With his mouth on mine, I discover I was right when I said I was a lost cause. Because when he’s kissing me, that’s exactly what I am.
Lost.
At first, all I can do is hang on for dear life. I can barely breathe, let alone kiss him back. That doesn’t last long, though, because when you’ve been waiting as long as I have to kiss Luca Buchanan and it finally happens, you sure as hell don’t allow the opportunity to pass by without taking full advantage.
Mind blanking, heart racing, I twine my arms around his neck, part my lips beneath his, and lean into the kiss with everything I have. When he feels my enthusiasm, a deep growl rattles in his throat and his grip on my nape tightens, pulling me closer until our bodies are fused together. His other arm winds around my back in a bind so tight I can barely breathe, but I don’t mind at all. I’ve got no mental capacity left to care about much of anything, except the way his mouth feels moving over mine with such unyielding passion.
Who needs oxygen, when you’re kissing a man like this?
I’m still wearing his sweatshirt, fully covered from neck to mid-thigh, but I can’t help thinking about how easy it would be to lift it over my head and throw it across the room, so there’s nothing but skin and a few scraps of lace between us. I haven’t forgotten that look in his eyes earlier — half-lidded and hot, promising enough passion to wreck me completely. With a single glance he let me know, without any shade of doubt, that one night with him would ruin me for any other man… because afterward, no one else would ever measure up.
The reckless, senseless, masochistic streak inside of me wants to rise to that challenge; is practically dying to test that theory firsthand.
Go ahead, Luca. Take your best shot.
I’ll wreck you right back.
His hand fists in my hair and I moan into his mouth, unable to stop the sound. I don’t care that he knows how much his touch is affecting me. It feels too good to think about things like embarrassment or what this will mean, when we finally break apart.
If I never stop kissing him, I’ll never have to face the repercussions of this lapse in control.
Problem solved.
Luca’s mouth drops to my neck, stubble scraping along the hyper-sensitive skin at the hollow of my throat, and I feel my toes curl against the hardwood. Of all the kisses I’ve ever had, with all those handsome men in all those gorgeous locales… none of them measure up to this one, here in the pale afternoon light of my empty, boxed up bedroom.
With his mouth and his hands, Luca Buchanan is doing something to me. Something beautiful. Something that doesn’t require a romantic Hollywood backdrop or a scenic, perfect setting with flowers and candlelight.
I think that’s what scares me most of all.
It’s worrisome to think what might’ve happened between us, if not for the Macombers’ arrival on my doorstep. Things may’ve made that irreversible leap from PG-13 to NC-17.
Which would be very, very….
Orgasmic? Earth-shattering? Un-fucking-believably great?
No, that’s not the word I’m looking for…
Irredeemable.
Yes, that’s the one.
Going there with Luca would be totally, completely irredeemable. Because once you’ve seen someone naked, once you’ve stripped down to your skin with them and allowed them to unravel you into a thready ball of desire… there’s no going back. Not ever.
Thankfully, the Macombers do arrive, saving me from such a fate. The sound of multiple miniature fists slamming against my front door assaults my ears. We both freeze when we hear the pounding, standing so close our mouths brush with each shared breath. Our bodies are tangled together like vines of ivy.
“LILAAAAAA!”
Their voices are as persistent as their fists.
“Shit!” I curse, realizing I’ve totally lost track of time. I jolt into motion, pulling out of Luca’s arms and racing toward one of my clothing boxes. I’m muttering to myself as I grab a hodgepodge of items without pausing to make sure they match. “It can’t be four already, can it?”
Luca’s voice carries to me. “Four oh five.”
I glance back and see he hasn’t moved from his spot. He’s watching me tear through my boxes like a psychopath, brows raised in curiosity. I can see the remnants of desire still burning in his eyes and I know, even from here, that he’s still caught up in the memory of our heated moment.
“Guessing you forgot about some kind of commitment tonight,” he murmurs.
“Harry and Potter.”
His brows lift. “Book or movie?”
“No, no. Harry and Potter. My next door neighbors. I’m supposed to babysit them starting… six minutes ago. I totally forgot.”
“Ah.” His lips are twitching. “Ron and Hermione coming too, or…?”
I hurl a pair of socks at him, which he swiftly dodges, then return to my clothing search. “Don’t blame me. Their parents are diehard Rowling fans. Apparently they met in the fiction section of the library during college. He came up to her after spotting her red and gold scarf from across the shelves and murmured ten points for Gryffindor. The rest was history. It’s actually pretty cute.” I flush. “You know, if you’re into that sort of cheesy thing. Which I’m not!” I add hurriedly. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Luca agrees in an amused tone.
Shit.
I bite my cheek so I’ll stop talking.
Normally, I probably wouldn’t strip in front of him, but I’m in such a rush to get ready before the kids somehow find their way inside and catch me in this flustered state, modesty is the last thing on my mind. I peel the sweatshirt up over my head. I’m about to place it back amongst my belongings when I realize, despite my newfound attachment… it really doesn’t belong to me.
“Um. This is actually yours.” I turn and toss it in Luca’s direction. “Thanks for letting me borrow it.”
His fingers twist in the fabric as he catches it. “Keep it. Never looked half as good on me as it does with those legs of yours.”
I pointedly ignore that comment, turning my back to him as my eyes scan the piles of clothing. I grab a rust-colored v-neck at random off the top of the stack and tug it over my head.
“LILAAAA!” The kids are yelling again, fists slamming against the wood door without reprieve. “ARE YOU HOMEEEEE?”
“Shit!” I panic, searching for a pair of jeans at the bottom of the box. They’re nowhere to be found. “Shit, shit, shit!”
Two big hands settle on my shoulders. I go instantly still beneath his touch, frozen in place as his mouth moves down to rasp in my ear.
“Babe. Breathe. Put on some pants. I’ll go distract the kids for a few minutes.”
My eyes widen and I whirl around to face him. I instantly regret it, since he’s only about three millimeters away, which means I have to crane my neck to meet his eyes. For the record, it’s hard to make someone take you seriously when you’re staring up at them like one of the munchkins from The Wizard of Oz.
“Do you know anything about kids?” I ask skeptically.
“I was one, about twenty years ago. Does that count?”
“No.”
He smiles, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Relax. Kids like me.”
I wrinkle my nose at him in doubt… and, I shit you not, he actually leans in and kisses the tip of it with a smirk. It’s such a casual move you’d think he did it every day of his life.
My knees lock to keep me from falling over.
When he sees the shell-shocked expression on my face, he full on grins, like he’s in on a joke I’m not privy to, then turns and starts walking toward the door.
“They’re going to be terrified of you,” I call after him.
He ignores me.
Great.
With a renewed sense of urgency, I restart my search for jeans. My hands land on a pair of dark-wash skinnies. Pulling them on as fast as possible, I shove my feet into a pair of rubber flip flops I’d usually never be caught dead wearing
outside a spa swimming pool area, and race toward the sound of voices. I’m held up momentarily in my hallway, when I catch sight of my hair in the mirror — it looks like something out of an ’80s porno, thanks to Luca’s hands, and unless I want to be the one to introduce the concept of sex hair to a pair of five year olds, something must be done about it. I smooth the mussed strands into a slightly less hedonistic style, then take off running toward the front door again. As I round the corner into the foyer, I brace myself the worst…
And am promptly stunned to find Harry and Potter sitting on the floor with Luca, totally at ease as they pet Duncan’s puppy. The trio is chatting like a group of long lost friends. They’re so wrapped up in their discussion, they don’t even notice me enter.
“Right now we only have a fishy.” Potter quirks her head at Luca. “Do you fink a fishy counts as a pet?”
“Definitely,” he agrees solemnly. “What’s its name?”
“Dumbledore.”
Luca’s lips twitch as he glances from her to her twin. Harry, the shyer of the two, is staring at Luca’s muscles in silent awe, as though he’s just met a superhero in person. Or Hagrid. As soon as they make eye contact, Harry flushes red and returns his gaze to the puppy.
“I’m sure Dumbledore the fish is lucky to have you two as owners,” Luca says in a sincere tone that makes Potter beam with pride.
“It’s my job to feed Dumbledore every day. But only two pellets. One in the morning and anovver before bed.” Speech impediment aside, Potter sounds more serious than I’ve ever heard her. “Cause, one time, Harry dumped the whole bottle of fishy food in his bowl and Mommy got real mad.”
Luca chuckles. “I’ll bet.”
“Mommy says we can’t ever get a dog—”
“‘Cause she’s lergic!” Harry interjects.
Luca smiles, but doesn’t correct his mispronunciation.
“Very lergic,” Potter confirms gravely. “But Daddy told me we’re gonna get one anyway and name it Remus.” Potter pushes her bubblegum pink glasses higher up the bridge of her nose. “For Christmas or somefing. Daddy says we haf to keep it a secret from Mommy till ven.”
“Your Daddy sounds like a brave man.” Luca’s tone is wry.
I swallow a laugh.
“I fink he’s va bravest Daddy alive,” Potter tells him earnestly.
“His muscles aren’t as big as yours, though,” Harry murmurs, eyeing Luca’s biceps again, then examining his own toothpick-like arms with disdain. “And I don’t have any at all.”
“Tell you what — muscles don’t make you brave.” Luca leans forward and taps Harry lightly on the left side of his chest, right over his heart. “Bravery lives in here. Big or small, boy or girl, young or old. Doesn’t matter what’s on the outside. It’s your inside that counts.”
My own insides clench precariously, hearing that.
Harry and Potter stare at Luca like he’s just handed them their Hogwarts admission letters six years early. He doesn’t seem to notice their awe — or maybe he’s just used to it after all the attention he gets on a regular basis. He leans back on his hands and stretches his long legs out in front of him. The puppy promptly scrambles onto his lap, a clumsy ball of fluff.
It’s an adorable sight.
I thought I’d seen the epitome of cuteness earlier, witnessing Luca with the puppy. But this? Luca bonding with the puppy and my two favorite tiny humans?
Honestly, it’s a miracle I manage to remain standing.
I must make some kind of mewling sound — Christ, hold it together woman! — because the twins glance in my direction and leap to their feet.
“THERE YOU ARE!” Potter yells, barreling toward me. She hits me like a freight train, slamming into my stomach with enough force to knock the wind from my lungs.
“Ooof!” I gasp. “Easy, Pot, you’ll crack a rib.”
Another small body bumps into my side, far gentler than his counterpart. Harry. I wrap an arm around each of them and squeeze, staring at the tops of their glossy blonde heads as warmth radiates through me.
“Hey, Har, how’s it hanging?”
He peers up at me. “You’re late.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry.”
His little face is stern. “You were supposed to come over at four.”
“And you got a dog wifout telling us! What, did you fink we wouldn’t find out?!”
“No, Pot, I didn’t—”
“Who’s he?” Harry cuts me off, pointing at Luca.
“He’s—”
“Is he your boyfriend?” Potter asks.
“No, he’s—”
“Mommy says you have lots of boyfriends,” Harry offers, squinting. “Do you?”
Oh, so Mrs. Macomber thinks I’m a slut.
Perfect!
“Actually, guys—”
Potter peers around me to her twin. “Daddy finks Mommy is being judgmental when she says vat.” She looks up at me. “What’s judgmental?”
“Oh, um, it’s when you say something nice and totally not uncalled for,” I grumble.
I hear a chuckle from Luca’s direction and glare at him, wishing my cheeks weren’t suddenly turning red. He’s back on his feet, watching the three of us with an unreadable look in his eyes. As if the sight of two kids hanging on me like little blonde monkeys is hard to reconcile with his existing perceptions.
“Is he staying to babysit?” Harry asks.
“Oh, no, he’s—”
“I fink he should stay,” Potter says decidedly, pulling away from me and stalking straight up to Luca, who towers so far over her head it’s almost laughable. She can barely meet his eyes even with her neck craned all the way back. “I bet he’d push us way higher on the swings van you can, Lila.”
“Totally,” Harry murmurs, trailing after his sister.
Luca grins down at them. “Ever had an underdog?”
The twins squeal excitedly.
Shit.
“Guys, we’d have to check with your mom—”
“She won’t care!” they chorus together.
“We’ll see about that.” I swallow. “And even if she agrees, I’m sure Luca has other plans already—”
“I don’t actually.”
I glance at him dubiously. “You want to come to the park with us to play on the swings, then eat macaroni and cheese for dinner? Seriously?”
“Can’t think of a better way to spend my night.” His eyes glimmer. “Well, actually, I can think of a few things I’d rather be doing.” They dart down to my lips and linger there for a heated instant. “But mac and cheese rates a close second.”
I roll my eyes to hide the way my heart is pounding. “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s the kind from the box.”
“Not picky, babe.”
“Ooooo, he called you baaaaaaabe!” Potter giggles, delighted.
“He is your boyfriend,” Harry mutters, sounding dejected.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say quickly.
“Harry’s sulky because he fought he was gonna marry you one day.” Potter looks at her twin. “I told you she was too old, doodie-head! She’s like a hundred, you can’t marry her!”
Great. Now I’m an old slut. This is getting better and better.
Luca makes a choked sound, like he’s trying desperately not to laugh. I glare at him as the twins each take me by a hand and start dragging me toward the front door.
“This is not funny.” I frown at him.
“Babe.” He shrugs lightly. “Gotta admit, it’s a little funny.”
“Baaaaaaaaabe!” The twins sing-song.
I grab my keys off the hook by the door and jerk my head toward the dog carrier, still sitting by the threshold where Duncan abandoned it.
“See if there’s a leash in there, will you?” I ask Luca. “The mongrel probably has to pee, anyway. Unless he’s already peed on my kitchen floor. For the second time today.” I shake my head at the pup. “Maybe after dinner we should watch Lady and the Tramp, just to pu
t the fear of god in him. Thoughts?”
Luca laughs and shoots me a look that’s so warm, so happy, it makes me want to keel over right there in my foyer.
“What?” I ask, still being tugged along by the twins. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Delilah, if I told you my thoughts at this moment, you’d throw up a wall I just got done knocking down. So I think I’ll wait a while, till I know you’re ready, before I share all the things I’m thinking right now.”
With that, he scoops up the puppy and walks across the room to hunt down his leash. Mute, I let the twins drag me outside, down the stairs, and next door to their place, wondering how the hell I’m going to get myself out of this new mess I’m in.
In the words of Potter…
I fink I’m totally fucked.
Luca and I throw ourselves down on the grass at the park around the corner, winded from an epic game of tag with the twins. As soon as I’m horizontal, the puppy pounces on my head and douses me with kisses. I groan and throw up my hands to defend myself.
“Here, I’ve got him.” Luca pulls the dog off me.
Propping myself up on my elbows, I glance over and find him sprawled in the grass beside me beneath the tree, the puppy cradled against his chest, looking so handsome it steals my breath all over again. He strokes his hands over the dog’s lush fur. The little monster’s eyes are starting to droop, clearly exhausted after chasing us around the park for the past hour on his half-grown legs.
A couple walks by pushing a stroller, smiling at us as they pass. I wonder what we look like to them — the brawny redheaded man, his strawberry blonde wife in ripped jeans and flip-flops, their perfect pair of kids, and even a tiny rust-colored dog to complete the equation.
A family.
The thought is so foreign, so completely unexpected, I don’t know how to classify it.
A hope?
A nightmare?
A fantasy?
A fate worse than death?
I can’t sort out my own feelings on the matter and, one thing’s for sure, staring into Luca’s bottomless blue eyes while I attempt it isn’t making the process any simpler. I quickly turn my head to the jungle gym, where the twins are swinging in tandem, daring each other to go higher with each pump of their spindly legs.
Take Your Time (A Boston Love Story Book 4) Page 15
