by Evelyn Adams
Luke let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He’d have spent all night driving her around town if she wanted, but he was more grateful than he could have imagined to be able to take her home with him.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, letting go of her hand so he could stroke her cheek. “Let me take you home and take care of you. We can deal with all this in the morning.”
He felt her nod against his palm and slipped the car into gear before she could change her mind and remember she was angry with him.
He didn’t ask whether she wanted to go to his place or hers. When she didn’t protest as he made the turn toward his penthouse he took it as a good sign. He fobbed his way into the underground parking garage and slid his car into its spot. He was out of his seat and by Claire’s side by the time she got her door open. Keeping her tucked against him, his arm around her waist, he led her onto his private elevator.
As soon as the doors slid closed behind them, she turned to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and letting the weight of her head fall against his chest. Where there had been scorching heat between them, this time there was something more. Something richer than the want that always burned just below the surface every time they touched. He felt her need, not the need for him to take her. The need to have him hold her up, give her his strength while he sheltered and protected her.
Strong, sweet Claire vulnerable in his arms broke something open in him that he didn’t think he’d ever be able to put back together again. He cupped the back of her head with his hand, cradling her to him as his other hand stroked her back. Much too soon the doors slid open and he had to loosen his grip on her, but he kept his hand anchored to the small of her back as he let them into his penthouse.
Everything was the way they’d left it that morning. Esmerelda his housekeeper had been in to tidy the breakfast dishes and he hoped stock the refrigerator, but Claire’s Architectural Digest was on the counter where she’d laid it after she finished her coffee. Could it just be fourteen hours ago? When they left together that morning he’d been so happy. He loved waking up with Claire in his arms.
And then there had been the disaster at the flip and he’d been sure they were over and that it was what he wanted when the exact opposite was true. He wanted – no needed – to be closer to her not farther away. He’d been going back into the house she was working on to tell her that when the call from Sparks had come in. Now Pete was dead, his family’s lives changed forever, and Luke had no idea where he and Claire stood. He knew where he wanted them to be. He wanted them to be together.
He steered her to kitchen counter, nudging her onto a stool. Not bothering to ask if she was hungry, he went to the refrigerator and started to dig through the contents, looking for something to feed them both. They’d been on their way to dinner when they started to fight and he doubted she’d bothered to take time for lunch. If he didn’t force her to eat, he was afraid she’d work herself to death, living on black coffee and determination alone, which was sad considering when he took her out she got more pleasure out of food than any other woman he’d ever met.
He found a roast chicken and a huge bowl of salad Esmerelda must have left for him. While the chicken warmed in the microwave, he plated and dressed the salad. The microwave dinged and he took the chicken out, burning his fingers as he tried to hold it so that he could slice it to put on the salad. Eric would laugh his ass off if he could see Luke in the kitchen trying to do more than pour cereal into a bowl. Maybe he should have taken Claire to Comme Ci or swung by to pick up take out. Having a celebrity chef for a best friend vastly expanded his take out options.
When he glanced over at Claire, sitting on the stool looking stunned and sad, he knew he’d made the right decision bringing them home. She was in no shape to go out and he wanted to feed her himself even if it was a chicken and salad his housekeeper made. He needed to be the one to take care of her. He slid the sliced chicken onto the plates beside the salad and wiped his hands on a white terry cloth dish towel before setting the plate in front of Claire. Grabbing two bottles of water and his own plate, he joined her at the counter.
“Thank you for this,” she said, motioning with her fork. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was until you started to fix food. I worked through lunch.” She had the decency to look sheepish, and he snorted at her revelation.
“I figured.” He waited until she’d eaten almost half her salad before he spoke again. “Claire, I’m sorry about earlier. I overstepped. I was coming back into the house to tell you when Sparks called.” He watched her posture shift, tighten, and he worried he’d made a mistake bringing it up when she was so raw. “We don’t have to talk about any of this now. I just wanted to say I’m sorry, and I want a chance to fix this thing between us. You’re too important to me to let go.”
She didn’t say anything but she nodded and her shoulders relaxed a few fractions of an inch. They ate in silence for a few more minutes before she turned to face him. She opened her mouth and then closed it again without speaking.
“I know you were trying to help,” she finally said. The but hung in the air yet she didn’t say it, and he didn’t push.
When they’d finished the food, he took their plates to the sink, caught her hand in his and led her down the hallway to the shower and his bedroom.
CLAIRE WASN’T SURE how she’d ended up here again. Luke was like a drug she couldn’t seem to get out of her system. When they’d gotten to her flip and she’d seen the crews he’d hired she’d been so angry and hurt and when he said he never wanted to make her do something she didn’t want to she knew she needed to walk away while she still could. He’d never be able to love her like she needed to be loved. The kind of love that meant family, building something together and not holding anything back. In the end, he’d been the one to walk out the door and the inevitability of the gesture and the resignation on his face crushed her. She’d fallen apart, but she hadn’t gone after him, and she might have been okay, at least eventually. Her heart was shattered but she could keep moving, putting one foot in front of another until she built some semblance of a life for herself.
When he came back for a moment she thought it had been because he’d reconsidered. Then she saw his face and knew something was very wrong.
Pete was gone. She still had trouble believing it. Hell, earlier that day he’d been warning her about Luke, and now he was dead, and she was back in Luke’s arms. Faced with everything that had happened that day, she couldn’t bring herself to push him away. She wasn’t strong enough. She needed his strength, and if it was wrong – who was she kidding, she knew it was wrong – then she’d have to deal with the consequences later. When the pain of everything wasn’t so raw and close to the surface.
She let him lead her down the hall to his bedroom and past the bed where they’d made love so many times in the few weeks they’d been together.
“Bath or shower, sweetheart?” he asked, opening the door to his amazing Carrera marble clad bathroom.
She didn’t need to relax. She needed to wash away the nastiness of the day and then fall into Luke’s soft white bed.
“Shower.”
He pushed buttons on a panel on the wall and rain started to fall behind the glass door. She stood and watched it slide down the glass, making clear trails before steaming up again. Dropping onto the small stool by the vanity, she worked lose the laces on her boots. Groaning in relief, she slid the steel-toed boot from her feet. She pulled off her socks but couldn’t seem to make herself strip off the rest of her clothing.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of it. Not Pete or the break up with Luke or the reconciliation which wasn’t really a reconciliation.
She didn’t know what the hell to call what they were doing. She just knew that if she wanted a shower; she’d have to take off her clothes, and if she took off her clothes, she and Luke would make love. Have sex. She needed to keep reminding herself that no matter how fucking perfect it was, they weren’t making love.
At least not on Luke’s side of things. Her heart was long gone.
They hadn’t fixed anything between them. Pete’s death just threw them together. It was a false intimacy. But she’d be damned if she turned away from the comfort he offered her.
“Sweetheart?” he said, taking a step toward her.
He’d taken off his shirt, and she couldn’t help but be knocked a little breathless at the sight of his strong muscled chest and tightly defined abs. He had the body of a man who worked hard every day, not one who spent most of his time behind a desk.
“It’s okay,” she said, reaching out to clasp his waist.
She pulled him in close enough to rest her forehead against the firm, ridged plane of his stomach. He cupped her head in both of his hands, pausing for a moment to hold her before gently tugging the elastic band free, releasing her pony tail. With the pads of his fingers he massaged her scalp, working loose some of the tension and knots that had been building all day. It felt exquisite, and after a moment she tipped her head up and pressed a kiss to the warm skin just above his waistband. With determined fingers, she undid his belt, not bothering to pull it from the loops before unfastening his slacks and sliding down the zipper.
His cock was already hard, long and thick, the tip protruding from underneath the elastic band of his boxer briefs. She licked, running her tongue along the tip, tasting the salty pre-cum. His fingers tightened in her hair and the delicious tug spurred her on. She ran her tongue over the round head, dipping below his waistband to trace the ridge of his cock before freeing him completely and taking him in her mouth. She worked her mouth up and down his length, stroking the underside of his cock with the flat of her tongue, giving herself over to his pleasure so she didn’t have to feel out of control.
“Wait, sweetheart,” he said, stopping her with a groan. “I want to take my time with you. If you keep doing that, I won’t last.”
Helping her to her feet, he kissed her, teasing her lips apart and meeting her tongue with his. He broke the kiss and grabbed the hem of her T-shirt, stripping the soft cotton from her body before reaching for the button on her jeans. Tugging the jeans over her hips and down her legs, he steadied her as she stepped clear of the denim. With quick efficient movements, he stripped her of her bra and panties.
He let his hands skim over her body, waking her nerves and pebbling her flesh. Cupping her breasts in his strong warm hands, he traced her tight nipples with his thumbs. The heat that seemed to be always just under the surface surged between them, and her mouth fell open, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Bending his head, he caught her sighs with his mouth, taking the kiss deeper, winding her desire tighter.
With hands made desperate by his kiss, she pushed at his slacks and briefs, shoving them past his hips and groaning into his mouth as he stepped free of them, and she felt the hard press of his cock against the soft mound of her belly. She reached down to wrap her fingers around his long hard length, but he caught her hand, pinning it against her side.
“Shower. Now, sweetheart,” he said, breaking the kiss and spinning her toward the fogged glass enclosure.
She opened the door and stepped in under the gentle warm rain. The water washed over her like tears, and just like with tears she felt the loss, the waste and the barest edge of resignation. Hidden in the spray of the shower, she let her tears fall, mourning for Pete and his family and for the love she didn’t think she’d ever have with Luke.
When Luke climbed into the shower with her, he pulled her to him, cradling her against his chest. He sheltered her under the spray until the water washed away the last of her tears, and she was able to tip her head up and give him a weak smile.
“I’m sorry,” she said, pulling back enough to let the water run between their bodies. “That snuck up on me.”
“You don’t need to apologize to me. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you. I’m floored at how strong you’ve been today.” For a few minutes, he held her, letting his hands follow the path of the water as it slid down her back. Stroking her until the comfort of his touch turned into something more. Something hotter.
Claire stretched up on her toes to kiss and taste the water as it ran down his neck. Her fingers tangled in his wet hair as she licked at the hollow at the base of his throat. She felt the vibration under her lips as he groaned in pleasure.
“Close your eyes, sweetheart. And tip your head back,” he said, swallowing against her mouth.
She did as he asked, letting the warm water rain down on her face and slick her hair into a wet sheet against her back.
“Keep them closed and don’t move,” he said a moment before his lips found the pulse point under her jaw.
Her mouth opened on a sigh of pleasure, and she licked the drops of water from her lips. He traced a path from her jaw to her collar bone with his mouth, hotter than the water falling on them. Pausing to scrape his teeth over the knotted muscle where her neck met her shoulders, he gripped her hips, anchoring her in place before continuing his torturous route down her body. He wrapped his lips around first one nipple and then the other, suckling her, his mouth a hot brand on her skin.
When he went to his knees, she almost dropped down beside him. She felt so raw and vulnerable. Having him kneeling in front of her only emphasized the feeling, but when he pressed a kiss to the mound of her sex she froze, her breath catching in her throat. And when he licked into her, she lost her mind, her whole world focusing on the way his mouth felt on her aching flesh.
Nudging her legs apart, he hooked a hand behind one knee, raising her leg so it rested on his shoulder. His hand on her hip held her in place while he spread her open for him. With long firm strokes, he licked from her opening to her clit, grazing the sides of the tender bundle of nerves, winding her desire tighter without ever quite touching where she needed him most.
He cupped her butt with his other hand, his fingers playing along the seam, dipping to touch a slick fingertip to the tight bud of her ass. His thumb pressed against her opening, and she tangled her fingers in his wet hair, urging him closer to her center and the relief she needed.
With her head tipped back, the water raining down on her breasts, and his mouth teasing and tasting her, he wound her desire tighter and tighter until the only thing keeping her from fracturing apart was his hand on her hip and her fingers clinging to his hair. Pressing with his thumb and the tip of his finger, he entered her as he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked. Her breath left her on a gasp and she tasted the water from the shower on her lips. Anchoring her in place so she had no choice but to take the pleasure he was giving her, he thrust with his hand, flicking the tight bundle of nerves with his tongue.
“Luke, please, please, Luke.” She panted, chanting in rhythm with his relentless touch.
He drove her on with his mouth and hand, demanding she give into the climax rolling over her. Her leg tightened on his shoulder even as her other knee went weak. Sliding his hand from her body he circled her waist with his arms, pressing both hands into the small of her back. She arched against his touch, desperate to get closer even as she needed a break from the onslaught of his mouth on her sensitive flesh.
When he’d drawn out the last bit of her orgasm, leaving her breathless and limp, he stood taking her in his arms. Spent, she pressed her face against his wet chest, fitting herself into him. He tucked her head under his chin and sheltered in the strength of his arms, the shower beating down around them, she found the only peace she’d had in her whole day.
She stroked her hands over him, her fingers tracing the water slicked muscles of his back. He flexed his arms, pulling her in tighter, and she felt the coiled strength of his masculine body, tight and powerful under her hands, and more than capable of holding the world up for her for a while. She slipped her hand between them, wanting to give him back some of the pleasure he’d given her. When she reached for him, he caught her hand, pinning her in place.
“Not yet, sweetheart,” he said. “Let me take care of
you this time.”
Reaching around her for the shower gel, she heard him thumb open the cap and smelled the spicy citrus scent she would always associate with Luke. Using his warm strong hands, he ran his soap slicked fingers over her body, making quick work of washing away the day’s grime. He turned her like a doll, moving her so he could wash every inch of her, paying special attention to the curve and swell of her breasts, his thumbs brushing with deliberate slowness over her tight nipples. She arched into his touch, overwhelmed with the absolute certainty that she’d never get enough of this man. His pressed the pads of his fingertips into her lower back, working out the knots. When he adjusted the shower spray to rinse the soap from her body, the hot water took the last of her tension down the drain with the suds.
“May I?” She held out her hands for the shower gel, and he squirted a dollop into the center of her palms.
Rubbing her hands together to work up a lather, she ran her fingers over his strong back, relishing the feel of his muscles under her palms. She kneaded soapy fingers into his tight shoulders before pulling him to her for a kiss. His mouth met hers, and she licked at the water beading on his lips. Letting her soapy hands glide down his arms, she found his hands, twining her fingers with his as he took the kiss deeper, breathing through her as the water rained down on them.
When she tried again to reach for him, he stopped her before she could wrap her soapy fist around his cock. He manacled her wrists with his hand as he rinsed the last of the soap away. Leading her from the shower, he snagged a bath sheet from a hook on the wall and wrapped her in the soft white terry cloth before grabbing a towel for himself. With quick brisk strokes he dried his body while she watched, lost for a moment in the sheer masculine beauty of the naked man in front of her.
Discarding his towel, he scooped her up bath sheet and all and cradled her against his as he carried her from the bathroom and to his bed.
LUKE WANTED CLAIRE with a need that was more like what he felt for food or air than the simple pleasure he was used to. He’d seen her crying in the shower and something in his soul had roared to life with the need to protect her, shelter her and take her pain away. He’d stopped her when she reached for him because he wasn’t sure how he’d ever keep his control with her hands on him. It had been all he could take to let her wash his back.
