Loving Lucas Page 11

  “Sure.” She eats a forkful of salad while staring at the floor.

  I finish half my burger, regretting my history with Sarah. How can I expect Karlie to understand? There was only one guy before me. “You can’t get mad at me for having a past.”

  She looks up. “I’m not mad, Lucas.” She swirls her fork around in the dressing and my heart falls. “Just cautious.”

  Once we’re done eating, I pay the waitress, then escort Karlie to the car. We ride home in meditative silence, her occasional loud sighs a clear warning of what she’s thinking. When I pull into the driveway, she hops out and marches to the front door. By the time I unload my gear, she’s locked in her room, her stereo blasting. So much for I’m-Karlie-hear-me-roar. I’ll spend tonight alone, contemplating my next move. I bolt the front door, dim the lights, and drag myself upstairs.

  Women—I’ll never understand them.

  Chapter 15

  Once I hear Lucas’s door close, I turn the music off. I know I overreacted at the café, but meeting another girl who’s had carnal knowledge of my new boyfriend—if I can even call him that—did something to me. All I see, all I feel, is the same humiliation I suffered with Connor. Women following us, strangers calling his cell all times of the day and night. Unfortunately, my past still dominates my life. I didn’t have the luxury of growing up in an emotionally stable family. Kids came and went from my foster home. I always felt lucky knowing I’d wake up in the same bed through high school. That’s the extent of my history of security. I don’t recollect anything about my birth parents; therefore, I don’t know anything about who I really am.

  Sometimes I made up crap, just to fit in. Those stories, the person I fantasized about being, are as much a part of me as my memories. I’m Karlie Augustine, the orphan, the castoff, the baby no one adopted. I’m damaged. And although I don’t show it, pretty broken. Connor did that. And I let him.

  I crack the door and peek into the living room. Quiet. Good. I walk to the kitchen and flip the light on. The counter and floors need to be scrubbed, so I grab a sponge and Windex from the cabinet under the sink and start cleaning, overspraying and practically scouring the finish off the granite. My foster mother always said cleanliness is next to godliness. I laugh inwardly, calling bullshit on that, but it’s certainly therapeutic. Next I grab the broom, dustpan, and Swiffer Sweeper from the laundry room.

  At the very least, I have a standing agreement with Lucas. Sleeping with him doesn’t negate my duties. There’s been little time for housekeeping over the last few days. I’ve spent most of my time at school or in his bed. That thought makes my cheeks burn. Just as I finish dumping the contents of the dustpan in the garbage, I hear Lucas walk downstairs.

  When I look up, he’s leaning against the archway, his arms crossed over his broad chest, wearing nothing but his underwear. I try to resist, but his body is like some uncontrollable force of nature. I’m transfixed, staring at his pecs, then his mouth.

  “Karlie?”

  I meet his gaze. “I thought you went to bed.”

  “It’s only nine thirty, too early to sleep.”

  “Did I disturb you?”

  He sighs. “Everything about tonight bothered me, darlin’.” He unfolds his arms, then takes a step toward me.

  “Don’t,” I rebuff him. “I’m not sure I want to do this right now.”

  He stops, looking concerned. “Are you still angry at me for sleeping with another woman before I met you? It meant nothing.”

  “That’s the problem.”

  “Quit twisting the meaning. Two consenting adults sharing a night of pleasure isn’t a crime.”

  I’m not convinced, nor am I happy to be having this conversation. Sex is a sacred thing to me; that’s why I chose not to lose my virginity in high school. So many girls sacrificed that in order to fit in. End result…depression, confusion, low self-esteem. The negatives by far outweigh the positives. And I refuse to be a victim of bad choices. Everything I do today will affect my tomorrow. “I’m not judging you.”

  “Really?” He shrugs his left shoulder. “Everything changed between us the minute you met Sarah.”

  “Once bitten,” I say, quickly regretting it.

  “Nope.” He smacks the wall. “You don’t get to categorize me with that maniacal asshole.”

  “You’re right,” I say apologetically. “But that doesn’t change my past.”

  “No, but you can change your future.”

  I know Lucas cares; just the level of restraint he’s showing proves it. Most guys would have walked away by now. Hell, Connor would have laughed. “It’s not Sarah specifically.” My stomach clenches. “It’s what she represents.”

  He nods. “I haven’t been with a woman in months, Karlie. You changed that. Call it fate or whatever else you want, something sparked between us the moment we met. But I can’t do this alone. You have to trust me enough to see where this goes. One thing needs to be made clear, though: I’m not a player. As long as we’re dating, I’ll never entertain the idea of sleeping with another woman. I was raised better.”

  His puppy-dog eyes threaten my control. He’s a Texas boy, and probably a mama’s boy, too. “Do you love your mother?”

  His eyebrows arch. “What?”

  A small laugh escapes my lips.

  “Where did that come from?” he asks.

  Suddenly the miles of emotional distance between us seem to be mere inches. “Random question.”

  “Of course,” he says. “Who doesn’t love his mama?”

  One name comes to mind: Connor Seville.

  “Judging by that look on your face,” he says, “you know someone.” He advances again, snatching my hand. “What happened to you, Karlie? Why are you so afraid of sex?”

  “I’m not afraid of sex.” God, after what we’ve shared, how could I be? My tummy flip-flops. “I just don’t want to be a number.”

  “That won’t happen.” He tugs me into his arms, then kisses the top of my head. “Let’s just agree to get a good night’s sleep, in our respective rooms. Sleep late; I’ll grab breakfast at work. Okay?”

  I nod and he releases me. I watch him walk up the steps, regretting that I’m not joining him.

  —

  Heart-wrenching. Karlie looked so helpless standing in the kitchen once she realized I was there. I pull the covers back and slide into bed. I gaze at the empty space to my right, already missing her tiny body. I need to be more diligent—convert her from a doubter to a woman willing to fully engage a man like me. I’ve dealt with emotional baggage before, especially with my ex-wife, and now I have a closet full of my own. But Willow doesn’t have a fragile heart like Karlie. My ex was cold, as bitter as salt.

  I scratch my head, then roll onto my side, staring at the clock. I’d prefer to snuggle up with her on the couch and watch a movie or take a swim. This on-edge shit doesn’t work for me. I like everything to be out in the open, all doubts and expectations given equal priority. Departmental regulations require all officers to seek professional counseling when there’s a life-changing event, defined as marriage, divorce, birth, or death. Add any significant incident in the field, whether a physical altercation or a shooting, and most officers are prepared to deal with life.

  Just as my eyes start to close, my phone rings. I sigh, then pick up.

  “Lucas?”

  I’m speechless; it’s Willow. “Everything all right?” I immediately sit up. “Is Alex asleep?”

  “He’s fine—I just…”

  “What is it?” This is a first. Of course she couldn’t pick a worse time to call. My mind is saturated with Karlie. “Tell me, Willow.”

  “I miss you.”

  Silence. I suck in a deep breath, pissed off at what she said. “Where’s Paul?”

  “Out-of-town business trip.”

  “You don’t miss me, Willow; you’re lonely.” My ex always needed to be the center of the universe. Sometimes she even got jealous of our dog. I caught her telling our son to pu
t on a dog costume so I’d pay more attention to him. “Hang up and go to bed.”

  “Everything is always so black and white with you, Lucas.”

  “After living with you,” I retort, “there’s little gray left in this world.”

  She sighs, my words obviously resonating. “I admit I was selfish and difficult at times.”

  “At times?” I repeat, laughing. She never gave me a chance to win her heart back after she announced she was leaving. That’s how Willow operated throughout our marriage, even when we were dating in high school. If she got mad, she left, regardless of where we were or who was in attendance. It made me a different man, and I’ll never accept that kind of behavior from another woman again.

  “Plenty of times,” she clarifies.

  “Glad you have the courage to finally admit it,” I say. “I’m hanging up now.”

  If my ex-wife had called two months ago, I might have considered entertaining her, acting as her psychologist. But now, after sampling how pleasant life could be with a woman like Karlie, I’m finished dealing with Willow unless it concerns our son. I punch my pillow, then settle back down, wondering why she called. The goddamn world has a cruel way of fucking with a man’s head and heart. I don’t like it.

  Then Karlie taps on my door.

  “Come in.”

  The door opens slowly. She’s wearing the fluffy, oversized robe I bought her; it makes her look like a Q-tip with a head and feet. I chuckle. Her hair is in a ponytail. “I couldn’t sleep,” she says.

  I pat the edge of the bed. “Sit down, darlin’.”

  She does. “I never answered your question downstairs. Do you really want to know what made me so skeptical of relationships?”

  “Sure do.”

  “Connor.”

  I swallow, careful to contain the rage I feel hearing his name. “He cheated?”

  “I don’t know,” she answers. “But there were nights he never came home. Trips across country on the racing circuit. Groupies…”

  I recoil. Groupies. It helps explain why she reacted so adversely to Sarah. “I’m sorry you had to put up with his…”

  She holds her fingers up to my lips to silence me. “I don’t want your pity, just your awareness. I have legitimate concerns.” She moves off the bed, then leaves my room.

  Chapter 16

  I stare at the note Lucas left…

  If I could change your past, I would. If I could do anything to assure you that the feelings I’m having come from the deepest parts of my heart, I would. If I convince you not to give up on us, then I consider that a victory. I’m working late today, see you at nine.

  Simple, but so romantic. I fold it in half, holding it close. Again, I let my past get in the way. Connor Seville is no longer a part of my life, but he’s still influencing the decisions I make and how I feel. It makes me angry. Bruises and defamatory language are so much easier to deal with than matters of the heart. And I know that’s where Lucas is coming from. He’s not in love with me; I’m not egotistical enough to assume that. But I know he’s sincere. God help me. I should have recognized his personality type at the racetrack. Just the way he seized control of the situation suggested he was honorable.

  So he’s had casual sex with a few partners; most men do. I’m the freak, not him. My cell phone chimes and I jump off the sofa and race to my bedroom. I answer on the fourth ring.

  “Marie?”

  “Hey girl,” she says. “I’m in the neighborhood.”

  “What are you doing on the island?”

  “I’m wearing a bathing suit and you have a heated pool and hot tub—that’s what I’m doing in the ’hood.”

  She hangs up and I smile. Marie doesn’t have a class this morning either. Typically I blow off all responsibilities on Friday and do whatever I want. A girl has to have a play day, right? I strip off my pajamas and grab the first bikini in my drawer, a light blue tiger print. By the time she knocks, I’m ready to go swimming. I open the door and she pushes past me, dropping her purse and backpack on the floor. She walks into the living room and spins around.

  “This place looks amazing.”

  “It should,” I say sarcastically. “I had a late-night cleaning frenzy.”

  She cocks her head. “Did you guys argue?”

  I shake my head. “A misunderstanding.”

  “Nope,” she says, sitting on one of the barstools. “Don’t make me squeeze it out of you.”

  “We went out to eat last night and I met one of his fans.”

  “A cop groupie? The kind you see on CSI?”

  Marie is so dramatic. “Yes,” I confirm. “Dressed in a tight miniskirt and six-inch heels.”

  “Hot?”

  “Very.”

  She studies me. “You need a new dress.”

  That’s her solution for every girlie disaster: new clothes. “No money.”

  “I have plastic—consider it an early Christmas gift.”

  “No.”

  “You really don’t know how beautiful you are, Karlie. But if you keep hiding those curves under long cotton skirts and hippie shirts, Lucas might miss something.”

  She wouldn’t say that if she knew he’d tied me up. “I think Lucas has pretty much discovered every inch of me.”

  “Naked is one thing,” she says. “But wrapping paper is another.”

  “Is that what clothes are?”

  “If you’re trying to keep a guy like Lucas…” She rolls her eyes. “I’m pretty sure it matters.”

  I finally give in. “Are we shopping in bikinis?”

  “Go change,” she commands. “I’ll put my jeans on.”

  Thirty minutes later we’re in her car, driving to La Palmera mall. We end up in Victoria’s Secret. She picks a hazy lavender lace bra and matching panties—I get no say. Then we search the dresses. Marie is going through the racks like a madwoman. Finally, after hanging back and watching her chaotic search for whatever she’s envisioned me in, she holds up a black, twist-back dress. It’s sleek and sexy and short.

  “Try this on.” She offers it.

  “That’s an ultra-low-cut front, Marie. Look, it’s held together by a spaghetti string.”

  “Precisely,” she says with that million-dollar smile. “Your double D’s will fill it out and then some.”

  I reluctantly carry the garment into the dressing room. A few minutes later, I step out so Marie can see. She slowly circles me, making silly noises.

  “Have you looked in the mirror, Karlie?”

  “No.”

  “Look.” She points at the three-paneled glass behind us.

  I do. An involuntary smile lights my face. I’ve never worn anything so flirty, so revealing. And I can’t believe how well it showcases my body; my cleavage is sick. Marie makes such a fuss, two of the salesclerks approach.

  “Look at her figure,” one says.

  “That dress was made for you,” the other comments.

  I agree, but it’s too expensive. “I adore it.”

  “Good.” Marie smacks my ass affectionately. “Get dressed and we’ll get out of here.”

  We end up at the cash register with the bra and panties, the dress, a pair of heeled, T-strap Mary Janes, shiny lip gloss, and baked mineral bronzing powder. Total cost? Over two hundred dollars. I immediately complain, but Marie holds her hand up.

  “Get over it, Karlie.”

  Under protest, she drives me home and drags me to my bedroom.

  “You spent too much money,” I complain.

  “And you spend too little.”

  She knows I’m frugal to a fault. “I don’t have any money.”

  “Yes you do,” she argues. “I know you’ve saved five thousand dollars over the last few years.”

  I gape at her. “How?”

  “You told me last time you got drunk.”

  Sometimes I drink too much rum. That money is all I have in the world. Essentially, it doesn’t exist. I earned it working summers, most of it laboring away in Connor
’s mother’s bakery for ten dollars an hour. “Don’t ever tell anyone.”

  She pretends to zip her mouth. “I understand, sweetie, believe me. Now let’s focus on how you’re going to seduce Lucas tonight. Makeup sex is great.”

  “We didn’t argue.” I retrieve his note from the nightstand and give it to her.

  She scans it, then looks at me. “If I could do anything to assure you that the feelings I’m having come from the deepest parts of my heart, I would.” She blows out an exaggerated breath. “That’s hot. Wear the dress tonight.”

  “He’s working late and we aren’t going out.”

  “Trust me, Karlie, wear the freakin’ dress.”

  —

  After showering and dressing in the station locker room, I head to my truck. Should I go home or stop for a beer first? I’m still unsure where Karlie and I left off last night. Maybe the note helped. But she hasn’t called or texted—something neither one of us has done yet. We’re both hesitant to interfere with each other’s lives. I connect the seat belt and lay my iPhone on the center console. Starting the engine, I stare at my cell. I really want to hear her voice.

  Screw pride. I dial her number and she answers on the second ring. “Hello, Lucas.” She sounds fairly happy.

  “Hello, darlin’. Need anything from the store?”

  “Green grapes and a gallon of milk.”

  I smile—it sounds so domestic. “That’s it?”

  “Uh-huh,” she purrs. “How long are you going to be?”

  “Forty-five minutes.”

  “Okay. ’Bye.” She disconnects.

  If love letters make her that happy, I’ll write one every day. I stop at H-E-B, pick up a few groceries, then arrive at the house. The lights are on in the backyard, and I peek over the fence. She’s not outside. I unlock the front door and step inside. I catch a hint of vanilla incense as I place my things on the table in the entry. I walk around the corner. A candlelight dinner is a great sign that she’s ready to move forward. There are flowers, salad, bread, Cornish game hens, and green bean casserole waiting for me. It smells delicious.

  “Welcome home,” she says.