by Jan Irving
Sian slid to the floor beside her bed. Her body was tingling, her nipples reddened from rubbing against the barely-there wisps of blond hair on Luke’s chest. Hello, contact with a male, which she hadn’t experienced in…
But that wasn’t the point. Fine, she had been celibate for years, but that didn’t excuse what she’d just done. Maybe her celibacy was responsible? She hadn’t really let herself go with someone in a very long time, since that required trust.
A picture flashed through her head of the very first time she’d seen Luke. He’d been in the music room, where a grand piano ruled over a pedestal that jutted over the rocks and beach below in a specially-built glass enclosure.
His golden hair had been limed by the diffused sea light, giving him the look of one of Botticelli’s sulky little angels. Human, flawed and yet still divine.
His fingers had skipped over the keys and solemn notes drifted, music whispering of being alone, utterly and completely alone.
And then he’d seen her and he’d yanked his hands away from the mahogany instrument as if she’d caught him carving his initials into the ivory keys. “Didn’t break nothin’.” His voice was the first discordant note, sullen as a black eye.
“Who are you?” Her tone was not accusing. She honestly hadn’t a clue.
“Luke, you know, my mom, your dad…”
Sian blinked, having no idea what the strange boy meant. “Are you the new cleaner’s son?” Mrs Cade was nice. She was slender and blonde with sad, steady eyes, but even though she was an adult, she wasn’t as tall as Luke. Studying him, Sian saw a resemblance in the shape of Luke’s narrow hands.
Luke nodded. “You’re Mr Henry’s kid,” he said, using her father’s first name as people did.
“Yes,” Sian said. “Are you waiting for your mom?” Maybe she could get Luke something to eat while his mother finished cleaning. She liked to cook. She could decide what to make and just by following the recipe, she was in control of the outcome. That was important to her.
And he looked like he could use the cals, since he was slender as that tomcat that jumped over their fence and prowled their yard in search of nesting gulls every year.
Something moved over his face. An expression like ‘what-the-fuck?’. He knew something and he’d thought she knew it too.
Sian’s throat tightened and she had to swallow twice. This was about her dad. He’d…found another girlfriend.
“Let’s go to the kitchen,” she said, needing to go there. Her place. She wasn’t just a kid there. Her kitchen. Mr Henry had even said so, last time he’d eaten dinner with her there.
“Okay.” Luke grabbed a grimy jean jacket off the hand-painted celadon upholstery. He put it over one big bony shoulder and followed her.
In the hallway, she sized him up in peripheral vision. He was taller than her, even though he really was a kid, at least ten years younger than she was. But he didn’t seem like it as he watched her out of eyes as steady and…knowing as his mother’s.
When they reached the kitchen with its warm yellow walls and IKEA cabinets, Sian felt herself relaxing.
“How about some antipasto and crackers to start?” she asked Luke.
“Uh…sure.” When he put down the jacket and hunched by the maple island, she knew he didn’t know what antipasto was. She was careful not to make a deal out of it, getting the ingredients and chopping Sicilian olives, onions and peppers. Luke just watched her quietly as if he also didn’t have a clue that most people served antipasto from a jar, not from scratch.
He closed his eyes tightly as he took his first bite of a cracker with the seasoned vegetables oozing off it.
“What do you think?” She wanted to know if he liked it. He’d never had it before so it was interesting, like a test in school—
“I think I’m going to marry you,” he mumbled around the cracker, blue eyes opening. There was not even a hint of humour there.
But Sian laughed because it was a joke. Luke just didn’t know you were supposed to smile when you made one. “How about some wheat grass juice?”
Luke’s face tightened. “Like at the gas station down the block? We had to stop and put two dollars of gas in the car and they had all this stuff…”
Sian blinked. What was the big deal with the gas station? “Yeah, like that.”
“I’ve never been in a gas station that had juice like that,” Luke said.
“They don’t all have fresh-squeezed organic juice?”
Luke’s face tightened. “Not where me and my mom live.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say.
“This is a nice room,” Luke said, looking at the brightly painted ceramic animals she’d brought back from a trip to Portugal. She’d done a lot of shopping while her father and his then nineteen-year-old girlfriend had spent most of their time in their room.
“Yeah, it’s mine. I asked Mr Henry if I could make it my own. I chose the cabinetry.”
“Uh-huh.” Again Luke had that dazed look. She’d bet he wasn’t exactly sure what she meant. “The shelves where you put stuff.”
“I know that.” But he hadn’t, so colour flagged his cheeks.
“So my dad is sleeping with your mom,” she said, repeating it aloud so she’d absorb it.
Luke nodded, but his gaze was fixed on her face.
“It’s all right,” she said. “It won’t last. Mr Henry says I’m the only girl he needs. He just gets lonely for adult ladies sometimes.”
“Why do you call him Mr Henry?”
“He doesn’t like ‘dad’ or ‘father’. It’s common and also aging.”
Luke’s brow crinkled. “Well, Mr Henry gave mom a big sparkly ring.”
Sian’s stomach tightened. She decided to scrub the countertop where she’d cut the greens. She was working at it, rubbing the rag over this one spot where the marble was stubborn, when Luke took the cloth from her. “I’ll do that,” he said softly. “You were going to pour some juice.”
“Oh…yeah.”
He was the kid, so why was she the one crying? It was dumb.
“The ring doesn’t mean anything either,” she whispered. When Luke didn’t say anything, she raised her voice. “It doesn’t.”
“He doesn’t hit her,” Luke said.
“Why would he hit her?”
Luke studied her. Then he changed the subject, just as if he were the older one. “Do you know how to bake chocolate chip cookies?”
“Yeah, but I have a great recipe for Parisian Macarons…”
Luke wrinkled his nose.
And she found herself smiling. “Okay, there’s a bag of semi-sweet chocolate kisses in the cabinet behind you. And you’ll have to help out…”
Sian wiped her face. Her tears had chilled, going cold against her skin as she just sat there.
She’d let Luke have her.
No, not have, she growled. Have was too classy a word for what they’d done.
She’d let him fuck her.
Sian put her head in her hands. Her body was still humming like a beehive in spring time, all the parts she ignored most of the time suddenly awake and singing. Her neck had beard burn, her left hip had finger-shaped bruise marks from when he’d lifted her and shoved inside her. Her back felt sensitised from when they’d done it against the wall.
And her pussy was moist, wet from him and her.
She shot off the floor and managed to bark her shin against her bedside table.
“Shit,” she muttered. She headed for her bathroom, turning the water on hot and stepping inside the shower.
When she moved her good hand down to wash herself, she moaned, still wildly sensitive. Her eyes snapped closed. Her body carried an after-image of what it felt like to have Luke lodged deep inside. At first he’d taken her by surprise with the suddenness of his penetration.
Electricity branched through her sex. She wanted to lean against the tile wall and let the steam rise, let her head fall back and touch herself. Her body was in full celebration
mode, ready for more fireworks, for a heavy, masculine thigh to push her legs apart, for hands to lift her against the tiles and settle her body on a thick, jutting cock.
It was as if Luke had woken Sleeping frickin’ Beauty when he’d touched her. Now her body wasn’t just something that picked up groceries and drove her to the coffee shop or the bank. Now her body was female.
She smacked the wall. Shit! Why Luke? Why was it always…
But she would not let herself go there. She had not let herself go there for years.
And look where it got you, a caustic voice whispered. The first time he truly touched you and you were his.
His.
“Oh no, you don’t,” she told herself, picking up the fine French milled soap she loved. She was going to finish her shower sans the sexy rubdown and haul her ass to bed. “He’s your little brother. You do not have sexy thoughts about him.”
Yeah, right, the caustic voice chimed in again.
When she finished, she couldn’t look herself in the mirror. The tough girl talk was fine and dandy, but her stomach was all twisted up, and her body felt like crying. She was also keyed up so that she felt the towel rub her skin in a new way, and when she put on her favourite camomile and lavender talcum powder she found herself stroking her arms, feeling the firm muscle and the softness. Had he liked that? His hands had been almost reverent on her body until the dam had shattered between them and she had been rising and falling against the wall while his face had contorted and he’d growled ‘Fuuuuck’.
Chapter Three
What the fuck had he done?
Luke shoved his hair out of his eyes as he walked to his red Toyota 4Runner SUV. It was so early there were only sleepy sounds coming from the birds in the courtyard, and the ocean breeze had cooled the air. His eyeballs felt like he’d rolled them in asphalt all night, but that would be the total lack of sleep. Again. Only this time it hadn’t been because he’d lain awake until Sian had got home and then imagined taking her out, taking her home…taking her to bed.
This time was because he’d taken her. Period.
His cock hardened as he took a shot down memory lane and remembered just how it had felt to sink into her at last. Her legs around his waist, her nails in his back as he pumped her.
And then the tears she’d tried to hide as she’d run from him, slammed the door behind her, locked him out.
Oh yeah, last night was the stuff dreams were made of, if you liked the kinds of dreams that started out great and morphed into nightmares.
And he was such a fucking loser, because all night he’d lain awake, aching to go to her door, knock and ask if she was okay. And how would that convo have gone?
Oh, hey, I could feel how unbelievably tight you were so I’m guessing you hadn’t had sex in a very long time. So, um, are you okay? Did I hurt you?
But what he really wanted to ask her was how good it had been. On a scale of one to a gazillion, because he knew she’d come. He’d felt her milking his cock, squeezing him even tighter as she made those growly sounds that were unbelievably hot.
Just about as hot as the scratch marks on his back he’d discovered in the bathroom mirror. He loved a woman who loved sex, who made no pretence about it, scratching his back, biting his neck and leaving her mark as if to say her man.
Except he’d never wanted to belong to any woman except Sian.
Which, great, he’d got their sexual relationship off to a fantastic start by losing that slinky little dress and ramming into her.
And, winner that he was, he wanted to do it all over again. Except he wanted to be in her bed next time. He wanted to go to sleep because his body was wrecked from pleasing her and waking up with her straddling him, smiling as she took him deep.
And shit, now he was having trouble bending his six-feet-three inches into the goddamned truck because thinking of morning sex wasn’t helping him with his uncomfortable stiffy.
The light went on in Sian’s bedroom as he climbed in his SUV and he stared at her window, throat tight. What was she thinking? Was she still upset? God, he’d wanted to hold her when he’d seen those tears, but she’d left him like last week’s garbage.
Ever since he’d first met her, when he was just a kid, he’d made it his job to look out for her. Not that she’d been aware of it, probably. She’d always liked to make out like she took care of him.
But when she’d given him his first taste of gourmet cooking in her bright kitchen, he’d seen right away she was way more innocent than he was, despite their age difference. Man, he still remembered how weird it had been, driving with his mom that first time to Sian and Mr Henry’s waterfront palace. Not that it was huge or anything, but it was a different world from where he’d grown up.
Soon after that first visit, their parents had skipped town and gone to Hawaii for an island wedding. They’d left Sian and Luke alone. It had been Luke’s first night under a posh roof.
He’d have slept better in a pile of garbage on the street.
Sian had knocked on his door, ducking her head in.
Luke had grabbed the ridiculously too big silk robe he’d found in the closet, not wanting her to see his scrawny body in nothing but baggy boxers.
“You okay?” she asked, just as if her eyes weren’t red from crying. It had to suck big time, her dad getting married again and not even inviting her to the wedding. For Luke’s part, he didn’t care. His Mom could take a break from working so hard. He didn’t think the thing would last either, but anything that meant she didn’t fall asleep at the dinner table was a good thing.
“Fine.” He’d snapped closed the book he’d found in their study. Sian and Mr Henry had as many books as the library. Luke was going to be busy reading the science fiction section alone for months.
Sian had come into his room, looking around the space. “It’s a bit utilitarian, but we can work on making it more reflective of your personality.”
Luke had had to grin at her words.
She stiffened. “What?”
“You sound like people in books, the way you talk.”
She’d flushed and he was sorry he’d said anything. But no one in his neighbourhood talked like that. She was a novelty.
“There’s never been another kid in this house,” Sian said. “I mean, not that I am one.”
Luke wanted to roll his eyes. “Yeah. Do you mind?”
“No, because it’s you,” Sian said.
For some reason her words got him in the chest. He’d rubbed it, feeling less dorky in this big room with a canopied bed and a new computer and him with just one shitty little bag. He bet Sian had tons of clothes. He’d only known her a short time, but she never wore the same thing twice, unlike him and his mom.
“Are you going to bake something tonight?” he asked.
Sian blinked. “How did you know?”
Because she was upset, and he’d already figured when she got upset she baked stuff. She could use some weight, since she was built like the sparrow he used to feed outside their shitty apartment, but she didn’t do all that cooking because she liked to eat—she did it because it gave her a sense of control. Recipes were all ‘add three parts this’ and ‘two parts that’ and it’ll add up. Do it right and you always get the same result.
Luke could understand wanting to follow a formula. He’d felt that same power over his life when he’d landed a punch to his last stepfather.
It was all about controlling your environment.
It was all about not being invisible, even when the adults in your life made you feel it.
“I have another recipe for chocolate chip cookies,” she said. “It calls for a lot of eggs.”
“I can walk over to that fancy gas station if you need me to,” Luke had offered, getting off the bed that was so freaking perfect he’d almost been afraid of sitting on it.
“Walk?” Sian blinked, as if walking somewhere for baking supplies was a weird and freaky idea.
“Yeah, you know, on two legs.” He’d
followed her to the kitchen, which was totally their room now. His because he could help her clean up, he figured.
“Very funny.”
“I’m a funny guy. You’re going to be glad I’m in the house,” Luke said.
“You know, I think I am.”
Luke knew he made her feel better. Thing was, doing that also made him feel better, like he’d put on more muscle or something.
Luke pulled the truck door closed, seeing the light come on in their kitchen. He wished he was in there, watching her make him breakfast. He had challenging hours at the fire hall, but Sian never seemed to mind getting up and making him something, even after one of those frequent dates she went out on.
As he drove away, seeing the sun just beginning to silhouette tall palms and houses in the exclusive enclave, he wished he could ask her why the constant dating. She rarely went out with a man a second time. In fact, he wasn’t sure she enjoyed it all that much. She never stayed the night and never brought anyone home.
Not that either of them did that. Back when Luke was going through women like the gender had been invented for him to worship with his hands, mouth and body, he’d never brought any of his women to the house. He’d known it would upset Sian. She’d think it was Mr Henry all over again or some shit.
But it seemed like whatever he did he upset her.
He pushed his hair out of his eyes again as he parked his truck behind the station house, thinking he’d better get a haircut. It was supposed to be short anyway, but he’d been so busy since that calendar had come out, doing the rounds in schools and businesses, drumming up money for charity and also teaching fire safety, that he hadn’t thought about it.
He wondered which Sian would prefer, slightly longer and silky like it was now, or one of his brush cuts? Not that he’d probably get to ask her.
“Cade, what’s up with you?” Taz socked Luke’s shoulder. “You in the same universe, my man?”
Luke shrugged, feeling as if what had happened the night before was tattooed into his skin. Taz—aka Tasmanian Devil—was Luke’s best friend, though for some reason Luke had never brought him home to meet Sian.
