orgasm instead of immediately seeking his own.
When she finally caught her breath, she put her hands on his shoulders to sit upright, the contact slightly slippery from their sweat, and narrowed her eyes at him.
“You really are a good guy, aren’t you?”
He grinned, quick and easy, before sitting up and catching her lip gently between his teeth. “Am I?”
Then his arms went around her as he thrust up once into her, hard, so her arms went around his neck and held on as he plunged in and out of her, his pace quickening until he came with a groan, and she could have sworn she heard him whisper one word. Ava.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Three days before Luc had to sit in a leather chair and spill his guts on national television as the grand finale of this America’s Hero bullshit, he had a revelation:
He needed closure.
Actually, that wasn’t the revelation.
He’d always known he needed closure; it was the how that had been eluding him for two years.
Therapy hadn’t worked.
Neither had ignoring the memories.
Exercise hadn’t been the answer, nor had losing himself in work. It wasn’t losing himself in sex with nameless women.
It hadn’t even been the support of his family, which had gone deeper than he’d even realized.
But he hoped closure was here, in a homey Brooklyn walk-up with a tiny patch of grass doubling as the yard and a blue bike in the front.
Joey’s bike. Who’d taught him to ride it? Not his dad. His dad was dead.
Luc shook his head.
That’s not what this was about.
Taking a deep breath, he headed up the steps, his hand hesitating only briefly before he forced himself to knock.
The door opened almost immediately, and a dark-haired boy with hazel eyes stood before him.
Joey.
He looked so much like Mike, it physically hurt.
But as much as Luc wanted to sink to one knee and simply stare at the boy, he knew better.
“Hey, bud. You remember me?”
“Sure,” the eight-year-old said with a shrug. “Uncle Luc.”
The old nickname was like a vise on Luc’s heart. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s Uncle Luc.”
The boy stepped aside. “Where’s your gun?”
“Off duty today, bud.”
Actually, off-duty cops were allowed to carry, and Luc often did, but not today. Not for this.
A woman came out of the kitchen drying her hands on a blue and white towel. Luc looked up and met her familiar brown gaze.
“Hey, Bev.”
“Luca.”
To his surprise, she was in front of him in five steps, wrapping him in a warm hug he surely didn’t deserve.
When she stepped back, there were tears in her eyes, but she was still smiling. “I’m glad you’ve come.”
She was?
The way Luc figured, she’d only agreed to this meeting out of pity, but it wasn’t pity he saw in her welcoming gaze.
“Mom, can I go play Mario?”
“Honey, you haven’t seen Uncle Luc in two years. Don’t you want to talk to him?”
Luc and Joey exchanged a man-to-man gaze. Eight-year-old boys didn’t want to talk when there was a decent shot at playing video games on the table.
“Nah, let him go, Bev. I’ll swing by another time; maybe we can throw a ball or something.”
The boy’s face scrunched, and Luc backtracked. “Or I can kick your butt at Mario.”
“Get real,” the kid said, good humor restored. “I know all the shortcuts.”
Joey started to bound away with a cheeky grin, but drew up short when his mother cleared her throat.
“Nice to see you again, Uncle Luc,” the boy said dutifully.
The boy’s eyes crinkled a little like his dad’s when he smiled, and Luc’s chest tightened again.
“See ya, bud.”
Both he and Beverly watched as Joey headed to video game heaven, and Luc gave a rueful shake of his head. “I shouldn’t have stayed away.”
Bev’s hand touched his arm briefly. “I know why you did. No judgment here. Come on in; I’ve got coffee and I’ve got beer.”
“Coffee’s great,” he said, following Beverly into the small but cheerful kitchen. She’d redecorated since Luc had last been here after Mike’s memorial.
The former blue walls had been repainted a bright yellow, and she seemed to have some sort of citrus theme going on, with lemon and lime decorations all over the place.
He was glad it was different. Though it was still too easy to remember what it had been like before.
Luc sat at a tiny white table as she pulled a mug out of the cupboard, also with lemons on it.
He studied her, looking for signs of a broken woman, but there were none. She was simply the curvy, warm woman he remembered.
A little sadder maybe. How could she not be?
But this was not a woman who’d let herself be destroyed by the loss of a spouse.
She was a survivor.
Just as Mike would have wanted.
“You’re looking good, Bev.”
She laughed as she handed him the coffee, black, the way he liked it. “Good of you to say. Mid-forties aren’t agreeing with me. The hair is easy enough to fix, thank you, Clairol. The lower metabolism…” She patted a rounded hip. “Not so much.”
She smiled, poured herself coffee, and sat across from him, studying his face.
“You’re looking happy, Luc.”
The word surprised him.
Happy? Was he?
If he was, he didn’t deserve to be.
Bev smiled into her coffee. “I know that look.”
Luc groaned. How was it that all females thought he had a look lately. “Do I even want to hear this?”
“Probably not, but what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t tell you that you have the mark of a woman all over you?”
He glanced down at his light gray polo and jeans.
“No, not like that,” Bev said, waving her hand. “It’s on your face. Someone’s got you feeling happy and you don’t know how to react.”
An image of Ava with crooked glasses, messy hair, and a sassy smile flitted through his mind. He pushed the thought away.
Luc wasn’t going to go there. Not now. Maybe not ever.
Instead, he reached across the table for Beverly’s hand. “What about you, Bev? Are you the woman making some guy happy?”
It was a bold question, and he hoped she wouldn’t take it as an affront to Mike’s memory.
But it had been two years. And if anyone deserved to be happy, it was this woman.
To his relief,
a shy smile crept across her face and she glanced down at the table.
“Maybe. It’s early yet, but there’s this single dad at Joey’s school. We’ve done coffee a couple times, and have dinner plans on Friday.”
Luc squeezed her hand. “Can I watch Joey for you?”
She glanced up in surprise, and he regretted her astonishment. He should have been here all along, helping out.
“I should have been around,” he said gruffly. “I’m hoping better late than never…”
She squeezed his hand back. “Luc. You don’t owe us anything. And his grandparents are watching him this weekend. But thank you.”
Luc cleared his throat. “Beverly, we never really talked about what happened that day.”
“The day when Mike died.”
Luc flinched at her candor. “Yes.”
Bev stood and retrieved the coffeepot even though they’d both barely touched their mugs.
“Luc, have you ever talked to your mom about what it’s like to be married to a cop? To have four sons that are cops?”
He frowned. What did his mother have to do with this?
“Not really,” he admitted.
“Growing up, did you ever see the tension on her face when your dad was later than he said he’d be? Or the slight bracing every time he left for work in the morning?”
Luc swallowed. Nodded. Sure, he’d seen it.
Beverly’s expression was both sad and kind. “Being married to a cop isn’t like being married to a Wall Street broker or a bartender or a marketing manager, Luca. The back of your mind…the back of your heart…always knows that every time you kiss him good-bye in the morning might be the last time you ever see him.”
Luc opened his mouth, but she cut him off.
“I know you think there were things you could have done differently, and maybe there were. But Luc, it could have just as easily happened if he’d been called to a domestic dispute case gone wrong, or hostage situation, or just some unstable whacko.”
He opened his mouth again, but Bev wasn’t done. “It could have just as easily been you that was shot, Luc. You ever think about that?”
Her quiet statement rolled over Luc like a semi.
He hadn’t thought about that.
Not once had it ever occurred to him that he and Mike had walked side by side up the walkway to that decrepit house.
