Chapter Twenty-four
Lucas
I flip the light in the bedroom off, but leave on the one in the closet so I can see what I’m doing. She sits on the bed and tests the firmness. Her hair is still damp from the rain. The sweatshirt she’s wearing looks so out of place on her. As did the Nike shirt and cardigan she wore earlier. I tilt my head and study her.
“What?” She looks down at herself. “Did I spill wine?”
“I just can’t get over how different you look when you’re not wearing your own clothes.”
“Tell me about it. I feel like I should be at the gym.”
I smile. “Who says you aren’t about to get a workout?”
Her lips twitch with a smile, but contrary to her reaction, she says, “Lucas, I’m—”
“I know, I know. You’re just here for the sperm.” I approach the bed, removing my clothes along the way.
I stand naked next to her, not hard in the least.
My lack of an erection doesn’t keep her eyes from looking, though.
“My cock isn’t too excited about this being a business transaction. He might need a little encouragement.” I sway my hips and it thwaps from side to side.
When her tongue swipes her lower lip, my brain conjures an image of her taking me into her mouth.
She raises a brow. “Wow. All I have to do is look at it and it magically comes to life.”
I laugh as I inch closer.
She extends her arm, grips my cock, and gently pulls me toward her until the gap closes between us. The long, slow strokes she starts with rapidly turn into faster-paced tugs with increasing pressure.
She glances up. It’s hard to make my eyes stray from the show, but I force it just long enough to say, “Hell, yeah.”
With a twitchy grin, she gets back to work, my arousal building by the second.
I’ve deduced that as we get older, hand jobs become all too underrated. They tend to fall by the wayside as we graduate onto other things. But… Jesus… with the way she’s working me, it’s becoming clear that this may not even turn out to be the appetizer. It could very well be the main course.
Which is why I grab her hand, stilling it.
“You don’t like the way I—”
“Ray, I fucking love it. That’s the problem.”
“Oh.” She scoots back onto the bed. “I guess it’s your turn then.”
Not wasting a second, I pull the sweatshirt up and over her head. Much to my delight, she’s braless. Instantly my mouth falls to a breast, and I toy with her nipple. I take a chance, lightly grazing my teeth across it. When she inhales sharply, I lift my head. “Admit it. You like that.”
A slow smile spreads across her face.
“If you like that, just wait until I do the same thing to your clit.”
Her head falling back against the pillow is all the invitation I need. I peel her pants down, then her underwear, and I’m bombarded with the unmistakable scent of her arousal. It turns me feral, and I feast on her like Thanksgiving dinner.
True to my word, I gingerly scrape my teeth against her clit. As I’d hoped, her back arches and her hips press into me. I intermittently use my tongue and teeth in an attempt to drive her wild.
It’s working. Or I think it is. Because one, she’s making all those sexy as fuck noises. And two, she’s not pulling away, telling me to just get on with it.
I double my efforts, adding a few fingers to search for that elusive spot inside her that may be the winning ticket.
“Oh… ahh… Luke…”
I almost smile but don’t. I can’t stop doing exactly what I’m doing. Because I swear she’s about to get there. And I’m about to be king of the world.
Then, out of the blue, she stills and grabs my shoulders. “Lucas, please.”
It’s what every man nestled between a woman’s legs wants to hear: her begging for release. But that’s not what Regan is asking. She’s saying she wants this over with. My dick inside her. For me to do my stud duties.
“One more minute?” I ask, then swipe my tongue across her.
Her eyes close in discouragement. “It’s not going to happen.”
“But I could—”
“Lucas, please.” She rises on her elbows. “I’m asking nicely here.”
I sigh and crawl up her body. “One of these days, Ray.” I push inside her. “One of these days.”
~ ~ ~
“Where did I go wrong?” I ask when it’s over.
She shakes her head. “It wasn’t you at all. I thought I might even get there. But then when I had that thought, a bunch of other thoughts started creeping in. Am I really going to? What will it be like after all this time? Will Lucas think I’m faking? And it just went away.”
“But you were close.”
She nods. “Closer than I’ve been in a long long time.”
“Which means all we need to do is get you over the edge.”
“Not the objective anymore.” She points behind me. “Can you hand me that pillow? I’m going to lie here with it under my hips.”
I hand it to her, then uncork the bottle I brought in and pour her a glass. “Stay as long as you like. I’m going to have a shower.”
When I return twenty minutes later, her wine glass is empty, and Regan is asleep. Standing in my towel, I lean against the doorway between the bedroom and bathroom, and I watch. She’s still on her back, pillow under her butt, her chest rising and falling slowly.
She’s the first woman to sleep in here since Lissa. Damn. I hadn’t even thought of Lissa for weeks. Not until Regan noticed the picture. And not even then did thinking of her bother me.
It probably should have. I’d brought another woman into the apartment and the bed I’d shared with her for years. But… it didn’t.
I know now that I won’t be taking the picture frame out of my drawer, not unless it’s to pack it away or throw it out. I’m over her. She can go on and marry the senator’s son. She can have a dozen kids with him if that’s what she wants. She can even come back here and try to parade her happiness in front of me. It won’t matter. None of it will. Because my heart no longer belongs to her. And as I look at the sleeping woman on my bed, I wonder if it ever really did.
Fuck.
I turn, go to my closet and pull on a pair of sweatpants, then go out to my kitchen, getting something far stronger than wine. I pour several fingers of whiskey into a rocks glass and sit on a barstool. I should tell her. I should tell her I like the wacky way she dresses and the unconventional way she runs her business. I should tell her I like her nonsensical, carefree attitude. I should tell her I like her in my life. In my bed.
The problem is, I like it too much.
Which is why there’s one more thing I should tell her. Run away. Run fast and run hard.
I close my eyes and bring the glass to my lips. It may already be too late. What if we made a baby? Telling her now would cause her stress she doesn’t need. If we haven’t conceived, if she gets her period, I’ll tell her then. Because not telling her would be as good as lying.
I’m not going to lie to her. And I sure as hell am not going to hurt her.
I thought it was just a crush. The same old feelings I had when I was a kid.
I quietly make my way back to the bedroom and look at her, sleeping peacefully, maybe even dreaming about the child we might have made. Her face is practically glowing in the dim light. I have the urge to go to her and kiss her. And that’s exactly why I know everything has changed. This isn’t a crush. I’ve fallen for her.
And I have to tell her.
I will. Odds are, it’ll take months for her to get pregnant. She’ll just go to a sperm bank as planned after this doesn’t work. And I’ll go back to being the idiot who can’t commit to a woman.
I spin, pad back to the kitchen, and pour myself a small second glass, downing it in one gulp. When did this happen? When did she go from being my childhood crush to the woman I want? By my side. In my life. Permanently.
Sadness washes through me as indecision niggles away at me. What if she is pregnant? What then? Do I live a lie, never revealing my true feelings for the mother of my child? Potentially watch her date other men, have other relationships, even marry?
There’s no other choice. I’ve done all the hurting I’m going to do. I’ve destroyed countless women over the past decade. I refuse to destroy her . And I know if we got together, I’d do exactly that. Only this time would be worse—a child would be at stake. In the middle. An innocent pawn in my deceptive game.
Then I come to my senses and laugh out loud. Because who am I kidding? Regan hasn’t ever given me any indication she wants me. I’ve never seen her look at me with love or adoration. With want or reverence. The only looks I’ve ever gotten from her are the looks of a woman who knows what she wants… a one-night stand… an orgasm… a kid.
In all those scenarios, I’m the one being used. And I’m the first person to admit I deserve it.
I hear a faint noise and go to investigate.
Regan isn’t in my bed anymore. I must have heard the sound of her cleaning up in my bathroom. But the bathroom door is open, and she’s not there either. When I pass by my closet, that’s when I see her. She’s facing away from me, sitting on the settee, staring up at the half-empty shoe racks along the back wall.
I step inside, take some loose bills from on top of the center island, and hand them over her shoulder. “Four hundred and sixty dollars for your thoughts?”
She giggles and pushes my hand away.
“I was thinking how I’ll have to get rid of my closet in the second bedroom.” She waves her arm around. “It’s nothing like this. Mine is full of freestanding clothes racks and a few antique dressers. Maddie strong-armed Tag into building me a shoe rack a few years ago that holds thirty pairs. My actual bedroom closet is miniscule. I’ll have to move most of my clothes to the shop storeroom.” She turns. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s all going to be worth it. I guess seeing this closet just had me mourning mine a little.” She stands, wearing only my sweatshirt that falls just past her hips. “I’ll get over it.”
“You could always move. Get something larger.”
“Ha! Like I can afford that.”
“Regan, you’ll be getting a lot in child support.”
“That’ll be for the baby.”
“No, that’s so the baby gets to grow up in an environment he or she would have if we were married. That means a larger apartment for both of you. There are even a few empty units right here in this building.”
What are you doing? Stop talking. She may not even have your child. What then? You rope her into moving and then she goes bankrupt having to pay for an apartment she can’t afford?
Her mouth opens and closes several times. “You want me to move into your building?”
I shrug, devil be damned. “It makes sense. Think of how easy it would be for me to see the baby. How convenient it would be for you if you had to run out for something. I’d be right here.”
“It wouldn’t be convenient at all,” she says. “My shop is five miles away.”
I decide not to press the point. It may be moot anyway. “No decisions have to be made now. Stay at your place if you want. I just wanted to put the idea out there.”
She says nothing, but I don’t miss how she gives my closet another thorough look. A longing look.
I try not to laugh thinking the woman’s love of clothes might be the one thing that works in my favor.
She goes back into the bedroom and finishes dressing. “Mind if I return your sweatshirt later? I’ll clean it for you. I’m sure my clothes are still wet.”
“Keep it. I have an unlimited supply.”
Her eyes scrunch together. “What would I do with a Montana Winery sweatshirt?”
“I don’t know. Use it on laundry day.”
Her dimples make an appearance, and her laughter hits me in all the right places—or wrong ones.
“What’s so funny?”
“Just something Rose Gianogi said earlier.” She stands, shoes on. “Ready to take me home? It’s dark enough now that you might even be able to drop me off in the alley.”
“Sure.” I throw on a shirt and shoes and grab my wallet and keys. “I’ll bring the car around back.”
“Thanks.” She smiles. “Same time tomorrow night? I think five nights in a row would be ideal.”
The devil on my shoulder almost has me nodding. But the other one, the angel that controls my sense of compassion, has me spouting a lie. “Actually, I’ll be out of town. Last minute trip. Just for two days.”
Two days should get me off the hook, right?
I’m doing the right thing. If she’s not pregnant, I’ll come clean and the whole deal will be off.
She looks sad for a second. But the pathetic part, the part my heart hates right now, is that I know she’s not sad she won’t get to be with me —Lucas the man. She’s sad she won’t get my goddamn sperm.
I spin and leave the room, knowing just how much of a bitch karma can be.