by Cecy Robson
Probably because not everyone there is an asshole, dumbass.
I jog up the steps, stopping in the second-floor laundry room where her dress from the party hangs on a hook. I have a sanitizing option on my dryer and used it to clean her dress. It’s not as nice as dry cleaning. But when I told her I’d cleaned it for her, and washed her panties and bra, she seemed grateful.
There’s a lot I don’t know about Luci, but I can’t shake the feeling that as nice as she is to everyone, that niceness isn’t extended back.
I mean, all I did was clean her dress. To her, it’s as if I’d done a lot more.
I lift her beige panties and bra from the drying rack. They don’t match, the color of the panties are a little darker than the bra. It’s obvious it’s not a set she bought together. I check the tags, almost kicking myself for being so nosey.
As I suspected, it’s not Victoria’s Secret or anything that suggests she bought them at a fancy store. I wonder if it’s because she can’t afford to, which leads me to wonder how much she struggles. But wondering does nothing to lift my mood. If anything, it worsens it.
I walk back to my suite. She didn’t bother closing the doors leading into the bedroom, or the one to the bathroom. It shouldn’t seem like such a big deal, except that it is. My ex-wife not only closed the doors, she often locked them, claiming she needed her privacy. I know now she just needed to get away from me.
Luci wants me close. She doesn’t want to hide away or distance herself. She proved it with these open doors and by the way she held me downstairs, even when I couldn’t bring myself to look at her.
The hair dryer is blasting away. I can hear it from here. I find her with her head to the side, fluffing her long waves. Her small purse lays open on the bathroom vanity beside her lip gloss, her phone, and mine. Even from here, I can see the small box of birth control pills inside, and what looks like a credit card and a few bills.
She shuts off the hairdryer when she sees me. “Thank you,” she says, smiling when she sees I’m carrying her clothes. “I hadn’t thought about what to wear.”
Probably since the only thing she’s worn are my clothes, when we bothered with clothes at all.
I hang the items on the hook behind the door without a word. God forbid I act like a human being and speak. Nope. The educated man has officially left the building and left the Neanderthal in charge. It’s a wonder I don’t scrape my knuckles against the tile when I step into the shower.
My hands make quick work of washing my hair and body, and my eyes make better work of watching Luci. There’s lots I want to tell her, but even less that comes. So instead of fixating on why I’m struggling to find my words, I focus on her.
Her wavy hair looks tussled and full, not like the long, smooth curls I first saw when we met. I like this look better, mostly because it reminds me of all the time we’ve spent together. There was no need for fancy clothes or carefully styled hair. There was just a need to be us, and that’s exactly what were.
I step out of the shower and towel off. By the time I slip out of my closet, dressed in jeans and a long T-shirt, she’s done with her hair and sliding into her panties.
“Here,” I say, when she reaches for her bra. “Allow me.”
It’s not like she can’t put the damn thing on herself. But I only have a few minutes left with her, and I want to help her anyway I can.
She doesn’t argue, passing me her strapless bra and lifting her hair as she turns. I hook it in place then carefully adjust her breasts within the cups. She shudders. I’m not trying to seduce her, at least not this time, but the way she responds to my touch . . . shit, it does more to me than I intend.
I close the small space between us. “Is it tight enough?”
She adjusts her hold over her long hair. “It feels a little loose. Could you tighten it as far as it will go, please?”
I do as she asks, hooking my finger around the edge when I’m done to flatten the elastic against her skin.
“Thank you.” She slips on her high-heels. I hadn’t noticed them until now. She’s taller, but still so small compared to me.
Using great care, she steps into her dress, careful not to let the fabric catch on her shoes. She sweeps her hair over her shoulder so it lays in front and gathers the dress around her breasts.
“Would you mind helping me with my zipper?” she asks.
Like I’d say no. Like I wouldn’t use this last moment to feel close to her.
I pinch the tiny zipper and pull up slowly. As I reach the top, it takes everything in me to let go.
She shoves the lip gloss into her purse and lifts her phone, keeping her chin lowered long after she snaps her purse closed. “I should wait in the foyer,” she says. “Blythe won’t be much longer.”
“Do you want a coat to take with you?”
Her smile and the gentleness behind it cements me in place. “No, I brought one down with me. I’ll be all right getting to the car.”
I place my hands on my hips and nod. “All right.”
When all I do is stare at the floor, Luci stretches up on her toes and kisses my cheek. “Thank you, Landon,” she whispers. “For everything.”
The sound of her heels clicking against the bathroom floor echoes along the silver glossed tile. She reaches the door leading to the hall, and goes further yet, and all I do is stand there.
Son of bitch.
I snatch my phone and stomp forward, moving fast. I catch up to Luci where the hall overlooks the foyer. Giant windows provide a generous view of the front yard and the lush wooded landscaping that conceals the house from the main road. Next to the ocean, it’s my favorite view. This time, I barely see it.
“Luci, wait.”
She tilts her chin. “What’s wrong?”
What’s wrong is, I’ve obviously lost the ability to speak.
“Landon?” she asks, moving forward when I stand there like a flaming imbecile. “Are you all right, sweetie?”
Sweetie. She had to go and call me that.
My mind wrestles with too much to say while my mouth struggles to keep up. “I know people. Powerful people. You hear what I’m saying?”
She blinks back at me, then glances around, stunned. “Oh, my God. You’re in the Mafia?”
“What—no.” I clasp her elbow when she tries to back away. “What I mean is, if you’re ever in trouble, I can help you.”
Her terror eases (thank heaven for small favors), but her confusion remains because why the hell wouldn’t it? “Why would I be in trouble?” she asks.
“I . . .” Shit, this is coming out all wrong.
Her hand falls on my shoulder. “You don’t have to worry. I took my birth control on time.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, muttering a curse. “That’s not what I mean. Look, I’m trying to tell you that if you ever need anything: money, a car, a place to live, I can help you.”
My family always wanted me to run for office and often told me I had a gift for telling people exactly what they wanted to hear, and saying it in the best way they needed to hear it. Based on what’s shooting out of my mouth, I don’t think Luci would agree.
“Landon, I have a job.” She scans my face, likely wondering how she went home with Alex Libby and woke up next to Forest Gump. “It’s a good job,” she says as if I don’t believe her. “I own my own condo and have a car. The only reason Blythe drove is because she was the one who invited me.”
“I’m not saying you’re poor.”
“Good,” she replies. “Because I’m not. I do well, probably not as well as most people you know, but I’m independent and able to provide for myself.”
No, I didn’t come across as elitist. Nope, not at all. “That’s not what I meant,” I mutter, wishing I could kick my own ass.
“Then why do think you need to take care of me?”
What am I supposed to say to that? Because you’re not dripping with diamonds and probably boug
ht your panties at Target. Shit, I buy my own damn briefs at Target!
“I just want to make sure you’ll be okay,” I manage.
At first, the way her stare softens, I think she’s going to cry. But then she smiles in a way that melts my heart and reminds me why I don’t want her to go.
“I’ll be okay,” she answers gently. “Don’t worry about me.”
But I will, and that’s part of the problem.
“Take my number, all right?” I spill my digits. “If you’re ever in Kiawah or . . .” I bite out another curse. “Just know you can call me whenever you want.”
Considering everything I said came out in all the wrong ways, she smiles. “All right.” She adds my number, a small blush spreading across her cheeks as she taps the screen.
My hand buzzes, announcing a text. I grin when I read it.
It’s me, Luci.
“I don’t know a lot of people,” she says. “And I’m not in the Mafia. But if I can ever help you, please know you can call me, too.” She steps back and lifts her phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking your picture so I’ll have it in my contacts.” She shrugs. “It’s something I do.”
The flash goes off, the corners of her lips tugging upward when she sees the shot. She turns her hand and shows me the screen. It’s not a bad picture, despite that I wasn’t ready for it. But it’s good enough for Luci so it’s more than good enough for me.
“Nice,” she says.
I fiddle with my phone, adding her to my contacts. She brushes a strand of her hair behind her ear, suddenly shy. “I’m a mess right now, but if you’d like, I can send you a picture of me later.”
“Nah, I already have one.”
I lift the phone, showing her the pic I took of her following the tequila shot.
I crack up when her mouth fall opens. She doesn’t look bad. She’s adorable and sexy, and manages both just fine.
“You can’t use that picture,” she insists.
“Oh, yes I can,” I assure her.
I catch her in my arms when she launches herself on me, keeping my phone up and away from her. She drops her purse and her phone, our laughter fading as my gaze melts into hers.
Her friend is almost here. She’s probably already pulled onto the street. It doesn’t stop me from kissing Luci.
Nor does it keep us from turning that kiss into a whole lot more.
Our hands wander, mine down her back, hers against my chest. But when I cup her breasts, she quickly unsnaps my jeans.
All at once, it’s like an alarm goes off in my head, announcing that our time is up and making us desperate.
My hand slips beneath her skirt, yanking down her panties as her hands disappear inside my jeans. I don’t think about anything, and maybe she doesn’t either. I simply react to her touch and the fire tearing through my veins. I whirl her around, gripping her waist and plunging inside her in one hard stroke.
Her slick center welcomes me, her head snapping back and her body clamping down like a vice. She gasps, clutching the banister. I’m not gasping, not when her core grips me like it does. I’m swearing and just about crawling out of my skin with how good she feels and how bad I want her.
My fingers trail around her throat to cup her jaw, turning her enough to continue our kiss. I don’t want to stop kissing her, needing her, God damn it, wanting her!
I pull back and ram forward, repeating the motion. Each time I withdraw, I return to her with more force, my hips crashing against her ass. She whimpers, coming undone, her fervent gaze staying on me as I continue that slow, intoxicating rhythm.
My arm bands around her waist, keeping her steady as I tug off her dress and bra just enough to tease her breasts.
I’m not supposed to come this way. I’m supposed to go full speed ahead until she screams with pleasure, and my strokes in and out stir my release. But between the way her body grips me, and the way her face flushes as she peaks, I don’t stand a chance.
I finish filling her as the doorbell rings.
“Shit.” I pull out and lift her away from the view of the large windows. I doubt her friend saw or heard anything, except that’s not why I’m cursing.
The doorbell rings again as Luci yanks up her panties and I fumble with my jeans. She doesn’t say anything, not this time, too focused on adjusting her breasts beneath her bra and pulling up the front of her dress.
“I have to go,” she says, not bothering to look at me.
A gentleman would help her pick up her phone and purse, not simply stand by as she retrieves both. I’m not a gentleman, not then. I’m the miserable bastard who knows his time with this amazing woman is up. I want to say something funny, to hear her laugh one more time, or at least flash me that tender smile. Except for humor to come, you need a smile of your own, and I’m not certain how I’ll find mine without Luci.
I follow her down the stairs as her phone rings. “Luci, are you there?”
Her friend isn’t as bitchy which I’m glad about. That doesn’t mean I’m glad in general. “I’ll be right out,” Luci tells her and immediately disconnects.
“Baby, wait.”
It’s not the first time I called her “baby” this weekend. In theory, it shouldn’t give either of us pause, except that it does. Blame it on the way I say it, or feel it, or how much it bothers me that it’s the last time I’ll get to call her that.
I open the downstairs closet and shove my feet into a pair of sneakers, then pull out my leather jacket and drape it around her shoulders. “It’s cold,” I say. “At least wear it to the car.”
She doesn’t argue, nor does she tell me I don’t have to walk her out.
Good. I wouldn’t listen anyway.
The horizon has already begun to swallow the sun, dropping the temperature fast. I want to hold her hand, and I do, her fingers linking with mine as naturally as if we’ve known each other forever.
Except it hasn’t been forever. It’s been two days, not nearly long enough to feel what I’m feeling and way too fast to jump into something after spending a year losing myself.
Her friend is sitting in her car. The way she’s parked on the circular drive gives her a good view as we bounce down the stone steps. Her eyes widen when she sees us, maybe because we’re holding hands or because Luci’s wearing my coat. Either way she doesn’t seem happy, for me or for Luci, showing me once more she’s the kind of friend Luci could do without.
I’m not sure what she sees in my expression and I don’t care, my focus returning to Luci and where it wants to stay.
We walk around the front of the car. Luci opens the passenger side door where her friend has placed her coat. She tosses her phone and her purse on the seat and turns to me.
“I guess this is goodbye,” she says.
Yeah. Guess it is.
My fingers trail across her cheeks to gently hold her jaw. “Remember what I said, if you ever need anything, call me.”
She tries to smile, her fingers brushing over my wrists. “It was so great to meet you, Landon.”
I smile, more because I have to, and because I hate how miserable we seem. “The pleasure was all mine, Luci.”
This time when we kiss, all the innocence I feel within her finds its way across her warm skin. The way her mouth feathers across mine is more delicate, and maybe a little lonely, too.
She withdraws slowly, shrugging out of my coat and offering it to me before slipping inside.
I step back, giving the car room to pull away. She offers a small wave as she disappears out of view.
I’m not sure how long I wait there before turning around and heading back inside alone.
Chapter Twelve
Luci
“Luci, when the hell is the contractor going to start on the floor?” Jefferson tosses a file across his desk and motions around him. “This office is too fucking small and I can’t get anything done with all the noise.”
I don’t bother to look when he points toward the rows of cubicles behind me. “A few more weeks,” I reply. “Mr. Ballantyne asked for a redesign and it’s taking longer than expected.”
He frowns. “What kind of redesign?”
“One you’ll like,” I answer earnestly. “It will offer two junior partners corner offices and expand the size of the other remaining offices significantly.”
He perks right up. “I’m getting a corner office?”
“I never said that,” I respond, offering a small smile. “That decision falls on the senior partners.”
“But you’ll put in a good word for me. Right, baby?”
I’m not your baby. “Jefferson, I never said that either.” I flip through the stack of papers in my hand and pass him his benefits package.
“What’s this?”
“Stock options. Mr. Ballantyne is looking to expand the firm’s portfolio. Let me know which investments you prefer by Friday at the latest.”
I start to walk away, but he stops me at the door. “It’s the new year,” he reminds me.
Two weeks and two days into the New Year to be exact, and fourteen days since I last saw Landon. I waited until the day after I arrived home to text him. I didn’t want to appear needy.
“Good,” he wrote back and . . . that was all.
“Luci?”
“I’m sorry, did you say something?”
I always listen to what everyone has to say, even Jefferson who frequently complains and more often than not flexes his ego. But as my thoughts returned to Landon, all I noticed was Jefferson’s mouth opening and closing. Nothing he said registered.
He frowns. “I said it’s been almost two years since I’ve known you.”
I adjust the remaining folders against my chest. “That sounds about right,” I agree, unsure where he’s going.
“So will you?”
“Will I what?” I ask.
He laughs as if I must be joking. “Will you go out with me?”
Okay, this time I’m certain I misheard. “On a date?”
When Jefferson started working here, every single woman wanted to date him. Everyone, but me. Where they saw an assertive and dashing attorney on his way to take on the world, I saw an arrogant young man who’d mow down anyone who stood in his way.
