Chapter 8 #2
“I know that.”
“Yeah, but do you believe it?”
“Don’t psychoanalyze me, Luca.” I ease my head back against the narrow lip of the tub, making sure not to jostle Imani or lose my grip on her hands. If the raw patches of skin on her joints are any indication, she’s been putting this off for way too long. “Why are you here, anyway?”
“Sal wants me to send him the inventory reports again.”
I turn my head. “What? Why?”
“You know how he is.” Luca shrugs, but from the tense set of his shoulders, he’s not thrilled.
“If he wants things his way, he can drag his ass in here and crunch the numbers himself,” I sputter. “I’m guessing he didn’t offer you overtime.”
“I’m salaried now.”
“Yeah, I bet.” I scoff. “He gets away with requiring you to do more while paying you less. Cheap bitch.”
“Careful, you never know when he’s listening.”
“I hope he is,” I snarl. “I’ve got quite a few things to say to him.”
Luca chuckles. “Your justice complex is showing. Focus on Imani for now, I’ll be okay for a bit longer without my guardian angel.”
“I’m not a guardian,” I insist, craning my head when I hear the familiar sound of sloshing water. “Are you mopping? I said I would clean it up.”
“Give it a rest, Celine. You don’t have to do everything. Imani is my friend, too.”
“I made that mess,” I mutter.
Luca chuckles. “Mood wing malfunction?”
“They function as they were intended.”
“Uh huh,” Luca says, cleaning up quietly.
After he mops up the excess water and dries the floor with a towel, he disappears to the back room. When he returns a few minutes later, his hair is damp at the temples with sweat. A ripple of awareness shoots through me. Luca is sexy. And important to me. How did I let this happen?
“You okay?” he asks, looking me over, a furrow in his brow.
I nod, the lump returning to my throat unexpectedly. There’s nothing wrong, but I don’t think my wings are finished leaking for the day.
“Are you sure?” Luca narrows his eyes, clearly not believing me.
I open my mouth to speak, although I’m not sure if I’m going to tell him to get lost or come back to my place to hold me while I sob. Then Imani squeezes my hands twice and nothing else matters. I pull her up and brush the water droplets off her face.
“Here,” Luca says, handing her a clean, dry towel. She buries her face in the fabric for a few seconds, then drops it to face us.
“Okay?” I ask, amazed by how much healthier she looks. Her dark skin is glowing, although the magical amber light has faded to a more natural level.
Imani nods, relief obvious in every line of her body. She leans forward, bending her neck toward me, and I mirror her until our foreheads touch. “Thank you,” she whispers.
“Same time next week?” I ask, only half kidding. She can’t keep doing this, and we both know it.
“I’ll let you know.” She stands, her water-logged clothes dripping into the tub. “This was a good start.” Wrapping the towel around herself, Imani gets out, but she isn’t in a desperate hurry to dry off. I’ve never seen anyone be so effortlessly beautiful while soaking wet.
“Do you want me to come home with you?” I ask, doing my best to make my voice nonchalant. From Imani’s eye roll, I don’t succeed.
“I’m good alone,” she says. “See you both tomorrow?”
“Sure thing.” I smile and Luca nods.
Imani disappears into the dressing room where we all keep a spare outfit or two stored, and I contemplate how I can keep checking in on her without being a nag.
“Up,” Luca says, holding a second towel out for me. “You look like a prune.”
I pretend to be offended while knowing he’s absolutely right.
Imani may be twice as gorgeous after an hour underwater, but I feel like a drowned rat.
Standing, I cringe as the cold, soggy clothes stick to my skin.
My nipples are hard as glass, poking through my paper-thin shirt.
Disgusted, I yank the wet fabric off, throw it in the tub, then snatch the towel from Luca.
“You’re cold,” he says, his jaw tightly clenched.
I smirk at him, perversely pleased he noticed at all. Friend or not, when my nipples are out, I want them to be admired. “What gave me away?” I ask innocently.
“The shivering,” he deadpans.
With as much dignity as I can muster, I step out of the tub and wrap the towel around myself. “That was rude,” I say, shooting him a glare.
Luca smirks at me. “You already know you have nice tits.”
“Yeah, but I don’t mind hearing about it every once in a while.”
“Seriously?” He snorts, and I raise my chin and begin to walk away. “Celine . . . wait. You want the truth?”
I plant my hands on my hips and stare him down. “Obviously.”
“You have the most perfect tits I’ve ever seen in my entire godsdamn life. A man could be jobless and broke and happily occupy himself solely with your tits all day, every day. Is that what you want to hear?”
My mouth goes dry, and I shift my weight as Luca’s husky tone runs through my body like an electric current. “You don’t have to sound mad about it.” I smile as I replay his angry compliment.
“Don’t I?” he demands.
I raise my eyebrows. “I can’t imagine why.”
“They aren’t my tits to play with, are they?” Luca asks. “I get to be a little pissed about that.”
I laugh out loud, then leave the room before I tell him something stupid . . . like all he has to do is ask.