by Bella Scott
“I think I hit someone who touched her without her permission. Wouldn’t you say that qualifies as a reason to throw a punch?”
Alex’s jaw tightened. Luke didn’t bother holding back his smirk.
“The point is,” Alex growled, “do you honestly think you’re the best choice for her? Do you think you can control yourself enough to be the one who’s right for her, or are you going to be too much of a risk to be around?”
“I’d say that’s up to her.” Luke shrugged, his smirk still in place. Beyond the driveway, he caught a glimpse of a paparazzo with a camera aimed at the two of them. He wasn’t about to give the vultures anything else to use against him. “And clearly she’s already made her choice.” He turned away and started toward the house.
Alex’s footsteps followed him. “You’re not this baby’s father.”
Luke froze. His fingernails dug into his palms, but he didn’t turn around. He marched up the steps, entered the foyer, and slammed the door behind him.
***
Rose had spent the morning and the ride to the airport preparing herself for how stressful the flight was going to be. She’d always hated flying—though she knew the odds tipped toward the plane arriving safely, she still found herself worrying too much every time she boarded one.
This trip was no different. She’d brought headphones to distract herself, and it was only while wearing them with Def Leppard playing in her ears and her head resting against Luke’s shoulder that she’d managed to relax enough to pretend she was somewhere else and fall asleep.
He woke her up when they reached St. Croix near sunset, and a sleek black car was waiting for them at the airport. She insisted on pulling her own suitcase, but Luke refused—he led the way to the car with a handle in each hand. He stowed the bags and opened her door for her, and she thanked him as she climbed in.
Quickly, she pulled down the sun visor and checked her reflection. The flight had been almost seven hours long, but she’d slept for so much of it that she was wide awake, and thankfully, she didn’t look tired. Her makeup was still in place—red lipstick, smoky eyeshadow, and enough mascara to make her feel put-together. Her hair hung in waves that fell past her shoulders and midway down her back, and while they were flattened in a couple of places from her nap, they didn’t look bad. Her red button-down shirt hadn’t wrinkled on the plane.
Still, she felt out of place. Like someone would take one look at her and realize that she had no business being escorted to the LeBlancs’ private property on a resort island by her ex-fiancé, who hadn’t yet figured out that she didn’t deserve any of this.
When Luke slipped into the driver’s seat and pulled the car out onto the road, Rose studied him. He was as handsome as ever, with those green eyes and that jawline that melted her, and he wore a white shirt that clung to his muscles just tightly enough to tease her. But there was something off about his expression. He was staring out the windshield with his lips set in a thin line, and his eyes were clouded with an emotion she couldn’t identify.
“What’s wrong?” she asked him quietly.
He gave a stiff shrug. “I’m okay.”
She stared at him and said nothing, and after a few moments passed in silence apart from the road noise, he glanced at her and sighed.
“Alex came by today.”
Rose frowned. “What did he want?”
“It’s not important.”
“Luke.” She was surprised by how firmly her voice came out, but she didn’t falter. She hoped he knew she wasn’t planning to drop this.
“What do you think? He wants me to realize I’m not right for you.”
Rose rolled her eyes and rested her cheek against the cool glass of the window. The glimpses of ocean she could see beyond the palm trees they passed were beautiful—even at such a distance, the water looked clear and inviting.
“It’s none of his business,” she mumbled.
“He seems to want what’s best for you.”
The words were clipped. Strained. Rose looked to Luke to find his lips twisted in what looked like distaste. She knew it was probably difficult for him to give Alex any form of credit, at the moment.
“I know he does.” She pulled in a deep breath. “But he isn’t what’s best for me. You are.”
Luke’s expression softened.
***
The sun was setting by the time the car reached the long driveway leading up to the house. Palm trees surrounded the white building, which was much smaller than Luke’s house in Winnetka. It was only two floors, and there were considerably fewer rooms than at the home where he spent most of his time, but he knew the price tag had been similar. Having a permanent residence here was expensive, as his mother reminded him frequently, and that meant they needed to use it as much as they could. His parents visited often when the Senate was out of session, and Luke had come with them a handful of times in college and beforehand. He’d always wanted to bring Rose here.
He led her up the path through the pristinely maintained lawn and to the dark wooden front door, and he released one of the suitcases to fish for his keys. He swallowed nervously as he opened the door, and he hoped she wouldn’t notice.
They stepped into the thin hallway and followed its hardwood floor into the open-concept kitchen and dining room. Vases of fresh flowers rested on the table beside the glass patio-side wall and on the island near the kitchen counter—pale pink carnations and yellow lilies and white roses. Luke bit the inside of his cheek. His mother knew that the last had been his flower of choice for Rose. It had started out as a bit of a private joke when he’d first allowed himself to hope that she would marry him. He’d thought of her taking his last name, which was French for “the white,” and he’d proposed to her with a single white rose along with the diamond ring, hoping she would get the idea.
Now, he wanted to toss the vases out before she could see them, but he knew it was too late. She was at his side, after all, taking in the same view. The beach beyond the glass wall and the patio doors, the staircase to the second floor, and the doors set into the wall across from where they stood, which led to the master bedroom and bathroom.
“It’s beautiful.”
He turned to face her to find that her blue eyes were wide as she scanned the house, and the breathlessness in her voice both made him smile and sent a hot ripple of desire through him. All at once, she turned and threw her arms around his neck, and he released the suitcase handles and embraced her, breathing in her warmth and the scent of vanilla and cinnamon.
“Thank you for all this,” she said. “It feels like I’m going to wake up and none of it will be real.”
“It’s all real.” And all yours, he added mentally. If you’ll stay with me.
He’d wanted to give her the world for as long as he’d known her. This house was no exception. He’d been planning to bring her here on their honeymoon, and he’d already had the plane tickets booked when she’d given him his ring back.
“Do you want something to eat?” he asked as he pulled away.
“Yes, please. I’m starving. That flight was absurdly long.”
Luke nodded. “Mom had the fridge and cabinets stocked, so we should have a wide range of things to choose from.” He left the bags on the floor and moved over to rifle through one of the polished wooden cabinets. Boxes of uncooked pasta greeted him along with a variety of sauces, bags of flour and yeast, cooking oils, and every kind of spice he could imagine. He left the cabinet open, and Rose went to peruse it as he made his way to the fridge. He found the drawers overflowing with fruits and vegetables and the shelves lined with wines and sparkling juices, and he reminded himself to thank his mother later for providing so many options, including non-alcoholic ones.
“You weren’t kidding,” said Rose with a soft laugh. “She’s… thorough.”
“What sounds good to you?” asked Luke.
Biting her lip, Rose surveyed the cabinet once more. “Some kind of pasta sounds amazing. Maybe with—no�
��” She trailed off and tucked a lock of strawberry-blond hair behind her ear, and Luke raised a brow.
“With what?”
“I don’t want it to be too much trouble.”
He watched her, saying nothing, just as she’d done to him in the car. He knew if he conveyed that he didn’t plan on giving up, she would answer eventually. She let out a heavy breath.
“You used to tell me you’d teach me how to make that bread. Your family’s recipe.”
Luke’s mouth twitched toward a smile. His parents had taught him a decent amount about cooking before he’d worked on developing the skill on his own, and he’d baked homemade bread for Rose several times while they had been together. He was so used to having his life planned out for him that he liked to take charge where he could, and he’d always enjoyed doing so in the kitchen. Part of giving Rose the world had meant doing the little things for her when possible—opening doors, pulling out chairs, making foods he knew she loved, and taking her places that made her smile.
He hoped the request for the bread meant they were on the right track again.
“We can absolutely do that,” he said.
Chapter Fifteen
As Luke prepared and mixed the flour and oil and yeast and everything else, Rose watched him from one of the barstools at the kitchen island. She paid attention to measurements and committed them to memory. She’d never spent a lot of time in kitchens, but when she found recipes she liked, she made it a point to learn them. This one had always been a favorite, but she’d never gotten the chance to study how he made it before they had separated.
“Want to knead it?”
She looked up at the question to find him watching her, and she nodded. She stood and made her way around the island to stand beside him, and she washed her hands in the sink set into the counter before refocusing on the dough in the mixing bowl. As she reached out for it, he laid his hands on top of hers and guided them, pressing down gently but firmly to show her the right amount of pressure to apply as she kneaded the soft, sticky dough. Bits of it clung to her hands when they’d finished.
“Looks great.” Luke’s voice was soft, and Rose looked up to find that instead of the bowl, he was watching her, desire in his eyes.
“I think so, too,” she said. She reached up to poke his nose and stick a tiny bit of dough onto it, and she laughed as she moved for the sink to clean off her hands again. As she dried them on the plush towel hanging from a rod on the counter, she heard him cover the bread and then felt his arms encircling her waist, his lips brushing her neck.
“I’m sorry for last night,” he told her quietly. “I know you said you weren’t scared, but I just—I don’t deserve you, Rose.”
She spun around so quickly that he pulled back a little, his eyes widening.
“What are you talking about?” she asked. “Are you still worried about what Alex said?”
“I—” He looked away, staring at the counter behind her with a frown. “It’s a lot of things. If you’re with me, you’re always going to have to worry about assholes with cameras invading your personal space and your boss finding out everything about your personal life without you telling her. You’re always going to wonder whether your child would’ve been happier with their real father. And whether you would have, too.”
Rose blinked. The desire in Luke’s green eyes had been replaced by pain. She laid her hands on his cheeks and guided his face gently downward, and his focus returned to her.
“Listen to me,” she said gently. “I appreciate that you want to make me happy, and it’s… well, it’s a complicated situation, to say the very least. But you are the one I want. Like I said before, there was a time when I thought that was Alex. And I’m so sorry for that, but I made a mistake. I’ve made several, actually. And the first big one was letting you go.” She stretched up to kiss him softly, her thumbs caressing his cheeks as her hands kept him close. After a moment, she pulled back to meet his eyes again. “All I want is you.”
***
“All I want is you.” The words hung in the air around Luke as he finished cooking. Rose stood at his side, watching him bake the bread and taking the lead on the pasta—Alfredo, which had always been her favorite. He wanted to believe her words so badly that the need was suffocating him. He wanted to ask her exactly what that meant; how far did she want this to go? The engagement ring he’d given her years earlier still rested in its box in his nightstand back in Winnetka. Part of him knew it was absurd to even be thinking about these things after such a short amount of time, but he reminded himself that it wasn’t like they were starting from scratch with this relationship. It felt like they were trying to pick up where they’d left off, and that had been a couple of months before a walk down the aisle.
But would Rose see it that way? He didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure whether he was ready to ask her.
He needed air. He turned around to reach for their bowls of pasta, but he found that Rose had already grabbed them. Within a few moments, she’d reached the open back doors, and she stepped outside. He watched through the glass wall as she crossed the patio and set the bowls down on the table. Night had fallen over the island, and the light of the torches surrounding the house played across Rose’s face, making her eyes dance and lending a mysterious quality to her smile.
She’s smiling and we aren’t even in the same room. Seems like a good sign.
Luke grabbed the platter the bread rested on and started for the doors. Rose reached them before he did, and when she paused in the doorway, he caught his breath. The flickering torches illuminated her hair from behind and shone through the thin material of her blouse, and it made her glow.
“What?” she asked.
He blinked, and as his eyes slid back into focus, he realized she was watching him, amusement in the set of her lips.
“You’re perfect.” He leaned close to kiss her cheek, and she let out a quiet, dismissive laugh.
“That’s the hunger talking. You’re getting delusional.”
Luke frowned and opened his mouth to reply, but in a second, she was gone, returning to the kitchen to retrieve their glasses. He sighed and laid the bread platter on the table, and with the knife he’d carried out on it, he went to work cutting a few slices for each of them. The air was thick with humidity. He knew it had to be much colder at home, and he found himself appreciating the opportunity to get away once again.
In a few moments, she’d returned, a bottle of sparkling juice under her arm and glasses in her hands. She set them beside their chairs and filled them before placing the bottle next to the bread platter.
The warmth of the food was comforting, and much to Luke’s relief, the bread had turned out well—Rose smiled on the first bite. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d baked it, but he knew it must’ve been before she had left him. Slowly, the tension eased from his muscles. Despite his fears, she seemed fully comfortable. She smiled often as they ate, conversing between bites, and she didn’t seem the least bit angry with him or tired of him. He pushed Alex’s words from his mind and focused on the woman across from him.
When they had finished off the bottle and she stood to go for another, he caught her wrist as she walked past. She looked down at him where he sat, and he traced her skin softly with his thumb.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“Coming back.”
Surprise flickered across Rose’s face, and then she leaned down to kiss him softly. Her long hair tickled his cheek and his neck, and he pulled her closer, finally allowing himself to give in to the desire that had been building since they had arrived. He slipped his fingers into her hair and cradled the back of her head, and his other hand skimmed down her back to rest at her waist. He pulled her onto his lap as their kisses grew more passionate, and as she wrapped her arms around him and scooted closer until her chest was pressed to his, he felt himself hardening beneath her. Pressing his hips upward, he felt her core against him, and his cock th
robbed with need. The clothes separating them needed to disappear. Her skirt wasn’t doing much to keep them apart, but her underwear…
She pulled her lips away, and he couldn’t hold back a soft groan of protest. She kissed along his jaw and toward his ear.
“Why don’t we take this inside?” she breathed.
“Gladly.” His voice came out low and rough, and he didn’t bother hiding the lust in it. He slipped one hand beneath her to support her as he stood, and he nudged the sliding door open with his elbow as he carried her into the house. As he walked, her lips skimmed along his neck, and he purred at the sensation of her kiss and the warm wetness he could feel building beneath his hand through the lace of her panties. He left the outside door open, and when they reached the one to the bedroom, he paused there long enough to pin her against it, lift her face from his neck, and kiss her hard. He rocked against her, grinding against her sex, and she let out a rough moan.
“I need you,” she whispered.
“Good.”
He opened the door and then returned his hands’ attention to her, the one that didn’t rest beneath her caressing her breast as he carried her toward the bed. It was a California king, and the bedclothes and the canopy were gold and shimmering in the torchlight that entered through the patio doors. He would’ve found the glass wall’s continuation into the bedroom uncomfortable under most circumstances—he had no desire for an audience—but this section of the beach was private land, and the only thing beyond it was the ocean.
This place was theirs. The night was theirs.
He laid her on the bed and paused beside it to stare at her. Even in the dim light, she was an absolute goddess. She shifted back to lie on the pillows, and there was a teasing fire in her eyes that sent another rush of blood to his cock. Rose reached up to unfasten the top button of her shirt, and then she looked up at him from beneath her long eyelashes. “Do I have to do all of them, or would you like to handle it?”
