Chapter Thirty-Six SCARLETT
Chapter Thirty-Six
S CARLETT
Thursday, July 18, 2024
2:00 p.m.
There was no word from Dawson or Margo all day regarding Tiffany, any DNA results, or the gift I’d left Margo. And waiting was akin to being under the hovering sword of Damocles. Several times I’d almost called Luke to tell him what was going on, but his legal mind wasn’t why I was with him. If it came to it, I’d tell him, but I was still hoping the case would settle itself.
Luke texted me and suggested a late dinner at his place, and I was relieved by the distraction. This would be date number five, or six if you counted the reception. In the world of dating, this invitation came with a weight of expectation. He’d been more patient than most men, and for that I was grateful. How long would he linger before the burden of my past became too taxing?
Knowing it would all one day crash and burn didn’t mean it had collapsed yet. For now, he was still willing to try, and I needed a friend. I texted back, told him dinner sounded good. I would bring wine again.
Four hours later, when I stood on his front doorstep, the neck of a bottle of red wine clenched in my fist, I felt a sliver of anticipation. He always smelled good. His hands weren’t calloused. There was no scruff on his chin. And though he was physically bigger than Tanner, he moved with care rather than like a bull in a china shop, as Tanner had.
When he opened the door, he was still wearing his suit pants, but he’d removed his tie and rolled up his sleeves. My gaze was drawn to the gold watch on his wrist and dark hair trailing muscled arms up under his shirt cuff.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
He leaned in for a kiss. I tensed, but I tipped my body toward his. Our lips touched. He tasted of scotch. “I’m glad you came.”
“Me too.”
He stepped aside and I walked into his place. “Food smells good.”
“Takeout. Again. Can’t take any credit.” He stood so close, his energy radiated over my skin. He was hungry for me. I knew when a man wanted a woman.
I set my wine bottle on the kitchen counter and faced him.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked.
A drink would buy me time and maybe provide a little liquid courage. But a delay was another chance to lose my nerve. And I didn’t want to run this time. I wanted this. I wanted normal.
“No.” I stepped close to him and took his hand in mine and threaded my fingers through his.
“What do you want?” he asked carefully.
“To see my painting in your bedroom.”
A brow arched. His breathing slowed. “What’s that mean?”
“I’m hoping you can show me.”
His fingers tightened slightly around mine. “I can show you as much as you want to see.”
“Good.”
He kissed me on the lips and guided me down the hallway to a bedroom dominated by a neatly made king-size bed. I was vaguely aware of a large dresser, an intricate rug with blues and reds, a chair, and an open closet full of suits. My painting hung on the wall across from his bed.
“We can take it slow,” he said.
“I don’t want to back out.” My desires were too hazy to define.
He traced the line of my jaw. “You can if you want to. It’s not a race.”
I reached for the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head. His gaze flickered to the full breasts brimming in the cups of my white bra. I reached for the front hook and unfastened it.
His hand smoothed up my waist to the underside of my left breast. He cupped it while leaning in and kissing me. My heart thrashed in my chest, my cheeks burned with blush pink, and my desire teased to life.
I slid my hand to his chest and along his jawline. “That feels good.”
“Tell me if it doesn’t,” he said.
I touched the buttons on his shirt. When all were unfastened, he shrugged off the brushed cotton with a leashed impatience that was exciting and frightening. I kicked off my shoes and reached for my waistband. I wasn’t as anxious for the sex as I was to know how this was all going to end. I wanted to skip to the ending of this story.
His hand returned to my side as if it belonged there, and he pulled me into an embrace. I tensed, but I held steady, and then I slowly relaxed into him. Progress.
This time I deepened the kiss and pressed my body against his. If I left now, I feared I’d be locked in my solitude forever. Carefully, I cupped his ass.
“Still sure?” His voice sounded strained.
“Yes.”
I moved to the bed and pulled back the comforter and sheets and climbed in the center. Seconds behind me, he climbed on the bed and planted hands on either side of my face. As his erection pressed against my belly, he kissed my lips, throat, and each breast.
He rose, his eyes dark, wanting. He opened a bedside table and reached for a condom. Tanner had never used condoms. He hated the way they made him feel. Better to be natural. That had skimmed on another layer of fear. What if I got pregnant? Would a baby tie me to him forever? I’d had three menstrual cycles while I’d been in Tanner’s room. Each time I’d wept with relief.
Luke slid on the condom. Nothing to bind me to Luke other than a few scattered memories. I closed my eyes.
“Open your eyes,” he whispered.
When I looked at him, his face was inches from mine. The intensity of his stare was exciting and daunting.
“I want you to see me,” he said.
Not Tanner. Luke. I nodded.
Carefully, he pressed his erection between my legs. I could say no. And he would back off. But I didn’t want to say no, so I drew in a breath and arched toward him, pressing closer. He eased into me, stretching and filling. A spark of panic flickered. I gripped his shoulders, my gaze not wavering.
When he slid all the way in, I released a breath, the unseeable coil in my chest unfurling a fraction. Luke remained still, as if sensing the knot loosening. I wasn’t so ruined that desire couldn’t fill the enduring emptiness for a little while.
“You okay?” Luke’s voice was gruff.
“Yes.”
Slowly, he began to move. On the edges, ghosts drifted past me. Desire flickered brighter. Frustration for satisfaction nibbled. I wanted the release. My hands slid lower.
As he moved in and out of me, a heat built inside my belly. I began to rub. He pressed faster, harder. What came next was a swirl of sensations. I kept my gaze on him, imprinting this moment and praying it would override all the bad programming.
I lifted my hips, encouraged him to pump harder, faster. I used to do this with Tanner so that he would end it quicker.
Luke resisted, as if he wanted this to last. But I knew how to moan and cup my breasts. He shoved inside me harder, and I rubbed until the rush of sensations washed over and through me. I arched. He plunged deeper. Stiffened.
He collapsed against me, resting his face in the crook of my neck. Like Tanner.
Tanner.
When was I ever going to let Tanner go?
Luke remained inside me as if not ready to break contact. “You okay?”
My smile was as close to genuine as I could get. “Yes. You?”
He chuckled, rolled on his side, and smoothed his hand over my flat belly. He teased the curls between my legs. “I’m very fine.”
We lay arms entwined, boneless.
He sighed, rose, and looked at me. “This wasn’t the plan. You know that, right?”
“What was the plan?”
He kissed me. “Dinner. More conversation.”
I smoothed my fingers along the deep lines bracketing his mouth. “You’re indeed a patient man.”
“Not really. It didn’t take much to crack my resolve.”
I laughed. “You aren’t complaining, are you?”
“No. Not at all.”