Dinner comes and goes and I haven’t heard from Lucas. I hope he’s okay. Part of me is disappointed that he’s been gone for so long and hasn’t at least called to check on Ella. Then I get mad at myself for being too harsh. He’s free to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants, without reporting to me. He’d done me a favor taking care of Ella, but he doesn’t have to worry about her.
About ten minutes after I give Ella her meds, she’s asleep. She wants all her dolls next to her. At the rate Madame V showers her with toys, she won’t be able to sleep in her own bed.
I come out of the laundry room with a basket full of clothes when out of nowhere Lucas stands in front of me. My heart does a flip-flop and I need to swallow twice before muttering, “Hi.”
“So this is how it goes, huh?” He arches one eyebrow and folds both arms on his chest. Still wearing his leather jacket and shoes he leans against the wall. “You don’t need me, you don’t answer the phone.”
I walk by him into his room and deposit his clothes on the bed. “What are you talking about?”
He comes in behind me. “What’s this?” He points at the clothes.
I shrug. “Your clothes, of course. Unless you prefer Ella’s.”
“You washed my clothes?”
“I didn’t have enough to fill the dark cycle, so I threw yours in, too.”
“Hmm.” Lucas removes his jacket, scarf and shoes. “I came home prepared to yell at you and now I can’t.”
“Why would you yell at me?” My defense is up like deer ears waiting for the hunter.
“You ignored my calls and texts.”
“I did not.” I reach inside my jeans pocket and pull out my cell, shaking it in my hand. “As you can see I have it with me. It didn’t ring once, you haven’t—” The screen doesn’t turn on. I press the power button and nothing happens. My phone is dead.
“I rest my case.” Lucas shows me his phone as he sits on the bed. Pressing on the buttons he sneezes. “I called five, five times and texted six. I was worried about Ella, but did you think to call?” His voice holds an equal amount of reproach as his words.
“I’m sorry,” I sit next to him. “I had no idea the battery is dead.” To make peace I say, “I actually was worried about you, not—”
“You worried about me?” Lucas points a finger at me then at himself.
“Of course. The streets are icy. I was worried, not knowing where you went or why it took you so long to come back. You could’ve left a note.” Thinking it is one thing, saying it out loud is another. Now I sound like a nut. “Not that you owe me an explanation or anything. You do what you want, of course—” I bite my lips. “Ella made you a card.”
I stand and walk into the kitchen. Lucas joins me and I hand him Ella’s card. “She made it all by herself.”
His face brightens. “This is beautiful,” he turns it on both sides, and chuckles. “She did this all by herself, for me?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“What a cutie. This is beyond any photos I’ve ever done.” He beams ear to ear. “She drew me quite handsome, don’t you think?” Holding the card open next to his face, he waits for my approval.
I can’t take my eyes off of him. The white sweater is such a contrast with his tanned skin. He’s sexy and charming when he smiles with his face aglow and his eyes turning a bright green. I could—in theory—spend a lot of time staring at his mouth with its pearly teeth and kiss-me lips.
I roll my eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He sneezes again. “You only say that because you’re envious.” He walks to the fridge and downs a bottle of water. “Did you make me a card, too?”
“No, but I thought, as a thank you for everything, I’ll buy you lunch tomorrow on the way to the hotel.” Oh, good God, I just invited Lucas to go out with me. If he refuses me—that will crush me. My palms turn sweaty, my cheeks burn. I back off. “Of course, if you don’t have any plans, that is. We can do it another time, maybe. Lunch, I mean. Or if you can’t take us to the hotel, I can call a cab, no biggie.” I try to sound cheerful and careless, despite the deafening inner voice yelling, I don’t wanna go!
At first Lucas smiles. Then he chuckles while staring at me.
Unable to resist, I ask, “What’s so funny?”
Lucas doesn’t respond, but motions me to follow him.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Let me show you something.”
“I still have to pack before going to bed. I’d like to get up early and run before hitting the road.”
“Oh, please,” Lucas coughs and waves a dismissive hand. He walks in the living room and stops by one of the coffee tables. “You’ll sleep when you’re dead. And I’ll drag your sorry butt out of bed and take you for a run. Check this out.”
Proud as a new parent, he hands me a magazine. It’s the first issue in English, the one I helped with the edits. I browse through it, smelling the ink and checking some of the articles. No mistakes.
“Fresh from the press. You like it?” His voice quivers.
“You want a fair assessment?”
“I want your first impression. Boom,” he snaps his fingers a few times. “Don’t read; just imagine you’re in the store with tons of magazines up on the shelves. Would this one catch your attention?”
“Mmm.” I stare at the cover for a moment. “Well, a cover usually portrays a skinny beauty or a celebrity. Your magazine on the other hand has—”
“You’re killing me. I said first impression. Don’t analyze it, just first thought that comes to mind.” Lucas’s eyes don’t leave mine, green and bright stars upon me a mere mortal about to lose my head. His lips part in an anticipating smile and I better say something quick, otherwise I might jump in his arms and kiss him. Good God, what’s gotten into me?
“I’m already on my way to the register, holding your magazine.”
“You’re the best.” Grabbing and squeezing my upper arms, Lucas smack-kisses me, rushes to the walk-in pantry and brings a bottle of champagne and two flutes before I have time to catch my breath. “Let’s eat, I’m starving.”
Although the kiss was plain innocent, I swear my lips burn. “I already ate, but there’s a plate with mashed potatoes and chicken schnitzel in the microwave. Your kitchen is very well supplied.”
“I like good food. And I do entertain when I’m here.” Lucas warms up the plate, sits and starts eating with the appetite of a starving wolf. “Mmm, this is really good.”
“Glad you like it.” I grab a bottle of water. “Okay then. I’ll let you eat. I’m gonna finish packing.”
“Why are you in such a hurry?” Lucas talks with his mouth full. “Come join me. I wanna talk to you about something.”
I allow myself five minutes longer, not really wanting to go, well aware it’s a mistake to stay near him any longer. Unknowingly Lucas has taken over my mind and, if I’m not careful, soon my heart as well. I can’t have that happen.
“What’s up?” I sit next to him, taking a sip of water just to occupy my hands.
“I was thinking,” again he talks with his mouth full, “What if for the online version of the magazine, we have a column?”
“That’s a good idea.”
Lucas forks a full piece of the chicken schnitzel and bites into it. I can’t look at him eating like this. I bring him a knife and set it next to his plate.
“One day you’ll meet a woman and you’ll want to sweep her off her feet. Keep eating like this and she’ll think you were raised in the jungle.”
He pounds one fist on his chest and says, “Me Tarzan. You Jane.” With his knuckles he pushes at my shoulder, then repeats the moves and words, “Me Tarzan. You Jane.”
“You’re crazy,” I laugh and shake my head.
Lucas cocks one brow, takes the knife and cuts tiny pieces. His manners are beyond perfect the way he places the fork in his mouth, not touching it, chews the chicken with his mouth closed, setting fork and knife down against the plate’s rim.<
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“Better now?” He taps a napkin on the corners of his mouth.
“Yes, thank you. For a second there I thought the pigs moved in.”
“Such a stickler for all things perfect.”
Instead of replying I resort to rolling my eyes.
“No, no no. No eye rolling. It’s banned, forbidden, outlawed.” With the fork waving in the air he chuckles. “So, what do you think about the column? You wanna do it?”
“Me? Why me?” I hope my eyes don’t pop out of my head.
Before he answers, he fills his fork with mashed potatoes, chews, smacks his lips then says, “I’ve never tasted mashed potatoes so delicious.” Two forkfuls of mashed potatoes later he continues, “To answer your question, that’d give you an instant boost of fame. And, since you don’t have a blog but need one, we’ll set the column so that people can visit your site if they want to see who’s behind it.”
As tempting as it sounds, I’ve concerns, not to mention how confused I am by his offer, especially since his name and power ensure visibility. “Why me?”
He snorts. “Simple. Because you’re a great writer.”
It’s my turn to snort. “How would you know that? You haven’t read one sentence I’ve written.”
“Not true.” Lucas stands and cleans up the table. “I’ve a confession to make. Yesterday you left your laptop open. Ella wanted to Skype with Grams, who I forgot to tell you wishes you a great New Year.”
“You talked to my mom?” I turn in my chair to see him better. Is he teasing me?
“Yes and no.” He rinses the plate and bends to place it in the dishwasher. “Ella knew what to do to start the program. She’s so smart. At first I thought she was talking to her dolls, but then I heard your mom’s voice. I had to say hi, otherwise she would’ve thought you left Ella home alone.”
“This still doesn’t explain how you know how good or bad a writer I am.”
Lucas fills my flute, then his, takes a sip and sits at the kitchen table, opening his laptop. He logs onto a site that populates with the front page of his magazine.
“When we finished Skyping with Grams, I saw the document you left open on the desktop. A few words caught my attention and before long I was hooked. You’ve a real talent with words.” I’m about to argue, but his raised finger stops me, “Take that from someone who reads a boatload of books. Every author using my photo sends me a signed copy. Naturally, I’m curious whom I impersonate.”
“You read romance?”
“Why not?”
If there’s one thing I can’t imagine Lucas Oliver doing, it’s reading romance, a boatload of it as he puts it. I laugh. “Who’s your favorite hero you’ve impersonated so far?”
Lucas tilts his head, scrunching his brows. He sneezes twice before answering. “Mmm, not sure. There’re quite a few alpha heroes I think I portray best. But, I can show you which one I don’t like.” He types and soon book covers fill the laptop’s screen. He points at a cover that has me laughing. “Exactly. Picture me with long blond hair, really? And whoever helped this author Photoshop it did such a poor job with the coloring. Look here, it’s like I’m wearing a wig.” He scrolls further and points at another cover. “Look at this one. I’ve never shaved my head. Telly Savalas looked sexy without hair. Bruce Willis rocks the look. But me? I have a ton of it, it’s a sin to cut it.”
He closes the site. “Now to more serious business. Let’s talk about the column. You choose whatever subject you want to write about. For starters how about new posts twice, maybe three times a week, engage the audience to comment. We’ll come up with a giveaway once a month . . .”
Mesmerized, I listen to all these creative ideas Lucas has. He types them as he speaks. I add more content here and there. Not sure how long we sit in the kitchen talking, but my butt and back feel numb. The champagne bottle is empty, so is my water—gone. We munch on almonds, bananas, and pretzels.
I need to stand or I’ll end up walking like a robot.
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere, just stretching.”
“You wanna continue tomorrow?” Lucas doesn’t lift his eyes off the screen, continuing typing.
“Not sure if we have time tomorrow. I’m leaving, remember?”
Now he stops and looks up at me with creased forehead. “Where are you going?”
“To a hotel, I told you I want to visit Paris. Madame V doesn’t need me anymore.”
“What’s wrong with staying here and driving to Paris every day? Why would you waste money on a hotel when you have everything you and Ella need here?”
One choice would be to tell him I feel more and more attracted to him and risk giving into the attraction, doing something I’ll regret for the rest of my life. Or I can just tell him I need my space. I choose the latter.
“I appreciate the offer, but I better go. I’ll never return to Paris, so I’d like to be a tourist for a few days. You’ve lot of work to do, and I feel awkward eating your food, asking you to drive us around. Not to mention all the babysitting you’ve done for me.”
Lucas stands and I take a step back. Tiny and vulnerable, that’s how I feel in his presence. He smiles and if I didn’t know better I’d say he’s trying to be charming with his smile like a rainbow after rain.
“I tell you what.” Lucas faces me and squeezes my upper arms. “You and Ella stay here. We’ll ask Zoé to babysit while you and I do some work in the mornings. We leave after lunch and I promise to show you Paris like you’ve never dreamed. I know where to park, where to go, and when the waves of tourists thin out. I know all the ins and outs of Paris. What others take forever to visit, you’ll tour in a few days. Deal?”
I shouldn’t look into his eyes, they lure like mermaids calling to sailors, bewitching, enticing. I shouldn’t read more into his offer than it is, because there’s nothing behind it other than him being kind. Somewhere deep down I wish, hope he wants me to stay because he likes me. No—he said he doesn’t. It’s strictly business.
“Come on, Jane. Say yes. Look at all the work we plan to do: the column, the design of it, the set up, not to mention the marketing plan for your books.”
“I haven’t accepted the column.” I bite my lower lip, torn between screaming from the top of my lungs yes, and refusing with a vehement no.
Lucas touches my cheek. It’s a soft, barely there touch that has my heart bouncing up and down like a glass marble. As if he just remembered something he backs off.
“I’ll make you an offer you can’t resist.” He counts on his fingers, “Working from home while taking care of Ella, extra cash and writing whatever you want. Give me three months, that’s all I ask of you. You can stop any time. Deal?”
I break the eye contact Lucas has me spelled under. My eyes wander around the living room, to the clock above the fireplace. Its hands crawl compared to my pulse. It’s 10:30 P.M. My resistance softens. My reasoning deserts me. My caution has gone out the window. There’s only one thing left for me to do.
I stretch a hand out. “Deal.”
Instead of taking my hand, Lucas squeezes me in a hug. “You won’t regret it.”
Chapter 16
“Get out of here.” Lucas flushes the toilette then leans over the sink to rinse his mouth. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“Like what? Vomiting? Rumpled hair? Unshaven?”
He sits on the tub’s edge and hunches, crossing his arms over his middle. In a stuffy voice he says, “Man, I haven’t—”
“Been sick in ages?” I finish his sentence. I stand in the bathroom doorway. “I’ve heard that before. Come, I made you chicken soup.”
He grimaces. “Oh, just hearing about food makes me vomit.” He blows his nose, which is red around his nostrils, contrasting with his pallor. He waves me away, “Go. I don’t want you to get sick, too.”
“Hate to disappoint you but I’ve no plans whatsoever to kiss you. I just want to feed you. Come.”
I move to stand by the
nightstand where I already placed a tray with a bowl of soup and toasted bread. He drags his feet and sits on the bed. He coughs. “Take the soup away, please. It makes me nauseous. I can’t eat. Maybe later.”
I take the tray and walk to the kitchen. On my way back to Lucas’s room I stop in the living room and cover Ella as she watches Ratatouille.
“Take your shirt off.”
Lucas smirks. “Your timing is a bit off, my dear. I’m afraid I might not live up to your expectations. Give me a few days to get better. Then I can take off more than just my shirt.”
I guess he isn’t that sick if he can still flirt. I pull a jar of Vicks Vapo Rub out of my pocket and unscrew its lid. “Nice try. Not flying.”
He pulls the t-shirt up and over his head, messing his hair even more than it already was. It takes every bit of control not to push my hand through it. Instead I scoop a considerable amount of menthol ointment and rub it up his neck, and on his chest. His skin is hot and smooth to the touch.
Lucas closes his eyes and moans. “Mmmm. This feels good.”
“Turn around.” Without complaint he stands and I rub more ointment on his back. By the time I’m done half the jar is gone. “You need to wear a long-sleeved shirt and try to sweat under the blankies.”
While I go wash my hands I hear him say, “Yes, Mother.” When I return he stands by the dresser, donning a gray, long-sleeved shirt. “Man, I’m cold.” Shivering he crawls in bed and pulls the covers over. “How’s Ella doing? Is she better?”
“She’s still lethargic, but hasn’t vomited since yesterday, and the fever’s gone. She’s watching cartoons.” I hand him a glass. “I mixed a bit of honey and lemon in your water.”
He smells it. “Do I have to drink it? I really don’t feel like swallowing anything.”
Me Tarzan, You Jane Page 13
