Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Luka
“Hang on. You mean to tell me she reached out to you before her engagement party?” My dad gestures between us, wearing a look of utter surprise.
“What can I say?” I lean back in my seat, wrapping an arm around Scout. “My girl’s needs weren’t being met.” I flash Scout a cocky grin and wink.
She rolls her eyes, trying her best to seem unfazed by my elaborate backstory, but the blush that rises on her cheeks only makes the story that much more believable.
The scent of cinnamon and warm apple pie wafts through the air, and we’re already on our third bottle of wine. Unlike the beginning of the evening, the tension has finally calmed down, and everyone, including Scout, has finally relaxed as I fill them in on how we reconnected.
I definitely think I’m going to have bruised ribs in the morning, but otherwise she’s been going along with everything I’ve said… Despite my every attempt to embarrass her.
I know she’s nervous and everything, but I swear, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think my wife may have a bit of a humiliation kink going on.
“Luka, stop telling all her secrets. You’re embarrassing the poor girl,” my mom scolds, reaching a hand across the table to take Scout’s.
“It’s all right, dear. I’m sure you have plenty of your own stories about Luka.
” She shakes her head with a smile. “I still can’t believe you two were able to keep this hidden from us.
Truly, I had no idea you were even speaking. Did your brothers know about this?”
Roman’s eyes widen in surprise at being put on the spot, but before he can respond, Guy nods his head enthusiastically.
“Oh yeah. He wouldn’t shut up about her.
” He gestures a thumb at Roman. “You should have seen him before they made it official.” He blows out a breath.
“I’ve never seen a grown man cry like that.
” He elbows Roman, who lets out a grunt. “Isn’t that right, Rome?”
“Oh… um… yep.” Roman winces, rubbing his side in annoyance. “Yeah, he was pretty torn up about it for a while there.”
I glare at my brothers, but neither one of them will look me in the eye. I can’t be too annoyed with them; at least they’re covering for me. There’s no way my parents would believe all the bullshit I’m spewing otherwise.
Somehow the conversation drifts from my crying at work, back to Dr. Drizzle tearing up during a tornado warning while he was live on air.
“Now you know I won’t tolerate toxic masculinity in this house,” my mom shouts over my dad, who’s once again ranting about the local meteorologist.
“No, Mary, it’s not. I’d make fun of anyone who started crying during a thunderstorm.”
“He was afraid, Frank. Men are allowed to have fears, you know!”
“Call me crazy, but I’d prefer my weatherman to not be afraid of the weather !”
I sneak a glance at Scout, who seems to be thoroughly enjoying herself. Whether because she’s had nearly three glasses of wine herself—yes, I’ve been counting—or because she’s relieved to have the attention off her. I can’t be sure.
Her cheeks are a rosy pink and her plump lips are stained with red wine.
The thought of biting those lips has crossed my mind more times tonight than I’d like to admit.
My hand moves over her bare thigh in a possessive grip, as if acting on its own accord, and I’m pleased that she’s no longer fidgeting uncomfortably at my touch.
At first, I’d only meant to distract her because her nervousness was far too obvious.
But as soon as I felt how soft her skin was, the way my hand practically consumed her thigh, and how powerful I felt knowing I could wield her body any way that I wanted…
There was no prying my hand away after that.
Of course, it also doesn’t help having the very fresh memory of her big eyes staring at me in awe, like I was a fucking god to be worshipped as she watched me fuck my hand.
The way she licked her lips, unable to tear her eyes away, like she was dying for a chance to take me in that sweet mouth of hers…
I feel my cock begin to swell and tear my attention back to the conversation as I fight my hand from moving any higher up her thigh, from sneaking up that sexy as hell sundress she’s wearing.
“Can I top you off?” Roman waits for Scout’s nod before emptying the last bit of wine into her half-full glass.
The conversation must’ve shifted while I was zoned out because now everyone’s attention is back on us.
“So, Scout. How are your parents doing? I don’t think I’ve seen Samantha or Judge Sinclair in ages,” My dad asks, and the question must catch Scout by surprise because her hand shakes as she sets her wine down, not seeing the butter knife.
The glass topples against her plate, making a loud clang before shattering, red wine spilling everywhere.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” Scout jumps out of her seat in a panic, fumbling with her napkin as she tries to wipe the stain. “I’m such an idiot.”
“Oh, honey, you are fine—" my mom starts, but Scout’s too busy panicking to hear her.
Roman doesn’t have to be told; he just gets up to grab a towel. Meanwhile, I cross a foot over my knee and sit back in my seat, watching as her attempt to panic clean only makes a bigger mess.
“Oh, now I’m just making it worse.” Her voice comes out tight, like she’s trying to hold back tears.
“Honey, please don’t worry about it. There’s nothing in this house that can’t be tossed in the washing machine or replaced.”
My dad jumps up to help. “Here, let me get these glass shards out of the way.”
“Mrs. Kingsley, I’m so sorry. I’m such a klutz. Let me pay to have this cleaned.”
“Oh, there’s no need for that, sweetie. Really. This really isn’t a big deal,” my mom assures her, before sending me a glare, as if urging me to step in and help.
My eyes laser in on Scout’s shaking hands, and for some reason, it sends a flare of heat searing through my chest. I don’t miss the looks from my brothers, as each of them seems to be wearing the same look of concern.
My jaw is tense as I try to hold back my rapidly growing annoyance at the way Scout’s so pathetically flustered. The next thing I know, I’m standing, grabbing her by the arm, and leading her to the kitchen. “Come with me.” My words are like gravel in my throat.
Scout’s eyes are welled with tears, her flushed cheeks now red from embarrassment as I lead her over to the sink, rinsing her hands to make sure they’re free of any shards of glass.
“Luka, I’m so sorry, I?—”
“Goddammit, Scout. Stop apologizing,” I say through clenched teeth, the anger inside me growing hotter by the second. I spin to face her, my hands bracketing on either side of the counter as her wide, terror-filled eyes stare back at me.
I’ve always known she was a little skittish and jumpy, and it isn’t hard to put together why. I blink back the visions my mind so unhelpfully supplies as a way of explanation for Scout’s overreaction as I try to calm my boiling rage.
She may not be mine…not really…but it doesn’t stop the possessiveness inside me from rearing its ugly head anyway.
I force myself to breathe as my eyes zero in on her, noting the rapid rise and fall of her chest and her dilated pupils.
She may be afraid of my reaction, but her body tells me she’s feeling more than fear and embarrassment.
There’s something in the way that she’s looking at me, like she’s hopeful? I can’t be sure. All I know is there’s an energy between us, stretching and pulling with every move I make. Our lips are a breath away.
“Wait here.” I push off the counter and leave her as I walk back to the dining room, returning with a full glass of wine in my hand.
“Here.” I place the glass in her hand and take a step back. I’m standing across from her with my arms crossed and my back pressed against the kitchen island.
She doesn’t drink the wine, her brows pulling together as her eyes bounce around the room like she’s confused.
“Now I want you to pour that glass of wine on the floor,” I say.
She looks up at me in confusion and shakes her head. “What? No. Why would I do that?”
“Because I told you to,” I fire right back.
“Luka, I’m not going to make another mess in your parents’ house.”
“Pour the wine on the floor, Scout. It’s tile. The floor will be fine.” My voice is clipped and commanding as I nod for her to do as I said.
A moment passes and I’m not sure if she’s going to do it, but then I see that flare in her eyes, that spark that has my whole body on fire.
Come on. Just do it . I mentally urge her, my eyes watching her more intently than I ever have.
She bites her lip as if she’s considering it…and then she slowly tilts the glass, and I hear the stream of liquid splash against the hard floor.
My chest swells with triumph at her obedience as my gaze zeros in on her flushed cheeks, and I see the instant her body starts to panic.
But rather than letting it happen, this time I take a step closer, tilting her chin so her eyes meet mine and whisper, “Listen… Do you hear that?” Silence stretches between us as I wait a moment longer to make my point. “No one is yelling at you.”
I brush a strand of hair out of her face, and she sucks in a gasp as I move in closer. “You just spilled that entire glass of wine all over the floor. It’s getting all over your feet, and still, no one’s screaming at you.”
Her eyes quickly fill with tears at my words, so I keep going. “It’s fine. You’re okay. Nobody’s mad at you. Everything’s fine. It was an accident. It can easily be cleaned up.”
The more I reassure her, the more upset she seems to become as the streams of tears fall down her cheeks. Her swollen lips tremble like she’s holding back a sob, and I can feel my fucking heart aching for her to see how upset she is.
I keep my eyes locked on hers as I continue speaking the reassuring words over and over as if I’m rewiring her brain’s reaction. Giving her grace and understanding rather than the anger and rage her body’s normally accustomed to receiving during moments like this.
I don’t have to know the specifics to know that this reaction wasn’t created from one or two accidents, but rather a lifetime. Maybe I shouldn’t care, but the protector inside me has a mind of his own, and right now that’s what Scout needs.
My body is almost completely flush against her now as I caress her arm with one hand and hold her chin in my other, keeping her pinned in place.
I know this must be torture for her, standing here with wet feet, unable to clean up the mess before anyone sees.
Too late. I’ve seen the mess, and I’m right here with her, still standing in it.
Her big eyes stare up at me, filled with so many questions—questions that even I don’t have the answer to. So, before she finds the courage to ask, I tear myself away, shattering the moment.
I fist the hand towel from the counter and bend down. Scout stands there silent and confused, but as if she already knows what I’ll say, she doesn’t try to help me wipe the floor clean.
When I’m finished, I toss the towel over my shoulder and stand. “There. It’s like it never even happened.”
The next thing I know, my mom comes bounding into the kitchen, pulling us both back to the present moment. “Oh, honey, I didn’t realize you got it on your dress, too. Here, let me throw it in the wash before the stain sets in.”
Scout swallows a gulp and waves her off. “Oh, yeah. I guess I did. It’s fine. I’ll wash it at home.”
I give her a nod of approval, feeling a proud smile return to my lips.
“Actually, I think we’re going to head back to the house.
We’ve had a busy past few days, and I need to get my bride home to get some much-needed rest.” I give my mom a hug and thank her for dinner, asking her to tell everyone goodbye for me.
Then I take Scout’s hand and lead her out the back door, and to my utter surprise, neither one of us lets go as we make the walk home…