Chapter Thirteen Luca
THIRTEEN LUCA
Later that night, when she finally collapses into bed, Luca is pleasantly sun-sleepy. However, every time she starts to doze, her burnt skin protests and wakes her.
“Ugh,” she mutters as she pads downstairs for ice. She had scoured through the villa’s cabinets earlier for aloe but found none.
The downstairs is quiet and still. The air is cool, making her shiver. It’s both pleasant and unnerving. It isn’t the worst burn she’s experienced, but it is beginning to ache, as all sunburns do after a few hours.
She slips the loose straps of her pajama tank top down her shoulders to dangle against her biceps. She fumbles through the freezer, wincing as she bends and causes the burn to ripple, but she manages to gather a bag of ice.
“What are you doing?”
Luca turns too sharply and winces. Ricci flicks on the light, and Luca squints. She fights the urge to cover herself and hide her shameful sunburn.
“I told you to wear sunscreen,” Ricci says quietly as her eyes trace over Luca’s collarbones.
Luca shrugs and hisses through her teeth at the movement. “I know, I was stupid.”
“Supremely,” Ricci agrees. She’s barely wearing any clothes, just like earlier that morning, except her silk sleep shorts and button-down are navy instead of plaid.
Luca looks away and rests the bag of ice on one of her burnt shoulders but instantly regrets it.
She gasps out in agony, and the bag slides from her skin as she lets go. The ice is too cold, doubling the burn. It crunches as it smacks against the terra-cotta. She curses, waving her hand over the burn as if that will help ease the sting.
“Sit down, dumbass,” Ricci says, striding into the kitchen and ripping the refrigerator open.
Luca stays standing. She won’t be bossed around by Ricci, especially not when she’s insulting her.
Ricci turns back to her. They’re quite close now. “Sit,” Ricci demands again, gesturing to the stools. There’s an edge to her voice that has goose bumps prickling along Luca’s arms. She’s holding a clear bottle of what looks like gel.
Luca narrows her eyes at Ricci but pulls out one of the stools and sits with her back to Ricci. “Is that aloe?” she asks, trying to distract herself from the jitters coming to life in her stomach.
“It is.” She hears the cap opening and the squelch of gel. “It’s going to hurt for a minute,” she warns.
Luca breathes in deep but tenses, curling her fingers into her knees. It hits her that Ricci is going to touch her, to help her.
Ricci’s touch is electric against her skin.
Luca jolts almost off the stool, pain slashing across her sensitive skin, blotting out everything. But Ricci keeps her palm pressed firmly against her shoulder, holding Luca down, grounding her. She hisses through her clenched teeth and swallows the tiny whimper that threatens to undo her.
“Are you all right?” Ricci asks, her voice a low rasp.
“Yeah.” Luca breathes out, relief relaxing the tension out of her shoulder. Now that the shock of the cold aloe is over, Ricci’s palm creates a patch of soothed skin. She can’t help but wonder why Ricci is helping her.
Ricci’s hand moves slowly, gently, circling over her left shoulder blade first. It’s safe territory, but even that causes an undeniable burst of desire and agony in Luca’s chest. She remembers Octavia’s words at dinner and wonders if this is what she meant. Perhaps Ricci is all talk and no bite.
Well, the bite from Ricci’s words still hurt, even if Luca wishes they wouldn’t.
But these actions are sweet, almost caring. So different from when Ricci taunted her, digging into Luca and hitting her deepest insecurity. She can almost trick herself into believing that Ricci is doing this because Luca is her soulmate, not just because she’s in pain and Ricci feels bad.
She breathes harshly through her teeth. Ricci’s free hand moves Luca’s hair over her shoulder, her thumb sweeping across the back of her neck.
Every inch of Luca’s body buzzes, as if Ricci’s touch reverberates through every nerve ending.
She is grateful that Ricci can’t see her face as she nearly crumples into thousands of pieces, a cry half-caught, strangled, in the back of her throat.
Luca doesn’t want Ricci to stop touching her and that want cleaves through all of her defenses.
Ricci makes a soft humming noise, her aloe-covered palm cupping the back of Luca’s neck, her thumb arcing up to curve below her ear.
Luca bites her lip and hunches forward. Ricci’s thumb digs in, and she closes her eyes, pain and pleasure twisting together in an elegant dance.
And then her hand is gone. The gel bottle squeaks, then both of Ricci’s hands land on her shoulders.
Lightning sizzles through every nerve, and Luca exhales heavily, lower lip viciously caught in her upper teeth.
The sensations ripple through her, and Luca wants Ricci to touch every part of her, to unravel Luca with this same tender care.
Ricci stills.
“Come on, Ricci,” Luca urges, but it feels wrong to use her last name in this intimate moment.
Juliette . Her thumb sweeps across her wrist wrap. Heat builds beneath it even though that patch of skin was protected from the sun.
The ache of the burn returns, twice as bad as before now that she’s come to expect the soothing gel to distract her.
“How far down does the sunburn go?” Juliette’s hands curve along her shoulders.
Luca breathes out softly. Then, with more courage than she usually has, she pulls her tank top off, clutching it to her chest to cover her breasts.
Juliette whistles. “Oh.”
Heat blooms through Luca that has nothing to do with the sunburn. She holds her breath, closes her eyes. Juliette pauses and both of them hang on the edge of this moment. Is it too much? Luca’s eyes sting as she tries to brace for another rejection.
Then, Juliette’s hands move down her back, still so achingly gentle, the gel making them glide. Juliette’s fingers skate down her ribs, her sides, to her hips. Luca bites her lip, sighing through her nose as the cool gel soothes her inflamed skin.
Juliette’s thumbs brush across the dimples at the base of her spine, and Luca whimpers. She never wants Juliette’s hands to leave her skin.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Juliette’s voice is a low purr, her breath a hot puff against the back of Luca’s neck. She doesn’t even know when Juliette got that close, but she can feel her body heat, hear the whisper of her silk shirt. Luca wants to curl up against her and be held.
The best she can do for now is lean back. With each panting gasp, she can smell the suggestion of whatever citrus-scented haircare product Juliette uses. “Keep going. Please,” Luca whispers.
Juliette’s breath catches, ragged and rough. Luca isn’t the only one effected by this. She hadn’t considered that Juliette might be enjoying this too. Excitement zips up Luca’s spine, and she shudders.
Juliette rubs more gel onto Luca’s shoulders. Her thumbs rub tiny circles into her skin, and Luca goes boneless. The gel has sunk in and taken most of the sting out of the burn.
Luca’s breath evens out as Juliette continues to caress her skin. She doesn’t know how long they stay there, indulging in this moment, but for the first time in days, the buzzing in Luca’s head quiets.
Juliette slowly slides her hands over the crest of Luca’s shoulders, sliding across her collarbones.
Luca holds her breath and silently pleads for Juliette’s hands to continue their exploration.
Juliette sucks in a sharp gasp, and heat boils in Luca’s stomach at the thought of Juliette’s hands elsewhere.
Juliette’s hand splays and treks down Luca’s sternum.
The gel is tacky now, and the slide isn’t perfect.
The calluses on Juliette’s palms catch on her skin, and Luca gasps, lowering her arms and exposing herself to Juliette’s hands.
Juliette’s fingers and palm curve to cup Luca’s left breast, so close to her nipple that Luca whimpers with need.
“Juliette,” Luca whispers, desire bleeding into her voice. Her name fits perfectly on Luca’s tongue, as perfectly as it fits on her wrist.
Juliette jumps, and in a rush of cool air, her hands are gone.
The moment shatters, and Luca’s eyes fly open.
She clamps a hand over her mouth, embarrassment coating her in a fresh wave of heat.
Now that she’s had a taste, she wants more.
With just her hands, Juliette has stripped Luca bare.
A pang of longing ripples out like radar from her chest, making her whole body feel like a bruise.
Juliette slams the aloe bottle onto the counter next to Luca, and it’s like a splash of cold water over her head.
“I trust you can reach your chest and stomach.” Juliette tosses the words over her shoulder, not even looking at Luca as she flees.
Luca pulls her tank top over her head, and it sticks to her skin.
Her throat tightens with a lump. She cannot let that happen again, even if she desperately wants it.
Juliette touched her for barely fifteen minutes and it unfurled something inside her that she has to keep buried.
Juliette may have liked touching Luca, but Luca can never have something that is just physical.
Not again.
Luca snatches up the aloe, glaring at it. Her hands shake as she applies the gel to her own stomach. Her touch is nothing like Juliette’s.
And she’s never craved anything more.
JULIETTE
Juliette cannot stop her hands from shaking.
She stares down at them. They look normal apart from the tremor in each of her fingers and the tacky, half-dried aloe gel caught on the ridges.
She half expects them to be bright red and gleaming, making a mockery of her.
How could she think that she wouldn’t feel something the moment she touched Kacic?
She had convinced herself that she was helping Kacic in an effort to be nice.
However, once her hands started moving, she couldn’t stop.
And she wanted Kacic to feel better; not just physically, but also emotionally.
She had bared herself, given in to the feelings that Juliette had evoked in her and that felt too much like a fragile gift. One Juliette doesn’t want. Or deserve.
She shoves into the bathroom, slamming the door closed with more force than she means to.
She washes off her hands, roughly scrubbing the gel from her skin.
Then she stares at herself in the mirror.
She looks wild. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips red and bitten, her arms shake where she holds on to the sink, and her pupils are blown wide and dark.
She splashes ice-cold water onto her face, the rivulets running down her cheeks like tears, streaking down her throat, and making her shiver. “Get a grip,” she mutters to her reflection.
Still, no matter how much she tries, Juliette can’t stop hearing Kacic’s strangled moans, her soft whimpers growing more audible as Juliette stroked her burning skin.
She felt the heat of Kacic’s burn seeping into her hands as she drew the sting away.
She can’t stop seeing the way Kacic shivered uncontrollably, as if she couldn’t decide whether to lean into the touch or pull away. Juliette knows what she wanted.
It’s driving Juliette crazy. She could get drunk off the way Kacic had whispered her name. A wild, desperate part of her wants to race back downstairs and pounce on Kacic. Wrap her up in Juliette’s arms and kiss all of her reddened skin better.
She clenches her jaw and forcibly stuffs the sudden yearning for Kacic into a box, locking it away behind the wall of her ribs.
She pushes off the sink and retreats into her bedroom, closing the bathroom door behind her and sliding down it.
Moonlight mingles with the amber lamplight, twisting together and casting shadows across the length of the cold floor.
She digs her fingernails into the grooves of the wood and breathes in through her nose.
She hates Kacic. She hates the way she stares and sees everything.
She hates her clinical demeanor as she dispatches her rivals on court with brutal efficiency.
She hates that Kacic has dug herself under Juliette’s skin like a leech and distracted her from what she actually wants.
And she hates that with a few touches, Luca Kacic’s walls had seemingly crumpled.
This is simply a mind game—one Juliette will not lose.
She doesn’t want her soulmate, she doesn’t want to be told by God or the universe or karma who she should love. She wants to be a Grand Slam champion. It’s all she’s ever wanted.
She desperately holds back the intense feelings that threaten to wrangle loose and complicate her very uncomplicated dream.
When she closes her eyes, she feels like she’s tumbling into a free fall, and no matter how she pinwheels her arms, she can’t slow the descent.
She curls in on herself, wrapping her arms around her middle.
Slowly, Juliette regains control over her harsh breathing. Tonight was simply an… anomaly. She doesn’t want Kacic romantically, she just hasn’t gotten laid in a week.
The words ring hollow in her mind.
Her throat hurts like she’s been screaming, her eyes are gritty, and she knows she needs to go to bed and sleep this off.
But as she looks up, arms still tight around her stomach, she doesn’t really want to get into the king-size bed alone.
It’s a sea of cold white sheets that threaten to drown her.
She gets up and stumbles downstairs. The lights are off, and the living room is silent.
She crawls onto one of the couches, wrapping the too small but fluffy blanket around her shoulders.
It’s almost like she’s a kid again, napping before her next tennis practice.
So, she curls into a tight ball and, with her lashes wet, falls asleep.