Chapter Eighteen
Rainey
I wake up surrounded by heat. My body is a furnace, and I open my eyes to find I’m pressed against Lucas’s hard chest, his arms wrapped around me. I breathe in his spicy masculine scent and suddenly, I don’t mind the heat.
“Morning,” he says.
I break our connection and push myself off him so I can meet his gaze. “Morning.”
“Sleep well?” he asks me.
Better than I normally do alone. But I don’t say that. “Very. How about you?”
“Amazingly well.”
He stretches and I take in his bare chest, the stretch of his muscles, and the morning scruff on his face. He’s so handsome, especially this relaxed and with his guard down.
“And the gala? Did you have fun?” he asks.
I don’t need to think. “Kaylee did an amazing job. It will set her up as someone to be respected in the business.”
“Like the Thunder will do for you.”
I smile. “That’s the hope. I had a nice time but…”
“What?”
“I wished we weren’t forced to pretend we’re just friends or acquaintances,” I admit, placing a hand on his warm chest.
He nods. “I felt the same way.”
I wonder if he’ll say anything more about us, but he remains silent. “Umm… it was good seeing your parents again after all these years. I like your mom.”
“She’s great and I definitely got the feeling she likes you.”
I think back to her comment about us and my curiosity grows. “Can I ask you something?”
Reaching out, he curls a strand of my hair around one finger, something I’m learning he likes to do. “Anything.”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, then ask, “What did your mother mean by saying we make a beautiful couple? Does she know we’re together?”
“She has mom instincts and a need to meddle. I think that was her way of telling me you’re good for me.” He tugs on the lock of hair he’s twirled. “And she’s right.”
“I have another question.” This one he might not want to answer, but since talking to his mom last night, it’s been niggling at me.
“Go ahead.”
I pick up the hand that’s not in my hair, and thread my fingers through his. “Will you tell me what happened to your parents?”
He lets out a low groan, then is quiet for so long I think he’s not going to tell me.
He meets my gaze. “Well, I already mentioned my mother was a drug addict and my father was a drunk, frequenting the neighborhood bar. And he never tried to stop her using.”
“You did tell me that.” I squeeze his hand in mine, wanting him to know I’m here for him.
He unwraps my hair, and rolls to his back, placing one arm beneath his head, staring up at the ceiling.
“One night, my father came home from work and Mom had been beaten up by her dealer. He wanted the money she owed him and… she didn’t have it.
The guy tried to get it from my father, but he’d spent all his cash on alcohol. Her dealer shot them both.”
I gasp, but he doesn’t tear his gaze from the ceiling. “Luckily for me, the neighbors heard the gunshot and called the police, or I would have been the one to find them.”
“Lucas,” I say on a shocked breath.
Lost in thought, he continues. “When I arrived home, there were cop cars outside. Apparently, one of the neighbors told them about me, so they waited until I showed up.” He shakes his head.
“Of course, I saw the cop cars and panicked, thinking they were after me. I’d been out shoplifting with the guys. ”
He sounds disgusted with himself, and I brush a hand over his shoulder. It’s the only comfort I can offer him.
“They took me to the station. Someone from child protective services came. I was placed in a temporary home before the miracle of Jacinda and Matthew happened. I mean, how many sixteen-year-old troubled kids are placed in a permanent home?”
“A very lucky one.” I scoot over, lift myself up, and press a kiss to his warm lips. “I appreciate you sharing that with me. And I’m proud of where you ended up in life.”
“Well, I appreciate you listening and seeing the best in me.” He shocks me by reaching over and rolling me on top of him. “Now, how about we eat breakfast?”
“I would say yes… except there’s something very hard poking at my stomach and I believe we need to take care of that first.” A rush of arousal pools between my thighs as his erection makes itself known.
“I like the way you think.”
Grinning, I push myself down his body and take care of the problem.
Later, we share pancakes for breakfast and talk about a variety of lighter things, getting to know each other better.
From favorite book genres—romance for me, thrillers for him—to best loved movies, we share the little things in our lives.
And though we might not share tastes in the same specific genres, we both like to read, watch movies, and stream on TV.
And that is good enough for me.