Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
MELISSA
Have a good night, Milly.
What a joke. I’ll be lucky if I sleep at all.
Hearing Luke sing Twinkle Twinkle to Liam did funny things to my heart.
It left me hoping he’d stay and keep me company while I read Claire her bedtime story.
We could talk some more, and then, when we were sure the kids were sleeping, Luke could tuck me in.
Instead, he left at eight o’clock, with the excuse that he needed an early night. I know he’s operating tomorrow, so it’s important he’s rested, but eight o’clock? No one goes to bed at eight.
And then there was the goodnight kiss, which was more of a tease than a kiss. Just enough to get me excited, without any payoff. So I’m lying in bed, in a mess of twisted sheets, trying to forget how his lips felt on mine. The musky smell of his cologne.
And I’m not going to see him again until Friday night. Seventy-two hours. Sure, I could text him again tomorrow, invite him for family dinner again, but I don’t want to seem desperate. After all, I’m the one who asked to take it slow.
I head downstairs and put on an exercise video, hoping to work off some of the tension. It doesn’t work, nor does the cold shower I take when I finish. I can’t remember the last time I felt this frustrated.
But I eventually fall asleep, and somehow, I make it to Friday without sending Luke any desperate texts.
Teaching is a good distraction, although my students have been surprisingly well-behaved since my little rant.
I keep waiting for an email from Carole Chan to tell me someone’s complained, but so far, there’s been nothing.
On Friday afternoon, I drive the kids to Toronto for the weekend.
Olivia’s there again, but that’s hardly a surprise, and the kids seem happy enough to see her.
Next door, Julie Schroeder’s pulling a rake across her immaculate front lawn, and that’s hardly a surprise either—no doubt she’s hoping to see some post-divorce drama.
As I walk back to my car, she starts in my direction, but I don’t break stride. I have other things to do tonight.
I’m back in Somerset by seven, and I’m very pleased to find an package on my porch. Yesterday afternoon, I remembered that none of my sexy lingerie fit, so I went online. Thank goodness for next-day delivery.
I pull a lacy black bra and panties out of the padded envelope and run them through my fingers. It’s not La Perla, but it’s better than the plain Jane white cotton I’ve been wearing for the past few months. Best of all, it will fit me.
I put on a Michael Bublé playlist and jump in the shower, then carefully blow my hair dry. Spritz on a little of my favorite perfume (citrus with a hint of spice). The new underwear set fits like a dream, and my old little black dress has enough stretch to be comfortable.
By the time the doorbell rings, I’m feverish with anticipation, and when I open the door, Luke looks even better than I imagined. He’s dressed up a little, in a black wool coat over a dark gray button-down shirt and black pants.
His hazel gaze sweeps over my little black dress, and his eyes widen in appreciation. “You look spectacular, Milly.”
“Thanks.” It comes out a little hoarse, because all of a sudden I’m nervous. It’s irrational; this is Luke, not some stranger taking me on a first date. I slept with him last weekend, for heaven’s sake.
But rational or not, the butterflies in my stomach have taken flight.
I shrug on a coat, and Luke leads me out to his car.
“Where are we going?” I ask, as he pulls out onto the road.
The corner of his mouth hitches up. “Promise you won’t text your mother?” he teases. “I was hoping to have you to myself, and I only booked a table for two.”
“Of course I won’t tell my mother,” I say with dignity. “But I don’t think she’d try to follow me again. I told her she needed to give me some space.”
“Really?”
“Uh huh.”
“And you think you got through to her?” Luke’s voice is tinged with amusement.
“Yeah, I think so. This was on Monday, and we haven’t spoken since.”
Luke must sense I’m unhappy about the situation, because when he answers, he isn’t teasing anymore. “She’ll get over it, Melissa. She probably just needs a little time.”
“I guess so. Anyway, it had to be done.”
“Sure did,” he agrees as he brakes at a red light. “We’re going to Buona Notte.”
“Really?” I breathe.
“Yeah,” he says with a smile. “You up for Italian?”
“I’m always up for Italian.” I’ve never been to Buona Notte, but it’s rumored to be one of the best restaurants in Somerset. It’s also supposedly very expensive, the sort of place you’d take a partner for a special birthday or anniversary. A place you’d go if you had something to celebrate.
Luke takes my hand as we walk from the car to the restaurant, and keeps hold of it as we wait for the ma?tre d’. It’s definitely a date night place, small and intimate, with candles on the tables and soft opera in the background. It smells of fresh bread and tomatoes; basically, like heaven.
My stomach growls, and it sounds unnaturally loud. “I’m sorry,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat.
But Luke just winks. “Glad you came hungry.”
And the restaurant lives up to its reputation.
As soon as we sit down, a waiter brings us fresh bread with garlic butter, and it’s the most delicious thing I’ve eaten all month.
There’s fried calamari, then lamb ravioli, then Luke convinces me to share an order of tiramisu for dessert.
It’s all washed down with good red wine, but we both stop after one glass.
Luke’s driving, and I want to remember tonight.
I’m feeling very happy by the time we leave the restaurant. I’ve blown my diet for the week, but it was entirely worth it. I’m pleasantly full, a little buzzed from the wine, and I’m ready to take Luke home and show him my new underwear.
“You smell delicious,” I tell him, as soon as we’re back in the car. “All musky and manly.”
He looks at me suspiciously. “Please tell me you’re not drunk.”
“Nope. Not drunk. I only had one glass of wine, remember?”
What I am, though, is practically delirious with lust. I reach across the center console and rest my hand on Luke’s thigh.
He smiles and covers my hand with his. But when I try to move my hand a little higher up his leg, he resists.
“I have to drive, Milly,” he says with a chuckle.
I guess I can wait, but it feels like an eternity passes before we pull into my driveway. A second eternity passes before we make it to my door.
“I had a really nice time.” Luke leans in, and before I know what’s happening, he’s brushed my lips with a kiss. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Melissa.”
“You’re not coming in?” I must look like a little kid who’s been promised a treat and then told it was all a trick.
“It’s late,” he says with a shrug. “So I think I’ll head out.”
“You can’t,” I say simply.
“I . . . can’t?” he repeats.
“No. You can’t.” He can’t take me to a place like Buona Notte, looking the way he looks, and then just leave. The whole evening was basically a giant exercise in foreplay.
“Why not, Milly?”
“I bought new underwear!” I blurt out.
The ghost of a smile tugs at Luke’s lips, and the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Yeah?”
“Yes. Because I thought you’d . . . want to stay over.”
There’s a devilish gleam in his hazel eyes, but he’s not ready to let me off the hook. “Stay over to do what, Milly?”
“Sleep with me.”
“Sleep with you?” he teases. “Are you tired?”
“Fuck me, Luke!”
“I thought you’d never ask, Milly.” He’s full-on smiling as he bundles me through the front door and into the entrance hall. “Give me ten seconds to grab my bag from my car.”
He returns carrying a small duffel, and by then, I’ve put it together. “You were always planning to stay the night.”
“Hoping, Melissa,” he corrects. “But you said you wanted to take it slow, so I didn’t want to presume . . .”
With the signals I was sending, it wouldn’t have been a presumption. “You wanted me to beg!” I say accusingly.
He leans in to whisper in my ear. “Maybe I just wanted you to tell me about your new underwear. Did you buy it for me?”
“Of course I bought it for you.”
“Mmmm. Where are we going?”
Right. There’s no reason to stay in the entrance hall.
We slip off our shoes, and I lead him up to my bedroom.
Flick on the overhead light and make sure the curtains are closed.
Drop my purse on the floor. Then, after a deep breath, I pull my dress over my head and let it fall.
Peel off my tights. And stand before Luke in nothing but the black lace bra and panties.
It’s as though all the air has been sucked from the room. Luke’s gaze is all over me, burning my skin.
“Fuck, Melissa,” Luke says hoarsely. He tears at his shirt buttons, then his belt buckle. Strips to his boxers. Bends over to rummage in his bag, giving me an excellent view of his ass. Finds a small foil square and sets it on my bedside table.
We tumble onto the bed, where Luke inspects my new bra with his eyes, his hands, and finally his lips and tongue. Eventually, he unclasps the bra and repeats the procedure—eyes, hands, lips, tongue—on my naked breasts.
When he’s finished there, he moves to my panties and slips a finger under the waistband. The touch feels exquisite on my lower belly, but it would feel even better lower down, where I’m throbbing for him. I instinctively hitch my hips.
“Be patient, Melissa,” he chides, slipping a second finger under the elastic. His fingers are thick and a little rough, and I can’t help myself—I jerk my hips again. It’s torture of the sweetest kind.
Luke must decide he’s teased me enough, because he moves his fingers out from under the waistband and puts the heel of his hand over my panties.
He finds the sweet spot, right against my clit, and this time when my hips move, I get exactly the pressure I need.
The tension builds in waves as I grind against his hand, reaching for something . . .