The second mom, who also looked as though she were dressed for an adult party instead of a child’s—judging by her low-cut silk jumpsuit, high heels, and enough makeup to whip up a batch of pancakes—said, “Heard you sang at Channing Tatum’s kid’s birthday party. Are you singing today?”
“Just a guest,” he said.
“Would you autograph my boobs?” asked the first mom.
Jeez. What the . . . The R-rated cleavage wasn’t very sexy. Just . . . fleshy. Very, very fleshy. He made sure to look anywhere else because God forbid they’d think he was interested. “I’d love to stay and chat but um, if you’ll excuse me, ladies, I’ve got to go. Take care, now.” He walked toward the Rushford brothers, praying they wouldn’t throw him under the bus. Even if they did, anything was better than Boob Sister Stalker Moms.
The three men were leaning against a play set, watching various children run around them. Brad was pushing a little girl, no doubt one of his three daughters, on a swing. Ben immediately reached out a hand in greeting and smiled, averting his eyes from the whale shorts. “Nice to see you here, Lukas.”
Oh, thank God. Maybe bygones were going to be bygones.
He caught Brad’s scowl from the corner of his eye. Brad offered a barely civil nod.
Tom, the cop, offered him a beer. He took it and nodded back at Brad, who looked away. Well, two out of three wasn’t bad.
“I see you’ve got fans after you,” Tom said. “Must be hard to live a normal life when you aren’t on tour.”
“Those aren’t fans. They’re rabid Mommy Groupies.” He mumbled a thanks for the beer. The first sip went down ice cold and smooth. The best thing that had happened to him today. Except for seeing Sam.
“So you don’t have your usual security with you?” Tom asked.
He shook his head. “I gave them today off. Plus I feel pretty safe in Mirror Lake, actually.”
“That might be a cavalier attitude considering you’ve got Stevie,” Brad said. “And especially since you’re staying with Sam.”
“I’m staying on Sam’s property, yes,” he said, making sure to emphasize property. To make it clear it wouldn’t be substituted for bedroom. “But I do have my security guys on site, in my tour bus. I’d never allow anything to happen to Sam or Stevie.”
Brad stared him down. Whatever. Lukas stared right back. He wasn’t a poor kid anymore with a bad job and no prospects, and he would never again allow anyone to make him feel like he was. Brad seemed to have taken up right where they’d left off six years ago. He was the dog chomping on the rope toy for dear life and not about to let go.
Well, too bad. Sam was a big girl, capable of making her own choices. And maybe it was time her family saw it. Were they all really so in love with that Harris guy? How could such an obvious phony have pulled the wool so completely over everyone’s eyes?
“Hey you all,” Alex called from the back deck. “Less beer drinking and more kid watching, okay?” Two of the kids were getting into it with each other and little Sophie had fallen in the grass and was crying. Chagrined, the men did as told. Lukas wandered over to the swing set, in earshot of where Stevie was sitting on a railroad tie talking to a boy around his age. They were both eating red Popsicles. Lukas stayed back far enough that he could listen but not be seen.
“Where’s your mommy and daddy?” the boy asked. Lukas thought he might be one of Alex’s six-year-old twins. Popsicle juice dripped down Stevie’s chin and all over the front of his good shirt. And onto his balled-up blanket, which was between his feet. The GQ for Cuties look had lasted all of five minutes.
Stevie kept sucking on the Popsicle.
“Don’t you have any?” the boy persisted. Definitely one of Alex’s.
A cute little red-haired girl, older than Stevie by a year or two, in a green dotted dress and pigtails walked up to the two kids. “Back off, Daniel,” she said to the boy. “It’s okay,” she said, taking Stevie’s hand. “I’m ’dopted too.”
“What’s ’dopted?” Stevie asked.
“My mommy says it’s something that when kids don’t have their regular parents, some other people want them so bad they get them adopted.”
“Where are your parents?” Stevie asked.
“They had to go to heaven early. How about yours?”
Stevie shrugged. “My mom died and my dad couldn’t take care of me so he left me with my Uncle Lukas for a little while.”
“Is he going to adopt you?”
Lukas stepped forward ready to say, yeah, of course he was. As fast as yesterday, if he had his way.
“He can’t ’cause my dad’s coming back for me,” Stevie said.
Oh, shit. Lukas’s blood ran North Pole cold. He’d had no idea Stevie was waiting. Of course he was! It explained the backpack, all ready to go. The toothbrush that always got tucked back in. The clothes that never made it into drawers.
Lukas himself had said nothing to Stevie about their arrangement—Stevie hadn’t asked and he’d assumed . . .
Well, he’d assumed nothing. Because he hadn’t had the slightest idea how to even bring up the discussion. Hey, kid, your dad’s too effed up to take care of you, so you’re stuck with me now, like, forever. That okay?
Lukas didn’t know how to talk to a five year old about life-shattering events. But he did know one thing. He wanted to give him everything. A home, cool toys, friends. The world. Because he loved him. He didn’t want anything to hurt him, especially the news that his dad was in all likelihood never coming back.
Lukas felt a sudden hand on his arm. “The clown is drunk,” Sam said, a knife blade of urgency cutting her voice.
Lukas laughed. “Oh, this is going to be good.”
“Bring on the show,” Tom said, rubbing his hands together.
“Now things are getting interesting,” Brad said.
Sam’s voice rose an octave. “You guys don’t understand. He showed up drunk and right now Alex and Olivia are trying to sober him up with coffee.”
“That’s urban legend,” Ben said. “Coffee can’t really sober you up. The alcohol has to be metabolized out of the system.”
“Thanks, like I didn’t know that.” Sam rolled her eyes. “The point is we need a replacement. Now which one of you is going to step up?”
“I’m too tall for the clown suit,” Ben said, holding his hands up in defense. “Besides, I’m on call today.”
“Great excuse,” Brad said, holding his hand up for a high-five.
Tom’s way of getting out of it was to start walking away. “I’ve got to go make sure he’s not harassing the women. And other things like cite the guy for showing up drunk and make sure he doesn’t drive himself home. Excuse me.”
Sam crossed her arms. “Okay. I really need someone to juggle, do magic, paint faces, and make balloon animals.”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Brad said, holding up his hands in defense. “Not in my skill set.”
“I’ll do it.” The words were out of Lukas’s mouth before he could stop them. Which he totally should have if he had any sense at all. “If Sam agrees to be my assistant,” he added. He might as well get something good out of it for all the humiliation.
Sam gasped.
“You can juggle?” Tom asked. The bros eyeballed Lukas incredulously.
He shrugged, keeping it cool. “I can do those things.” Because that’s the kind of stuff you learn when you were basically forced to do any job you can grab from age thirteen on to avoid starvation. You got skilled in weird shit.
Sam smiled and, for a second, he was super glad he’d spoken up to save the day. Until she grabbed his arm and started dragging him across the yard to the kitchen. There, next to the giant island covered with food, the three sisters-in-law were gathered around a bald guy with a white face and smeary red lips. He was sitting slumped on a wooden chair snoring. Olivia held an oversized horn, Meg a giant red shoe, and Alex a purple wig. On seeing him, Alex seized his arm and grinned broadly. “Right this way, Lukas. Right this way.”
&
nbsp; CHAPTER 11
Who knew offering yourself up as a human sacrifice had its advantages? Even though the baggy costume was hot as hell and smelled a little—okay, a lot—and the clown shoes were gross and sweaty. But sitting on the toilet seat in Brad and Olivia’s bathroom while Sam put white makeup on Lukas’s face was . . . interesting.
Her touch was deliberate and professional as she dabbed and swiped with a makeup sponge, treating his face like a canvas. He closed his eyes and concentrated on each stroke, the feel of her touching him that wasn’t meant to be sensual but was. Smelling her light, citrus-and-grapefruit scent reminded him of long, lazy summer days. Not that he’d ever had any of those, but it made him wonder what it would be like to spend one with her. To imagine a completely different scenario where he would simply reach out and tug her until she fell into his lap, circle his arms around her, and kiss her on those beautiful full lips of hers. Stamp her as his.
A few years ago, he would have accepted that he didn’t have a chance with her. He was from another world. His entire experience of life did not include what it was like to be part of a loving family, a safe place where people had your back. In his world, if you turned your back for just a second you got stabbed. Taken advantage of. Trust was a luxury that couldn’t be afforded.
Yet now that he’d experienced the freakish and serendipitous world of success, he’d learned more about himself. He’d always been tenacious and scrappy, but now he had proof that he wasn’t a quitter. Not quitting had gotten him places.
He might be the wrong guy for her. A bad gamble. He was as far off from the stability she craved as Maine from Hawaii. Unknowing of how to love or be loved and clueless about raising a child.
But he knew one thing. Harris was worse. Harris, with all his education and all his wealth, didn’t treat her with the respect she deserved.
Lukas wasn’t going to back down. That included showing all her big, dumb brothers what he was made of, clown or no clown.
He opened his eyes to find her staring at him. She flushed as red as the face paint she was about to apply around his mouth.
“What are you looking at?” he asked, unabashedly admiring her. Up close, her green eyes held golden flecks in a fascinating pattern he’d never noticed before. Her cheeks were more rounded, not the carved ones of models on the brink of starvation, or some rockers he knew who subsisted more on pot and booze than food, giving her a fresh look so different from everyone in his world. And she had a smattering of tiny freckles over the bridge of her nose. Sun kissed.
It pleased him that her hands were shaking a little. “Tell me, Princess, how did you know you wanted to be an artist?”
“Quit calling me that. It’s demeaning.”
He’d started calling her that long ago as a warning to himself. Princesses don’t belong with bad boys. “Okay, fair enough, Samantha. I never thought business was the proper career for you. I’m glad you ended up doing art.”
She laughed as she continued to dab his face. “I’m just an art teacher. But I love using my hands.”
“I like to use my hands, too.” He let that sink in. Judging by the way her eyes widened, it hit the mark. “And you are an artist—who teaches.”
“If you’re asking if I regret not going to art school, the answer is no. I love my job.”
“I’m glad you found what makes you happy.”
“What about you—are you happy?” she asked.
“I love writing songs, performing. I mean, who’d’ve thought all this craziness would happen to me, a foster kid with nothing?”
“I hear a ‘but’ in there.”
“Oh, just that things are kind of consuming. I’m going to have to make some changes now that I have Stevie.”
“Changes?” she asked, her elegant brows arching.
“I’m going to hire a tutor for Stevie. And a chef. And someone to clean the bus on a regular basis.”
“Oh, okay,” she said, still skeptical. “What about a relationship? Do you have time for those?”
“Too focused on my career.” Actually, it was hard to have a relationship when you only wanted one person. “Besides, I don’t do relationships. Too complicated. You, however, deserve someone who thinks you’re special. Who treats you right.”
“More advice from the relationship expert.” She rolled her eyes, but her blush deepened. “Do you want a sad face or a happy face?”
“Let’s go with happy.”
She traced a big line around his mouth with red face crayon.
Sunlight filtered into the window from a large oak tree, the dappled rays bringing out the golden-red highlights and the May-grass green of her pretty eyes.
“Do you have to keep staring at me?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, you’re making me uncomfortable,” she said.
“Good.”
She stood back to look at her handiwork. She flicked a wary glance at him. Then she handed him a mirror. “Here, take a look.”
“Very . . . clownish.” He looked up at her. “Thank you.” He stood up and looked in the bigger mirror over the pedestal sink. Before he put on his red nose, he turned. “There’s something between us, Sam. I feel it and you feel it. Maybe we should both get it out of our systems.”
“You’re not in my system. I’m in love with Harris.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What you have with him is not love.” He hadn’t seen it before when he was younger, but he saw it now. And he couldn’t be silent.
“Spoken by the guy who’s just admitted he’s never had a relationship. When did you become an expert on love?”
“I know enough. You don’t light up when you talk about him—instead, you apologize for him. You tiptoe around him like he’s a sleeping giant you don’t want to awaken. You seem embarrassed by the way he treats you. And my own personal opinion—any man who doesn’t make love to his girlfriend before he leaves town for any length of time is a fool. The thing I don’t understand is why you take it all, why you stay with him.”
“How dare you.” Anger flashed from those spectacular eyes. He fisted his hands so he wouldn’t grab her and pull her close and kiss some sense into her. Good thing his face was covered in greasepaint.
“I may not be the one for you, but Harris sure as hell isn’t either.” A graceful and quick exit was supposed to punctuate that statement. But Lukas’s giant clown shoes knocked against the bathroom cabinet and the door and prevented that, and he stumbled a little in the small space. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do.” He had to lift his big cloppy feet up and over the threshold. He might have detected a trace of amusement in her eyes. On top of being really pissed.
He turned back once he reached the doorway of the spare bedroom. “And if you’re inclined to help with the face painting, I’d appreciate it.”
“Fine, Ronald McDonald, I’ll help you on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“Stop critiquing me and mind your own business.”
“Never,” he said, waggling his clown brows. Then he tooted his clown horn and left.
“If you call me your lovely assistant again, I’m going to bean you over the head with one of these,” Sam whispered to Lukas as she handed him three plastic bowling pin–shaped things that she thought were for juggling, even as she maintained a sweet smile for all the kids sitting in a semicircle in front of them.
Irritation made her snarky. How could Lukas waltz back into her life after six years and judge her relationship with Harris?
Yet the accuracy with which he pinpointed her feelings toward Harris was alarming. It was embarrassing that Harris condescended to her in front of her friends and sometimes even her family. She was filled with doubt and a foreboding sense of unease. She avoided confronting Harris directly about anything because he turned moody and sullen for days afterward. And he was so wrapped up in his own problems that he left her—their relationship—hang
ing for months.
She kept hoping his irritable temperament was temporary, but in her heart she knew his true nature. She was beginning to worry that maybe she was more in love with what he represented—stability, security, normalcy—than Harris himself.
She broke out of her worried thoughts to find Lukas grinning at her, which was a tad creepy, what with his clown smile and all. “You are my lovely assistant, dammit.” He took the juggling pins from her, his hands brushing hers. Purposefully. “Maybe I should introduce you as my hot lovely assistant.” He winked, which did something to her insides. Dissolved them completely, despite her anger.
How could she get turned on by a guy in full clown makeup? Was that unnatural? She’d never flirted with a clown before. Come to think of it, she never wanted to again. Because it was kind of creepy.
“Okay, kids. Gather round,” Lukas said, honking his clown horn. For right now, they were a rapt audience. And they would be, for as long as their attention spans held. Which, in her experience, was about ten seconds.
“Okay, hot assistant, get ready,” he said in a low voice.
She shot him the stink eye.
“For this next part, my brainy assistant will lie down on this bench,” he said out loud to the kids. He dragged a wooden picnic bench over from Meg and Ben’s lawn table.
She cocked a brow. “Are you going to saw me in half?”
“Sweetheart,” he said, his face very near, his voice rumbly and soft, “there’s a lot of things I could think of doing with you all stretched out in front of me, but sawing you in half isn’t one of them.” He reached out a hand to help her into position. She lay down on the bench, her feet hanging over the edge, making sure her dress was tucked in.
“How are you feeling today, Samantha?” He bent over and stuck his big clown nose close to her face. She squeezed it. The kids laughed.
“I feel great,” she said warily. “And I’d like to stay that way.”
“Open your mouth.”
“You aren’t going to try something, are you?”
“Oh, please,” he said in a low voice. “If I try something, it isn’t going to be in front of a yard of screaming five year olds.”
This Loving Feeling (A Mirror Lake Novel) Page 15
