Well, it didn’t matter, right? They’d both moved on. She was so confident in that that she decided why not. He was holding a steaming plate of eggs under her nose and a coveted cup of coffee. So she took both and headed outside.
They walked onto a stone patio, where there was a large round table covered with a big red umbrella. It skirted a large swimming pool where her nieces and nephews loved to swim on the weekends. Dr. Donaldson, the CEO of Mirror Lake Hospital, and his wife had been grateful that she was taking care of their house all summer. Sam didn’t mind keeping an eye on things and the place did have its perks. Living here temporarily was a nice bridge between her apartment lease running out and moving to Boston to be with Harris.
Lukas had just sat down when he said, “Be right back,” and ran into the house, returning a few seconds later with napkins.
“You went back for that?”
“And to make sure the other door is locked. I don’t want Stevie wandering out around the pool. I doubt he knows how to swim.”
“You can sign him up for lessons at the community pool. It’s where my nieces and nephews go. I don’t think lessons start till June.”
“Great idea.” They reached for their coffees at the same time. Sam stared out over the lake, watching early summer boaters cutting trails of white in the calm blue water. Felt the bright morning sun warm her skin. She loved summer here. Such a relief after the harsh winter, such a blessing.
They ate for a few minutes in silence, listening to the birdsong and the distant drone of boat engines putt-putting around the lake. She tried to focus on the lake and not his naked torso, which was very, very distracting.
Sam wasn’t very brave, but she realized that life only gave you a few rare opportunities to understand the past. Maybe because of all the confusion Lukas had stirred up in her, she truly wanted to understand. So she could sweep all those old tangled memories out of her brain. Lay them—and him—to rest.
She needed resolution. She owed that much to Harris. She wanted to bring a clean slate to their future. Not a nagging splinter in her finger that resurfaced every so often and drove her crazy.
“Why did you never call me, Lukas?”
He literally choked on his eggs, and she found herself patting his back—oh, God, she touched that warm, muscley skin, and why the hell could he not have put on a shirt?—until finally he took a swig of coffee and stopped.
She didn’t miss the flash of panic in his eyes. It gave her a little edge and made her sit up a little straighter. “I want to know. Six years ago you handed me a car and some keys and a cryptic message and left forever.”
He had the decency to blush. Which was hard to detect with his olive skin, but she saw it, and it pleased her. “I was in love with you,” she said. “I kept hoping you’d come back. I even went to one of your concerts, about a year later, all the way to New York City, hoping to run into you.”
His eyes looked a little watery, but of course it was from the choking. He reached across the table and grasped her hand. She gasped from the shock of it—the strength of his grip, the warmth of his fingers, the coolness of all those silver rings. A sizzling sensation of electricity passed between them. Instinctively, she tried to pull away, but he held on tightly.
“I never meant to hurt you, Samantha.” He seemed like he meant it, meant every word. If only she could believe him.
“But you did. I . . . I’m just trying to understand.”
“I was a nothing and a nobody.” A bitter edge cut through his voice. “I had nothing to offer you.”
The idea that he ever would have thought of himself as nothing saddened her. Her eyes really did tear up, which was ridiculous, and she swiped at them with her free hand. “I never thought that. You—you saved me from making terrible mistakes. If you wouldn’t have come along when you did I don’t know what I—”
“You would’ve been fine without me,” he said gently, and his voice, that beautiful, amazing voice, low and deep and perfect—it just slayed her. Part of her felt like she was twenty again, sitting here, thrilled by his touch.
It was as if nothing had changed.
But everything had.
“I had fifty bucks in my pocket when I walked out of town that day. No family, no friends, and no job.”
“I always knew you were special.” She didn’t mean to whisper but the words came out that way. “That you’d become something special.”
“I’m not special. I just work hard.” He touched her face. With just his forefinger, wiping along the path of a tear, staring at her with those Johnny Depp eyes of his. The smooth, icy metal of his rings glanced her cheek. She swallowed hard.
“Hello, dearies! I’m here!” a voice called out from afar.
Mrs. Panagakos was huffing up the gravel drive, dragging her giant purse and another large quilted satchel that looked like she was planning to stay for a week or maybe a month. And carrying a plate of covered food. True Confessions would be over in a minute, thank the Baby Jesus for that.
Lukas glanced at his watch. “Right on time.” He still hadn’t released her hand. “Thanks for helping me, Sam. You didn’t need to do any of this. Especially in light of our . . . history.”
Sam swallowed. The light pressure of his long fingers on the top of her hand was causing warm tingles to spread up her arm and to other places she’d rather not think about. That should have made her pull away like he was fire, but she didn’t. Couldn’t.
“Well.” She blew out a sigh. “That was a long time ago. In the past, I mean.” Duh. Could she babble any worse? What did she expect him to say, anyway? Something wild and dramatic like he’d never stopped loving her? Pu-lease.
A little smile slid across his beautiful face, forcing her to remember things best left forgotten. But he didn’t say anything. Maddening, this man was. How was she supposed to get any resolution here if he wouldn’t talk?
“I mean, defining our history as anything besides crisscrossed signals and bad timing would be completely wrong, right?” She hated herself for asking. For wanting to know. But she had to. For her own sake.
Frown lines appeared between his dark brows. The kind that made a woman itch to smooth them out. Lukas cleared his throat. More frowning. “Sam, I—”
“Good morning, good morning, and a beautiful one it is, yes? So, this is how the rich live.” Alethea was dressed in a bright red shift dress and a brimmed straw hat with a red ribbon. She looked toward the lake and squinted in the sun. “A beautiful spring day. Standing up here reminds me of standing on the hills of Santorini, looking out over the sparkling Aegean waiting for my Hercules to come home from the sea.” She waved an arm over the landscape in front of them—hardly the iconic hills and white dotted houses of her dreams—just a sunny day with a pure blue sky, the lake sparking like diamonds and peppered with multicolored boats that from here looked like a child’s Legos. “But he didn’t return to me. My waiting was in vain.”
“Oh, Alethea,” Sam said. “Did he die at sea?”
“Of course not. He left me for another girl with bigger boobs and blonde hair. But it changed my life—made me come here, to America. May I sit down? I take it young Stavros is still asleep? And are there any more eggs, dear?” She uncovered the plate she brought, exposing beautiful rows of perfectly formed spinach and cheese pies. “I brought tiropites and spanakopites. Have one.”
Lukas jumped up to pull out a chair for Alethea, snagged a tiropita for himself, and jogged into the house to fetch her a plate.
Alethea patted Sam’s hand, the same one Lukas had just touched, while she reached for a cheese pie. “How are you, my dear? You’ve done a kind thing for our Greek boys, but what will your Harris say?”
Sam took a swig of coffee. “I’m sure he’ll be okay with it. It’s only for a few days.” Harris would hate it, hands down. He would kill Lukas. Maybe her, too.
Alethea cocked her head toward the guesthouse. “That man looks at you like Psyche looked at Cupid.”
“
Alethea, I swear, you should be teaching drama, not sitting on the committee to save the theater.”
“I just don’t want you to miss out on something.”
Sam raised her brows. “Something, Alethea?” She’d said it like it was dinner. Or those fabulous little pies she’d brought. “I’ve found the guy I love. He’s everything to me. Lukas is all . . . smoke and mirrors.”
“Smoking hot, you mean. Maybe he’s changed, glikia mou. Grown up. He certainly cares for Stavros. Perhaps you should give him a chance.”
Sam sighed. Alethea was a romantic, and that had gotten her in big trouble. Her Hercules was a real stinker, from what Effie had told Sam. “Lukas has had a chance, Alethea. Two of them, actually. You do realize the last time I heard from him was six years ago. It’s too late for more chances.”
“It’s not over till it’s over,” Alethea said, her painted black brows arching over her glasses.
Just then, Lukas came out of the house holding two plates and the door for Stevie, who was rubbing his eyes as he followed his uncle. Stevie’s hair was a tousled replica of Lukas’s. The little boy caught sight of Sam and a huge grin stole over his face.
“Hi Samantha,” he said, coming right up to her and accepting her hug. He was warm and cute as pie. He cast a wary glance at Mrs. Panagakos, who was pouring milk in her coffee.
“Don’t forget to say hi to Mrs. P.,” Lukas said.
Stevie complied, but not with enthusiasm. All in all, Sam was amazed at how well behaved he was, considering all he must have been through—an ill and dying mother, and a father incapable of properly caring for him.
“Stavros. Kalimera,” Mrs. Panagakos said. “Good morning. I brought you something.” She rummaged in her giant bag, pulled out a worn child’s book with curled edges, and placed it on the table in front of Stevie. “Greek myths. Do you know what those are?”
He shook his head.
“Ah, then, we’ll read all about them. They are stories from our Greek culture about brave heroes and heroines who slayed monsters and did impossible feats of bravery for the sake of love.”
“Are they fairy tales?” Stevie asked.
“Yes, paidi mou, they are.”
Stevie batted those irresistibly long lashes at Sam. “Will you read them with us?”
“I’ll have to take a rain check. My boyfriend Harris is coming over soon to give me a boating lesson.” She smiled at the little boy. “I’ll have to see about getting a life jacket so we can take you for a ride next time if that sounds like fun.”
Stevie looked more than eager but Lukas couldn’t help frowning. “He’s going to teach you how to drive a boat?”
“Yeah. His boat. He’ll be docking it right over there.” She pointed off in the distance to a wooden dock that ran from the edge of the grassy front lawn of the big house into the water.
“Fun way to spend a Sunday,” Lukas said. His eyes held hers again, and they seemed to ask a thousand questions.
Good. Let him have the questions for once. God knows, he certainly hadn’t provided much of an answer to hers.
Sam told herself it didn’t really matter. Her life was on a set course, and she knew better than to believe in fairy tales. No matter how handsome the Greek god sitting across from her was.
CHAPTER 7
Lukas had known from that very first evening, when he’d stood up for Samantha against those ridiculous bullies, that he was going to have a hell of a time keeping his hands off of her.
He was twenty-one. Old enough to know better than to start something with an innocent eighteen-year-old girl still in high school. Yet the spark between them was undeniable. He balanced on a very thin wire, thinking a couple of dates would be enough, that they were such opposites it could never work, that he would soon become bored and break it off as he should.
But every date left him breathless and wanting more. She was beautiful and fascinating, angry and hurt and fragile in some ways but in others, tough as nails yet really kind. To animals and old people and kids. And him. She didn’t judge him, and she tended to see a version of him that was better than he was, which both pleased and frightened him. He was hopelessly hooked for the first time in his life and he didn’t have a clue what to do about it.
“Are you gay?” Samantha asked, leaning over closer to him across the table at PITS where they were eating burgers and shakes one night.
“What? No! Lower your voice. Geez.” He looked around the diner. It was ten o’clock on a January Friday, very cold, and it was pretty dead. But still.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of if you are.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “Maybe it’s low testosterone. Or maybe I’m just not attractive enough.” She pushed out her bottom lip, all pouty-like, which made her even more irresistible.
She was killing him. Completely killing him.
“You haven’t asked me back up to your place since we started hanging out,” she persisted.
Of course he hadn’t. Because the second she walked through his door, he would simultaneously peel both their clothes off and have their underwear circling their ankles, no questions asked. She deserved better.
He’d never felt this way about a girl before. He’d fallen hard. He wanted to take her out, but what was there to do in the dead of winter? He was three years older than she was, and that was another problem. She hung with high school kids; he hung with some of the other mechanics, or his buddies from his band. Their worlds couldn’t be farther apart.
She told him she didn’t care, that she loved just being with him. Sometimes they’d go to the library and look up weird books. Other times she took him with her when she worked as an usher at live events at the theater. He ushered, too, and got to see the shows for free. He took her to meet Mrs. Ellis, who’d loved her at first sight and often invited her for dinner. But Sam never suggested bringing him to her house. It went without saying that her oldest brother would never approve of her dating someone like him.
They’d seen several film festivals at the Palace, one featuring horror movies and another on classics from the 1930s. They always had coffee afterward or a burger. He always met her somewhere but never picked her up at her house. Never even brought up the idea, knowing she had four older brothers, all of whom were capable of—and likely to—beat him to a pulp.
He’d never really had a girlfriend before. Oh, there were girls, but going out with one had usually entailed as much sex as he could get and as little talking as he could get away with.
He’d never told any girl about his childhood but for some reason, Sam made him want to spill his guts about his abusive, alcoholic parents, how he’d done his best to take care of his three younger brothers but failed because they all got taken away and split up into different homes. She had this way of looking at him like she just . . . got him, like she was interested and what he was feeling wasn’t so weird or different. You were just a boy, she’d told him. It wasn’t your fault. No one had ever told him that before and it brought him a kind of mercy he didn’t even know he needed.
The thing was, he loved talking to her and he thought constantly about having sex with her, something that had never happened before.
One night it was blizzarding so he dropped her off in front of her house, something he’d usually avoided. Their good-night kiss lingered and turned into a deep-throat make-out session that steamed the windows and had him struggling to touch her through seven layers of scarves, coats, and sweaters, and trying not to show how much pain he was in from the pressure in his jeans. The porch light flickered, signaling somebody had caught on to what they were doing, making them break apart, panting. Sam’s hair was tousled and her lips were swollen, her lip gloss smeared. She was the most gorgeous girl he’d ever seen and he couldn’t help smiling from ear to ear.
He walked her to the door. He wasn’t going to let her face whoever was in there by herself while he cowered in the shadows and besides, it was about time her family knew they were serious. To his chagrin, the door opened.
Her oldest brother stood there, arms crossed across his big chest. Eyeballing him.
Lukas knew exactly what this guy saw. A kid with a nose piercing, earrings, tattoos. Trouble. Still, he persevered. “Um, hi, Mr. Rushford.” Lukas cringed. Did he really just call a guy who wasn’t even out of his twenties Mister? But he didn’t dare call him Brad. “I’m . . . Lukas.” He extended his hand. No gloves, even though it was practically below zero.
Brad barely nodded. He focused his attention on his sister. “You’re late. Curfew’s midnight.” Then he opened the screen for Sam and disappeared into the house. Sam looked back at Lukas, making a mimicking face that made him smile a little. Then she blew him a kiss and closed the door.
The brother hadn’t even given him a chance. Sam had acted like she didn’t care, but he knew better.
For Valentine’s Day he bought her a fine canary-yellow silk scarf and gave it to her in the car after they’d gone ice-skating at the ice rink a couple towns over.
“You should wear color,” he said.
She fingered the soft material between her thumbs. “You don’t wear color. You wear mostly black. I like black, too.” Her voice was teasing, and there was a glint of mischief in her eyes.
He tucked a silky lock of her hair behind her ear. The curls immediately sprang forward, doing as they willed. Like her.
“You weren’t meant to wear black. You weren’t meant to be an angry rebel.” She was still dressing all in black, still rimming her eyes with heavy liner. But at least she’d let her hair go back to its natural red color.
She rolled her eyes. “Who am I supposed to be then?”
“Just yourself. Which is pretty terrific.” He moved closer to her, to her warmth. She smelled like grapefruity shampoo and he inhaled the scent greedily. He felt on the edge of control. Things between them were barreling forward on an inevitable course, he could feel it. Decisions would have to be made that would change everything.
“Can I ask you something?” It had been on his mind for a long time. He worried that she wanted to have sex with him to get back at her brother, who’d kept an even tighter rein on her after the trouble at school.
This Loving Feeling (A Mirror Lake Novel) Page 9
