Loving Lucas Page 2

  “My things are out of the RV,” she informs him. “Now you can go back to sleep.”

  It amuses me to hear her stand up to him after what I witnessed before. I admire her spirit; I’m always intrigued by feisty women. Connor glowers, visibly struggling to maintain control of his temper.

  “Last chance to come peacefully,” he says. “If you don’t, you’ll never see the rest of your things again.”

  That makes her react and she drops her backpack on the ground, then covers her pretty face with both hands. I’m standing close enough to hear her take a deep breath, like she’s gasping for air. “Nothing is worth my self-respect, Connor. Nothing.”

  Good girl. Brave girl. If she’s anything like my ex-wife, being surrounded by her personal possessions is important. She gains more respect from me for making that sacrifice. Men and women are just hardwired differently. Women attach deep sentimental value to keepsakes and men just don’t give a shit.

  “Come on, Connor.” A guy steps up, slapping him on the back. “Let’s grab a beer.”

  Connor takes a last look at me, then at Karlie. It’s over for now; even our onlookers disperse.

  Once he disappears, the girls hug each other, then offer the bags to the guy who tried to intervene before I took over.

  He takes the luggage.

  “I’ll stash the bags and grab the cooler.”

  “I need a beer,” Karlie says. “Maybe two.”

  A few minutes after he leaves, Karlie and her friend exchange whispers, staring at me the whole time. I grin, crossing my arms over my chest. Not the first time I’ve been the subject of female gossip and it surely won’t be the last. Karlie’s friend gives her a smug look, then gently pushes her in my direction. “Do it,” she calls after her.

  Karlie approaches, her head bowed. “Thank you.”

  I want to gaze into those radiant eyes again, see the same fire I noticed before. “It was nothing,” I say. “Should have punched the bastard.”

  That makes her laugh. I get my wish when she looks up. “I’m Karlie.”

  “Lucas Lafontaine.” I offer my hand.

  When we shake, an electric current runs up my arm. I know she felt it too, because she quickly lets go. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

  “First night,” I say. “I just moved to Corpus three weeks ago, transferred from Lake Jackson. This track is closer than the one near San Antonio.”

  “What class do you race in?”

  “Vintage,” I say. “KR750 Flathead Harley-Davidson.”

  She smiles, flashing perfectly straight teeth. “Love those.”

  “You?” I ask.

  She blushes. “A little motocross and Powder Puff.”

  “They still call it that?” I rub my chin, wondering how female racers in the day and age of equality among the sexes tolerate that name.

  “This is an outlaw circuit, you know,” she informs me. “Not AMA—so yes, we still race Powder Puff.”

  “Any good?”

  “I’ve been told if I had as much skill as I do will, I’d be a world champion.”

  Her honesty is refreshing. “That’s a start,” I say, grinning. “Spirit is a big part of racing.”

  “Yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “If you’re part of the pep squad.”

  We both are chuckling when her friend joins us. “What planet are you from, Superman?” the friend asks.

  “Texas.”

  “That’s a relief,” she says. “Very few guys have ever stood up to that asshole. Thanks for having my girl’s back. I’m Marie Longoria.”

  “Lucas.”

  “Wanna beer?” she asks. “My boyfriend, Brandon, should be back in a second.”

  Beer and barbeque, the next best thing about racing. I nod. “Sure.”

  Brandon returns with a large white cooler and sets it on the ground, flipping the top open. He digs through the ice, pulling out a bottle of Budweiser, then tosses it to me. “Welcome to Seaside Extreme Sports.”

  I catch it and twist the top off, take a swig, then stare at Karlie. She’s intently watching me and I like it a little too much.

  —

  This guy is too good to be true. Not only did he manhandle Connor, he makes me laugh. And I can’t stop staring at his perfect face and body. Oh. My. God. He dwarfs me—at least six foot three, shoulders as broad as a Viking’s, and his eyes are chocolate. But it’s his full lips that keep pulling me in—the way they move when he talks, his lopsided, arrogant grin, that pouty lower lip that I just want to nibble on. Totally kissable, and undeniably hot.

  He catches me staring again and I quickly avert my eyes. What am I thinking? I just broke up with my boyfriend and I’m already scoping out this guy. What if he thinks I’m a little slut? I’m not; it’s just been so long since I felt butterfly wings flutter inside my stomach because a guy smiled at me. Too long.

  Don’t I deserve to feel warm and gooey inside? I want to feel pretty again, desired, and certainly like I’m worth some effort. I don’t know when or how things deteriorated between Connor and me, but I’ve been taken advantage of for too long. Connor hardly notices me anymore, but he used to and I had fallen in love. I guess I stuck around because I believed that if I could help heal his broken heart, things would change. We connected in so many ways—we had both even grown up without fathers—and I truly thought I could give him a reason to be happy. That whole “two broken hearts heal each other” bullshit…

  Alcohol and drugs robbed me of any chance of getting through to him. He’s numb, so volatile, and snaps at the slightest thing. Like a good puppy, if he kicked me, I came crawling back, begging for a little love and attention.

  “Wine cooler or Bud?” Brandon asks.

  I return to the present and look at him. “Wine cooler.”

  He hands it to me.

  “Let me.” Lucas gently removes the bottle from my hand and opens it. “Here.”

  A complete gentleman, and just like that, I feel another flutter inside. Shit. “Thank you.”

  “So do you have a last name?” he asks.

  “Augustine.”

  “Karlie Augustine,” he repeats my name. “Vitals?”

  That’s an odd question. “Want my height, weight, and bra size?”

  I get a roguish grin. “Only if you’re volunteering.” With that, his gaze flicks down to my breasts.

  “I’m a full-time student at Texas A&M.”

  “How did you end up with a piece of shit like Seville?”

  I knew it would come up eventually and he deserves an answer for rescuing me. “We met at a nightclub a year and a half ago,” I say. “Danced and talked all night. Nothing epic, just a big mistake. Racers have big egos and high expectations.”

  “Not all of us,” he assures me.

  I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. “And you?”

  He sighs. “Really want to know?”

  I bite back a smile, half expecting him to say he’s a drug dealer or Special Forces. “Sure do.”

  “Corpus Christi Police Department.”

  “A cop?” I squint at him, picturing him in uniform. It fits. “No wonder you wrestled Connor to the ground like he weighed nothing.”

  “It doesn’t bother you?”

  “Should it?” I’m hopelessly focused on those lips again. What’s wrong with me? “Do you abuse your power? Take bribes?” I try to keep a straight face.

  “Depends what you’re offering, Karlie.”

  My eyebrows pinch together in total shock. He’s flirting with me. “Um…” My cell chimes and I take advantage of the diversion, searching for my backpack.

  “Right there.” Lucas points.

  I kneel, unzip it, and fish out my phone. Marie? I answer.

  “Don’t say my name out loud,” she warns.

  Like a dummy, I look around us to see if I can spot her. “Where are you?”

  “Close enough to see you and the hottie.”

  “And?”

  “Notice the way he keeps star
ing at you?”

  My eyes dart to Lucas; he’s drinking his beer.

  “Yes.”

  “Like him?”

  “Don’t ask me that; he might hear me.”

  I look up again, and there’s a shit-eating grin on his face. “I’m hanging up now.” I disconnect.

  “Where’s Marie?” Lucas edges closer.

  I feel like an awkward teenager. “Not here.”

  “No,” he agrees. “But that was her on the phone.”

  He’s standing right in front of me now and I’m staring at his hard chest, wondering what it would feel like to run my hands over his muscular body. “Yes.” I can’t lie to a cop. “Stop using your superpowers on me.” When he’s close, I have to throw my head back to meet his eyes. Shameless as it is, I’m enjoying the banter.

  “Not superpowers, just good instincts.”

  “Well, quit using those, too.”

  He laughs. “You’d have me stripped down to bare bones if you had your way.”

  “Maybe stripped,” I say without thinking. I cover my mouth, shocked and ashamed by my own frankness. “Oh God, ignore that last comment.”

  His heated gaze sweeps over me, his lazy smile replaced by something sexier. My knees instantly weaken.

  “Do I detect sarcasm?” he asks. “Or don’t I want to know?”

  “Oh, you’d want to know.”

  That elicits a roar; his whole body is convulsing at my expense. “Are you always that spontaneous, Ms. Augustine? Because if you are, you should see the look on your face right now.”

  “Let’s just say I’ve always gotten into trouble for speaking my mind so freely.”

  “I rather admire it,” he admits. “But I also understand the hazard of being so honest. You’d make a shitty poker player.”

  “I’d make a shitty lots of things.”

  “Hey.” He snatches my hand, his thumb caressing my palm. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Didn’t your parents teach you self-respect?”

  “I don’t have parents,” I say, matter-of-factly. “You’re looking at a foster-system kid, raised by the State of Texas.”

  His features soften. “Sorry, darlin’.”

  “Don’t be,” I say, finding my confidence again. “Taxpayers are funding my college tuition.”

  He studies me for a long moment in silence; somehow he manages to weave his fingers through mine. “You have delicate hands.”

  I nod. That’s always been one of the physical disadvantages holding me back from being a better racer—weak wrists. And my height. “I think big.”

  Our gazes meet. “I bet you do,” he says.

  Chapter 3

  Karlie’s eyes are infinitely sad, and now I know why. I spent two weekends a month mentoring teenagers at Big Brothers Big Sisters of America in Lake Jackson. I know her type. I’ve attended dozens of high school graduations over the last few years, celebrating every time one of my kids manages to pull him or herself together enough to earn a diploma. The ones that continued on to college possessed certain advantages over kids from stable households. Perhaps an obsession with overachievement or a hunger to find their place in the world.

  It doesn’t matter. Since Karlie has revealed her past, I fully understand. It explains why she’d put up with an asshole like Connor. It also makes me despise him more. He’s a goddamned predator who took full advantage of a girl who didn’t have a family to protect her. It also makes me rethink my present course of hooking up with her. Please be twenty-one…

  “Are you old enough to drink, Karlie?”

  She places her hand on her hip and gives me this look. “Would you issue a ticket if I weren’t?”

  I reach in my back pocket and pull out my handcuffs, dangling them in front of her. “That’s an arrestable offense.”

  Her eyes grow wider. “Do you carry those everywhere?”

  “Of course.”

  “And a sidearm?”

  “No.” I lift my shirt so she can see for herself. I’m not even wearing a holster. “I prefer talking a perp down instead of relying on brute force.”

  She retreats a step. “That’s good to know.”

  “But I’m always willing to give live demonstrations on how to cuff someone properly.” I’d love to wrestle her little body to the ground. She gives me a dumbstruck stare.

  “That’s not necessary.” Her lips twitch as she gazes at the metal wristlets, then at me.

  “A joke,” I clarify, then stash my handcuffs again. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Twenty-one last week.”

  I sigh with relief, grateful she’s legal—thrilled she’s a woman. “Happy belated birthday, Karlie.” I smile.

  “Thank you.” She relaxes again. “You shouldn’t showboat like that.”

  “Never have before.”

  She rolls her eyes, obviously unconvinced. “I bet most women are impressed with all that cop stuff. Flash a badge, instantly naked.”

  Is she offering? Or does she actually think that? “Some,” I admit. But it’s more than she ever needs to know. Temptation exists, and I’ve learned how to walk away. My uniform isn’t always a positive factor.

  “You’re arrogant.” She laughs.

  “Confident. There’s a difference.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Tell me more about school,” I say, genuinely interested.

  “I’m a political science major with a minor in religious studies.” She keeps her eyes down when she’s talking about herself.

  “You like politics?”

  “A necessary evil.” Her head snaps up. “I generally dislike politicians. But I believe in the democratic process. Maybe someday I can make a difference working in journalism or advocacy.”

  I’m impressed already. She’s beautiful and smart, a combination I’m not accustomed to. Most women that I’ve been involved with, including my ex-wife, have more body than brains. I rub my chin, taking in every inch of her tiny frame. “Where will you go now?” She can’t leave with Connor.

  “I don’t know.”

  I’m instantly annoyed with myself. I’m not at work and don’t have the right to ask so many probing questions. “Sorry—”

  “She’ll stay with us,” Marie says, appearing again. “You ask a lot of questions, popo.” She gives Karlie a squeeze.

  “I can’t impose on you and Brandon,” Karlie refuses. “You guys live in a six-hundred-square-foot efficiency apartment. Where am I going to sleep?”

  “With us,” Brandon interjects with a grin. “The more the merrier.”

  “Nice try.” Marie tweaks Brandon’s nipple. He jumps.

  “Ouch!”

  “You deserved it,” Marie says. “Seriously, girl, we have a sofa. It’s better than sleeping in your truck.”

  I listen intently, wondering why she can’t get her own apartment. “What about campus housing?”

  “There’s a waiting list,” Marie complains, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “And I don’t have a job.” Karlie eyes me.

  “I know a few business owners. If you’re willing to work weekends…”

  “My girl can’t work. She’s already bogged down with too much homework. And if she’s going to get into the graduate program, she needs to keep her GPA up. It’s too competitive to risk losing academic rank by taking a stupid job for minimum wage. She’ll stay with us.”

  Karlie looks a little panicky, and I understand why. Sharing such a small space with a couple would be challenging at best. Grad school? Doesn’t the state provide extra money for living expenses? “What about grants or student loans?” I’m surprised by my deep interest and concern.

  Karlie clicks her tongue. “I don’t qualify, because the state pays my tuition. As for loans…” She shakes her head. “I refuse to be indebted when I graduate. I get a few hundred dollars a month for maintenance. It hardly covers food and insurance for my vehicle. I can sleep in my truck.”

  “And what about your bike?” Marie asks.


  “Shit.” Karlie stares toward the RV. “I nearly forgot. We should go grab my Suzuki before it’s too late.”

  “Where is it?” I ask.

  “Parked outside the trailer.” She points.

  I’d hoped to avoid another confrontation with her ex, but I can’t let her go alone. “Let’s get it over with now.”

  “Really?” She looks completely stunned. “Why are you helping me?”

  My breath catches—because you’re fucking beautiful and a fighter. “I’ve put too much time and effort into you already to just let you go.”

  There’s a brief silence before she speaks again. “Thank you.”

  Brandon and Marie follow us down RV alley. There are two dozen RVs parked in the area, illuminated by bright streetlights and surrounded by green space. Campsites with barbeque grills, a community shower, and outhouses are on the other side of the property. The park is pretty basic compared to others I’ve seen: a three-eighths-of-a-mile dirt oval, rickety grandstands along the start/finish straightaway, tires and bales of hay skirting the inside, and the pits along the back straightaway.

  The last RV belongs to Connor. He’s outside with a group of friends, music blaring over his outdoor system. I smell marijuana and observe a guy sitting at a table snort a line of coke off a mirror. I frown at Karlie, wondering if she’s the type to party too.

  “No,” she states flatly before I have a chance to ask. “And if I was ever tempted, living with Connor quickly changed my mind.”

  “Good,” I comment, tight-lipped.

  Connor meets us at her bike. “What the fuck are you doing here, Karlie?”

  “I need to get my bike and equipment.”

  He laughs. “Or what?”

  I clench my jaw, already inclined to beat the shit out of him. “Where’s your key, darlin’?”

  “In the ignition.”

  I step forward. “Let the lady get her things.”

  “Lady?” Connor looks around. “Where?”

  I count to three inside my head. “Back the fuck off.”