Nine #2
Back inside, I saw Shelly and Luke talking on the back porch, joined by Tatum, and went to check on the food.
But everything was under control, so I went to my room to get on my laptop and add to my notes about the job and what was happening with the Duchesne family.
At completion, the notes were summarized and given to the client.
I had been typing for a bit when my door, which I’d left open, was slammed shut, and when I checked, Luke was there, his jaw clenched, hands fisted at his sides, brows furrowed like he was upset.
“I would ask, but we’re not talking, right?”
“Don’t be glib, Nash.”
After a moment, I sighed. “I saw you and Shelly outside talking.”
“Yes.”
“She and Tatum all right?”
“Yes.”
I squinted at him. “What the hell? That’s it? That’s all I get? No other explanation?”
“Why do you care? Why would we discuss things? We’re not partners. According to you, that’s not what you’re here for.”
I stood up and crossed my arms. “I’m trying to help you, watch out for you, but all you can see is?—”
“You’re thinking for me is what you’re doing, and I don’t appreciate it at all.
Because I get that you’ve been a fixer a long time and that you think you’ve been in positions like this before, but you actually haven’t.
Not really. Because me and my kids are not people you’ve ever come in contact with before. We’re unique individuals.”
“I never said that you or the kids are?—”
“And Shelly has been wrong about so much, not all her fault, but thinking, even for a second, that I want you here, or the kids want you here, based on feelings of gratitude is absurd. We all want you here because you fit, idiot.”
Idiot was new. “Luke, you?—”
“And you don’t fit like Caitlyn, and I know you’re not their mother or whatever stupid shit you think goes through my head, but I?—”
“What are you talking about? All I am is the guy who’s supposed to leave this situation better than I found it, and?—”
“How dare you flirt with that fuckin’ lawyer in my house!”
I took a step back, reeling, my arms falling to my sides. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me!” he roared, and it was lucky the bedroom was a wall away from the kitchen, or Griff would have been in here in a second. “I will not have you flirting in front of my kids and looking at that man like?—”
“What is wrong with you?” I growled, charging by him, needing to get out of the small room where it was suddenly hard to breathe. I got to the door, reached for the knob, but his arm came around me, his hand bracing against the wood, making it impossible to open.
“You have to let?—”
“Wait.” He panted into my shoulder, shoved close. “Just wait.”
I could do nothing else and closed my eyes, concentrating on my breathing, in and out, trying to calm my racing heart. The problem with that, with letting the anger dissipate, was that I suddenly realized where his hands were.
Both arms were wrapped tight around me, his right hand fisted in my sweater, over my left pectoral, and his left splayed wide, pressed to my abdomen. I needed to get him off me, but I struggled to think of something to say.
“You’re shaking,” he said gruffly, pushing on me, his chest plastered to my back, his groin flush with my ass, his warm breath on the side of my neck.
“What’re you doing?” I barely got out.
“I have no idea.”
I inhaled deeply. “You have no idea?”
“You make me crazy, and I can’t think.”
“You do realize that’s another reason why I should?—”
“If you say one more word about leaving, I will lose my shit.”
His voice sounded strained, threadbare and scared, and insisting would cause harm. I never wanted to hurt him with anything I did or any of my choices.
“Okay, so tell me what you’re thinking right now.”
“You mean because I’m holding on to you like I’m drowning?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ve never…men don’t…I’m not…”
“You’re not attracted to men.”
“No.”
And yet, from the way I was being held, letting me go was not an option. So we stood there, the two of us, breathing together, but he didn’t relax his grip on me even a fraction.
“I don’t know what to do,” he confessed hoarsely.
“That’s all right,” I replied tenderly.
“I don’t know what I want, because it’s never been…this.”
“Okay.”
“But I can’t have you go away and leave me, and leave them, without knowing what this is. You can’t…” His voice cracked, and the sound, like he was confused and broken, tore right through me.
I rounded on him slowly, not pulling away, and letting him know that by how deliberately I was moving.
“Nash,” he whispered, and my name, as always, sounded good on his lips.
Moving him was easy because I was not a small, frail man. I was bigger and stronger than him. Not by a lot, but I had muscle and height on him that I used to my advantage when I knocked him back gently into the door.
When I looked at him, his eyes were narrowed, slits of molten ocean, and his entire focus was on my mouth. His interest was obvious, so I took his face in my hands, bent forward, and kissed him.
It was gentle, quick, just a brush of my lips over his, but he didn’t pull back or turn his head away.
Instead, his gaze held mine, so I kissed him again, harder, my tongue slipping over his lips, once, and then again, and when he parted them, I pressed inside, my tongue rubbing, pushing, until he opened wider, and I sucked for a moment until I heard his breath catch, followed by a low whimper.
Those were good sounds, wanting sounds, needy sounds, and when I eased back, he leaned with me until I put a hand on his chest, holding him still as our lips parted.
I took a quick breath, then another, watching him swallow and seeing his chest rise and fall.
The full-body shiver made me feel like I could fly.
There was no doubt I wanted Luke Duchesne desperately.
I liked the lawyer, he was flirty and fun and so very pretty, but there was no comparison to the urgent need I felt to put my hands and mouth all over the man standing in front of me.
His roughened breathing told me he was as excited as I was.
“We should…the kids,” Luke said.
“Yes,” I agreed, slowly letting him go, realizing I’d had him wrapped in my arms, both his hands now flat on my chest. “The kids.”
“I don’t want…you won’t go and see the lawyer?”
“No,” I murmured.
Quick exhale. “Or leave.”
I smiled at him. “How can I leave now? You kissed me.”
His sigh was long. “I want you to give me some time.”
“I can do that.”
“Okay,” he whispered.
I took a step back, and he opened the door and left the room.
It was so strange, because I couldn’t remember the last time I’d hardened that fast. It normally took so much more to spark arousal in me because I’d discovered years ago that my hunger, my desire, were inexorably tied not to my cock, but to my heart.
Once the deep, dark possessiveness that lived in me was triggered, it was hard to stop the grinding of the gears, to keep from wanting what was clearly supposed to be mine.
I had to remember that he wasn’t, that he didn’t belong to me, and that this was brand-new to him, whatever it was he was feeling at the moment.
It was important to be smart and not?—
“Hey.”
He stood in the doorway, looking almost drunk, his lips dark and puffy as he stared at me, smiling with hooded eyes.
“I need you out here. Come on.”
I didn’t hesitate.
It felt like a dream. I was listening and answering, asking questions and waiting for the responses.
All that was going on as I noticed everything Luke did.
How he smiled when I laughed, every time he bumped me, touched me, complimented me.
The ease between us, with the attraction and desire acknowledged, changed everything.
I couldn’t remember feeling better. There was also the fact that everyone appreciated my contribution to the meal. My enchiladas were a hit.
“Those were good,” Benny assured me with a burp.
“So good,” Griff said with a sigh. “You gotta show me how to make ’em.”
There had been two big pans, and yes, Darwin and Teddy, as well as Tatum and her pals, had made a dent, but one and a half pans were demolished by Benny, Sean, and Griff. It was both impressive and terrifying.
I glanced at Luke as I packed their lunches for the following day.
“You forgot how much food a sixteen-year-old boy can put away.”
I nodded. “I did. Yeah.”
After dinner, Luke volunteered to wash dishes, and I helped him. It didn’t take nearly as much time as I thought it would, as there were no leftovers to put away—all the plates were in the dishwasher and only the empty pans were left.
“This is crazy,” I told him, and he laughed at me.
“Oh, hey, I forgot to tell you—Shelly doesn’t want us at the funeral tomorrow. I feel like a bit of a jerk, but I’m relieved.”
I nodded.
“I wonder what changed her mind.”
“Sleep, most likely,” I answered. “She was wrung out.”
He squinted at me. “You’re quieter than usual. Why?”
I shook my head.
“No. Talk to me.”
But what was I going to say? That waiting for him to figure out what he wanted from me—if anything—was terrifying? That standing in limbo with nothing solid under my feet was making it hard to breathe?
“Nash, I?—”
“Have you noticed you say us and our a lot?” I asked, changing the subject. “You said, Shelly doesn’t want us there. Us. Do you know how often you do that?”
“Say us ?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t under?—”
“Our house. Our alarm system. Our family. You say those words, and if you’re doing it on purpose, that says something. And if you’re not, that also says something.”
He leaned against the counter. “I don’t know what it is, but you…when you hugged me that first day…it was like something changed in that moment. I felt like me again. I haven’t felt that way since Caitlyn left.”
“Why’s that?”
“It was like she took something away from me.”
“Which was?”