Chapter 14 Luca
Emma answers her phone just as I’m about to hang up. Before she can even say a word, I jump in. “Emma, there are people at my front door.” My voice comes out damn near desperate.
She bursts out laughing—and that laugh? It wrecks me. Because all it does is trigger memories. Of her laughing breathless in my bed, the first time I kissed her.
“Today’s the shoot, remember?” she says, still amused.
I peek through the curtains in my living room. There’s a crowd outside my house, and the only faces I recognize are Sam and Karen.
“Yeah, but why the hell aren’t you here?” I can’t deal with this alone. Not without her. Damn it.
“I’m with Jack.”
“Who the hell is Jack?” I snap. She left me here with all these people, and she’s off with some guy? “Emma, if you’re not here in fifteen minutes, forget the video—”
There it is again. That laugh. But this time, it doesn’t make me feel warm. It makes me angry.
“Jack is the dog, Luca. The dog you’re going to shoot with in the video. I went to pick him up. I’m literally in the Uber, almost at your place.”
Oh. The dog.
Great. Now I look like a jealous, possessive idiot.
I exhale and look up at the ceiling, like maybe it’ll drop an excuse down on me that’ll explain away my meltdown.
“Luca…” Emma says gently, pulling me back from my shame spiral.
“What?”
“Stop hiding behind the curtains and open the door.”
I glance back toward the entrance. There she is—standing right outside my house, looking straight at me like she knows I’ve been watching her.
She’s holding a dog on a leash, and she’s wearing that pink suit—the one she wore the first day I saw her again.
Damn.
I walk to the door wearing my best grumpy face, maybe a little overdone—and Emma smiles like she’s immune to my moods. Behind her, at least six people are waiting.
“Luca, meet the team,” she says, gesturing over her shoulder. “You already know Sam and Karen.”
Karen flashes me a plastic Barbie smile and starts playing with her hair like her life depends on it. God, she’s exhausting.
“Yeah. Come in.” I step aside so they can bring in all their stuff—black cases, tripods, giant lighting equipment.
“She’s the makeup artist. That’s the camera crew. And the producer.” They all greet me with stiff smiles and awkward hellos.
Guess I’m extra sour-faced today. I nod at them and say nothing. Then my eyes land on the dog, looking at me with its tongue out and tail wagging.
“This is Jack. Isn’t he the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?”
You are, Lamb. “I’ve seen cuter,” I reply, locking eyes with her.
Emma knows exactly who I’m talking about, but she recovers fast, shifting into boss mode. That used to be my role. Somehow, I handed it to her.
“Did you take your allergy pill?”
“Yes, Mom,” I mutter like I’m annoyed—though we both know I secretly love it when she worries about me.
She unclips Jack’s leash, and the dog starts sniffing everything within snout range. He reminds me of Oliver’s dog—dark fur, soft coat, tail in constant motion.
“Where’d you get him?” I ask, watching every human in the room inspect my sanctuary like they’re on a damn museum tour. I hate having people in here.
“My neighbor adopted him a few years ago. Found him digging through her trash.”
She says it like it’s nothing. And meanwhile, she’s scanning the place too.
Jack trots up to me and stands on his hind legs, asking for attention.
“Hey… hi,” I say awkwardly.
I don’t speak dog. Never have. I’ve been allergic to them since I was a kid, and I’ve spent my whole life staying far away from them.
Emma, of course, uses my distraction to roam freely, walking through the living room, taking everything in—the high ceilings, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the ocean out back.
It’s still early. The sun hasn’t fully risen to light up the sand or the water, but the sound is there—the waves, the breeze—and Emma gets lost in it instantly.
Just like I knew she would. Just like I bought this house hoping she would.
“This place is beautiful,” she whispers.
“Thanks,” I reply flatly—when what I really want to say is: I bought it for you. I bought it imagining a life we never had. One where she could sit by the windows and sketch these colors every single day.
“Emma?” Sam calls, bursting our little bubble.
We both turn toward the guy—he looks maybe twenty-eight, dark hair, heavy beard.
“The team’s ready. So is makeup.”
“Makeup?” I echo like a complete idiot.
Emma smiles, because of course she knows I don’t want any part of this. “You’ve got a great tan. Don’t worry, it’s just for touch-ups.”
Sam pulls me away from her, guiding me to a makeshift setup they’ve built in my kitchen. A woman is waiting there—with Karen, of course.
“Good morning, Mr. Walker! Ready for your big adventure?”
God, kill me now if I have to deal with this much positivity before my second coffee.
“As ready as anyone can be at eight a.m. on a Monday.”
That’s neutral enough, right?
Even though I’ve been up since five, already trained with Luis, and had a peaceful breakfast, I’m still completely against this whole thing.
I sit in the chair while the makeup artist explains what she’s about to do. Karen tries to make conversation, but I scroll through emails on my phone, giving vague, dead-end responses.
It’s not working, she keeps trying—until Emma walks into the kitchen and sees her hovering too close, doing that thing with her hair she always does when she’s trying to flirt.
Emma raises one eyebrow and pierces her with a look. Her disapproval lights something up inside me. Maybe this won’t be so boring after all.
“Karen,” I say, looking her over like she’s some kind of priceless antique, “You’re looking particularly radiant today.”
“Oh!” she squeaks, flustered. “Thank you, Mr. Walker.”
Even she doesn’t believe what she just heard.
“Luca,” I correct, eyes still on her. “Call me Luca.”
The makeup artist glances at us, unimpressed. She definitely notices the shift in tone. But Karen? Karen is dazzled. Oblivious. Exactly the reaction I was aiming for.
“That’s fine… Luca,” Karen says with a nervous laugh.
I give her a slow, seductive smile, but I’m not really looking at her—I’m tuned in to Emma and the storm cloud of fury swirling around her.
How do I know she’s mad? Easy. She’s pretending to type something on her phone like it’s the most fascinating novel ever written, stabbing the screen like it personally offended her.
I don’t know why she always turns to technology when she’s trying to act like she’s not watching me.
Karen, completely unaware, adds, “Would you mind giving me a tour of the house? It’s absolutely stunning.”
Emma lifts her eyes.
And holy hell, I've never seen that much rage in them.
“Karen,” she snaps, all sharp professionalism, “do I need to remind you we’re on work hours? If Mr. Walker wants to show you around, it can happen afterward—with the rest of the team.”
The last part comes out in a hiss. And I can’t help it—I laugh. Jealousy’s supposed to be a toxic emotion, but Emma Green jealous? That’s a whole different drug.
Back in high school, I never got to see this side of her. I used to flirt with half the girls at Willow High, and the second they found out Emma and I were together, they vanished. Just like that.
I look at Karen like I’ve just been scolded, too, and shrug. “Maybe another time.”
Karen shifts tactics, her tone now dipped in venom. “Emma, come on… no need to be so stiff. We can work and still have some fun.” She slides her hand along my shoulder, leaning into me like we’ve been friends for years.
I want to shake her off—but watching Emma unravel is far more entertaining.
Her jaw clenches. Her face turns crimson. Her eyes are laser-focused on Karen’s hand like she’s debating whether or not to bite it off.
When she steps forward, I decide it’s time. “I need to speak with Emma,” I say flatly.
Both Karen and the makeup artist freeze.
“Out.”
No more smiling Luca.
They scramble out, muttering complaints from the living room.
I grab Emma by the wrist and pull her into the pantry, slamming the door shut behind us.
“I’m sorry,” she starts to say, but before she can get another word out, I grab her jaw and kiss her.
It’s not gentle. It’s not polite. It’s a kiss that borders on something primal—raw and way too familiar.
Emma responds instantly, wrapping her arms around me, pulling me in, and I grip her ass tight, letting her feel just how much she drives me wild.
“You did that on purpose,” she breathes, her words breaking against my mouth, hot and shaky.
“Of course I did,” I growl, rough and low, my lips grazing hers with every syllable. “I like seeing you territorial over me.”
I slam back into her kiss, deeper, hungrier, pinning her against the shelves until the boxes rattle. Her nails dig into my shoulders, dragging, desperate, pulling me closer like she can’t get enough.
God, that mouth. That body pressed flush against mine. The way her hips grind against me like she’s seconds from shattering.
“I can’t take it anymore, Lamb. I need to have you—right here, right now.” My hands are everywhere, skimming under her shirt, tugging at her waistband, frantic to bare her skin.
She catches my wrist, breathless, pupils blown wide.
Confusion flashes through me—she’s trembling, hot all over, her pulse slamming against my fingertips. There’s no way she doesn’t want this, too.
“Shhh,” she whispers, pressing her finger to my lips. Her voice shakes. “They’re looking for us.”
“I don’t hear a damn thing,” I rasp, my hand sliding higher, claiming every inch of her.
“That’s because you were very focused on doing that thing you do with your tongue.”
Her voice is clipped, but her chest heaves, cheeks flushed crimson.
I laugh darkly against her neck, sucking at her skin until she gasps. “Sorry, did that bother you? Because your moans said otherwise.”
Her hand fists in my hair, tugging, not nearly hard enough to make me stop. Her lips hover over mine, trembling, needy.