Chapter 14 Emery #2
The first time I saw Luca naked—only hours after we met—I seriously questioned whether I was hallucinating.
This gorgeous man was interested in me? Luca spends his days digging and reaching and dragging and lifting.
He runs and surfs. He’s long and lean, with biceps I can’t keep my hands off of, abdominals that make my mouth water, and thighs that send my mind straight to the gutter.
I was immediately obsessed with his body, so imagine my surprise when we got to know each other, and I realized that muscles and a pretty face are the least interesting things about him.
He’s funny, grounded, passionate, loyal, intuitive.
He didn’t seem real then, and he still doesn’t now.
Forcing myself to focus, I reach under the sink for the almost-empty box of AquaGuards we keep stocked there and stand to wash my hands. “You’re always cutting yourself at work,” I explain, pulling one out. “These are the only things that keep the dirt and water out of your cuts and scrapes.”
Luca might not feel self-conscious, but I sense his gaze as surely as fingers on my skin. Having a task to concentrate on helps. That I must do said task while on my knees in front of him does not.
“That right?” His voice is a quiet rumble.
Nodding, I say, “You’re a landscaper, do you remember?”
He laughs. “You’re a scientist and I’m a landscaper? Way to punch above weight, Luca.”
Kneeling again, I open the sterile bandage, place it over his wound, and carefully press it to his skin. “Actually, I’m a physician, too, but I’ve only ever done research.”
He groans playfully. “Oh, okay, so an underachiever then.”
“Last year,” I say, “one of your clients left a screwdriver in the grass and it shot out the back of one of the lawnmowers. Twelve stitches.” I tap a finger against a thin silvery scar on his shin.
He leans forward to look at it. “I wondered what that was.”
“You have about a dozen others like that.”
“I don’t know where I learned this, but I seem to recall that chicks dig scars.”
I grin up at him. “Look at you, remembering shit.”
He shrugs and gives a small, cocky grin.
“Ready?” I ask, standing.
A tiny smile flickers at the side of his mouth. “Are you going in like that?”
“Oh.” I look down at the sweatshirt and leggings I’d put on after my shower, the thick socks bunched around my ankles. “Right.”
As casually and quickly as I can, I pull my sweatshirt off, unhook my bra, peel the leggings and socks off in one go, tossing them aside.
After a hiccup of hesitation, I decide to leave my underwear on.
I’m aware that Luca is watching—of course he is—and I’m trying to be very cool about it, while inside I feel like a teenager walking across the pool deck in a bikini in front of a line of my peers.
Luca likes my body—Luca as my husband, at least. But what does this Luca think? Is he wondering if I’ve let myself go a bit? Does he think my thighs could be more toned? My boobs higher? I can’t think about it.
When I turn back, he looks up. Our eyes meet and hold for one second, three, five.
He blinks down to my mouth and slowly back up again.
He looks like he’s thinking of kissing me.
My lips tingle with a sense of déjà vu. I want to stretch this moment, to think back on it when the fear and anxiety about our future bang on the door to be let back in, but the water is still running beside us, and Luca is leaning a little, worn out and growing unbalanced on his feet.
Opening the shower door, I step in, turning to carefully help him in after me.
It’s not fancy, but there’s a tiled ledge on the far side of the tub that I use when I shave my legs.
It’s not much of a seat, but it works in a pinch and is better than Luca trying to balance himself on slippery porcelain.
I have another thought and reach out for a hand towel, coming back to carefully drape it over his lap for privacy.
“Let me do us both a favor,” I say, and he huffs out a quiet laugh.
The showerhead is detachable, and I lift it out of the clamp.
“This is a little like showering with someone on the first date,” he says, and lets me guide his head back under the stream of water.
“Actually, we did shower on the first date.”
Eyes closed, he lifts his brows in silent surprise.
“We did a lot more than that,” I add.
“Oh, wow,” he says. “Little sluts.”
Laughing, I hang up the nozzle and reach for the shampoo, squeezing it into my palm, and sending my hands into his hair, scrubbing. Luca has always loved having his hair played with, and right on cue, he groans quietly, just like he always does. The sound vibrates down my spine.
Luca seems to sense a change in my posture and his eyes drift open.
My breasts are literally in front of him, and my nipples are hard now. He stares, openly, part conflicted, but also hungry. At least that hasn’t changed.
“Yeah, it was a first for us both.”
“We were virgins?” he asks, looking up at my face in shock. Sudsy water sluices down his cheeks.