Chapter 23
Lily
Electric Love
Borns
I decide it’s better to keep a low profile until things are more clearly defined between Luc and I, and don’t go to either of his shows in Los Angeles.
I could tell he was a little disappointed, but I don’t have anyone to stay with Larkin and I was most definitely not bringing her to a concert at less than a year old.
He offered to let me bring my mother or even Briana with me on the tour, so I could have help with Larkin.
Briana is a definite no. She’s the one that would need a babysitter and I’m not up for that role.
And while I know my mother would be an amazing help, and has the time, I’m not sure I want her here, witness to my grappling confusion.
There’s so much more going on than Luc getting to know his child - there’s the question of us.
If there is even an us. It’s more than obvious to me what he wants.
He made it clear during his plea with me to come on this tour.
And the tension that crackles between us every single time we’re together is undeniable.
That one quick kiss from him had set me on fire. Heat had been simmering in my veins since, and it was probably just a matter of time before the flame between us ignited again.
I want him. I won’t deny it. But would it just add a complication to his relationship with Larkin if the spark between us is just temporary? Was it merely lust and the memory, his memory anyway, of what had happened between us two years ago?
These were the endless questions that keep me tossing and turning long after Larkin had fallen asleep in her crib. Giving up on the possibility of getting any rest, I toss the covers off of me and rise from the bed.
I tiptoe over to the crib, Larkin’s little body spread eagle as she snores softly. I press a kiss against my fingertips and brush them softly on her forehead.
I pad in my bare feet to the door, turning the knob before sneaking out of the room as silently as I can. I turn, my heart almost flatlining when I spy Luc sprawled lazily on one of the couches, a bottle of beer in one hand.
He’s wearing a faded pair of jeans. That’s all.
And Christ on a cracker, he looks damn good.
Who knew he had all that going on? He’s lean, but his chest and abs are defined.
The denim waist of his pants rests low on his hips, exposing a chiseled V that points right to his happy place.
His hair is tousled and damp. Whether it’s because he’s sweating or just got out of the shower, I’m not sure from this far away.
He's staring at me, and I realize it’s probably because I’m not wearing much either; an oversized t-shirt that does fall to mid-thigh, but no bra underneath.
I glance down to see if the girls are betraying me, and of course they are at full attention, two peaks straining against the thin cotton material.
I feel my cheeks heat as I dare to lift my gaze back toward Luc.
“I couldn’t sleep.” I stammer, frozen in place.
“Me either.” He shifts so he’s sitting up straight, lifting the bottle in his hand. “You want a beer?”
“Uh, sure.” I nod, forcing my feet to move as I shuffle toward the couch. He rises at the same time, and I have to stop short so I don’t collide with him. I tilt my head back, our eyes locking, his tongue dragging across his lower lip leaving it glistening.
“See something you like, Kitten?” His voice gravely as he stares down at me, a soft chuckle escaping those lips.
Am I panting? I feel like my chest is heaving…
“Take this one.” He drawls, my attention focused entirely on his mouth as he hands me his beer. “I just opened it.”
Somehow my mind has enough sense to slide my hand around the bottle, sparks tingling up my arm as our fingers brush together. He moves to his right just as I step to my left and our bodies meet in a soft collision.
I go to take a quick step back, an apology already streaming from me, but his hand wraps around the back of my neck keeping me in place. He crooks a knuckle under my chin using it to tilt it up until I can see him peering down at me.
“You’re fire.” He growls softly, forehead pressing to mine. “And I’ve spent two years pretending I’m not built to burn.” His thumb traces my lip and its slow torture.
I’m silent, our breaths the only thing between us.
“I’m going to kiss you now, Lily.” He rasps as his stare penetrates through me. “I’m only warning you because if you don’t want me to, you better stop me before I start.”
I blink in response, feeling myself surrender as he begins to lean.
“Final warning.” He murmurs, the last thing I comprehend before his lips crash against mine. His mouth possesses me like he’s spent every sleepless night trying not to do this and finally snapped.
There’s no polite testing of the waters. It’s heat and hunger and a low, rough sound rumbling in his chest like he’s starving and I’m the first real thing he’s tasted in months.
The beer bottle slips from my fingers, thudding softly onto the carpet, my fingers suddenly weaving through his hair, pulling him closer, like my body decided for me that distance is no longer an option.
His lips are warm and firm and just a little desperate, and the way he kisses me - God, it’s like he’s pouring every unspoken thing between us into my mouth. It’s messy, breathless, all teeth, grazing lips, low groans and the faint taste of hops and heat.
He tastes like danger; a little reckless, a little unholy, like sin dressed up as salvation. I stop pretending I don’t want him, even knowing I might not ever recover from a man like him.
My legs find the edge of the couch, barely a brush, but it anchors me as everything inside me catches fire. His thumb strokes the side of my neck without thought, tender against the wildness of his mouth, like he can’t decide whether to worship or ruin me, so he does both.
I open to him without meaning to, a soft sound escaping me. Embarrassment, longing, surrender, I don’t know anymore. His answering exhale ghosts across my cheek, shaky and a little broken, like maybe he didn’t expect this to feel like being handed back half of himself.
His forehead presses to mine for half a heartbeat, breath mingling, both of us trembling like the air between us could shatter.
“I tried to forget you,” he murmurs. “But there isn’t a world I want to be in if I can’t have you.” His fingers tilt my chin. “Even if it destroys me.”
And then he dives back in. Deeper, slower this time, like now that he has me, he’s determined to savor every second of the fall.
I should pull back. I should breathe. I should think.
But thought is impossible when his mouth is on mine, his hand in my hair, his body heat rolling off him like sin and salvation combined.
And in this moment, in this dim, quiet room with only the sound of our breathing and our hearts losing their rhythm, the only truth I know is that I don’t want him to stop.
Not now. Maybe not ever.
He pulls back only a breath, lips still brushing mine, like he’s not quite ready to let go of the air between us. His forehead rests against mine, his breathing uneven, chest rising and falling like he just ran a marathon instead of kissing me senseless.
His fingers stay tangled in my hair, holding me there, not trapping, but anchoring. Like if he lets go, he might lose me all over again.
His voice comes low, rough, scraped raw. The sound of someone who’s been holding too much in for too long. “Tell me you don’t feel that?”
Not a command. Not a demand. A quiet, desperate plea. And God help me, I do. I feel it everywhere; in my pulse, in the tremble in my knees, in the way my heart is trying to claw its way out of my chest and into his hand.
My palm settles over his heart like my body decided before my brain could argue. His breath catches, not big or dramatic, just a sharp inhale like I’ve reached inside his ribs without meaning to.
“I don’t have the memories, Luc,” I whisper, voice thin but honest. “But something in me knows you. And that scares the hell out of me.”
His hand at the back of my neck tightens just slightly, thumb brushing my pulse like he can soothe panic, and claim me in the same touch. His forehead dips to mine, lips ghosting mine without pressing in, like he’s savoring the proximity, like pulling away would be impossible now.
A low sound leaves him. It’s not a laugh, not a breath. Something deeper. Something wrecked. Something sure.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice rough and so achingly gentle it breaks and mends me in the same second. “I know it does.” His thumb drags along my jaw, slow, deliberate, reverent. “But, let me remind you how well I know you.”
Not a question. Not permission. A promise. A beginning.
His lips brush mine again, softer this time, like he’s testing the edge of what we just shattered open. The kiss deepens before I even register moving, heat rushing through me so fast I swear I feel it down to my toes. He tastes like midnight, and want, and something dangerously close to home.
I don’t mean to make a sound, but a quiet, helpless whimper escapes me, and everything inside him seems to snap.
His hand slides from my neck to my waist, fingers splaying against bare skin where my shirt has ridden up.
The touch scorches. It steals my breath, my thoughts, every shred of sense I might’ve had left.
He tugs me just enough that his body is crowding mine, warmth and muscle and barely restrained hunger. My knees go weak. My fingers curl into his hair, holding on because if I let go, I think gravity would just take me down and leave me in pieces at his feet.
His chest rises and falls hard against mine, each breath rough and uneven. And when his mouth leaves mine for a second, dragging slow across my cheek to my jaw, I feel the world tilt.
God, I want him. And I don’t even know why. I just do. In my bones. In my blood. He nips lightly at my bottom lip before kissing me again, deeper, slower, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of my soul through our mouths.
My body arches toward him without permission, need sparking hot under my skin straight to my core, and that’s when panic hits. Not because he’s too close. But because it feels too right. Too familiar for someone I don’t remember.
I break the kiss, breath tearing out of me, palms flat against his chest like I’m bracing for impact. His heart pounds under my hand, strong and heavy, and it only makes the ache worse.
“I-” My voice stumbles, barely there as I shake my head, my hair swishing around my face. “I don’t think… I’m not ready.”
His eyes close like he’s holding back something sharp; a groan, a curse, maybe both. When he opens them again, they’re softer. Wrecked and steady at the same time. He lifts one hand, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth where his kiss still burns.
“It’s okay.” His voice is smoke and gravel, low and unbearably gentle. Then, quiet enough to sting, “I’m not rushing this. Not again. You may not remember us, but I do, and I’ll wait for you to want me with your heart, not just your body.”
He leans his forehead to mine for a beat, one last touch, one last breath shared as he makes me a final promise. “Because, trust me Lily, when we get there, you’ll know. You’ll feel every damn second of it.”
He takes several steps away, jaw tight like the act costs him every last bit of reserve he has left. And God help me, the space between us feels colder than the night air.