Chapter Thirteen

Lucas

Damn. Talk about the best laid plans…

My original idea of taking Violet onto a nightclub after we finished here is a nonstarter, as she can hardly keep her eyes open.

I stifle a sigh and as we stand up I wind my arm around her waist, not just because I love the way she snuggles against me, but because I’m a bit worried she might trip over. If I hadn’t been so fascinated by the way she drank champagne, I would’ve realized how much it was affecting her. There’s no way I’ll be snapping any strings tonight.

She wraps herself around me as we take the lift, and although my brain is one hundred percent behind doing the right thing, my dick, obviously, has a dirty agenda of its own.

“Lucas,” she breathes against my cheek, as her hips sway in a seductive dance. I grit my teeth. I know she’s not doing it on purpose. Christ, she can barely stand, and I don’t need to be a Nobel laureate to figure out why she drank so much. I send another silent, expletive-laden curse directed at HD into the universe.

I messaged Chad twenty minutes ago, and as we leave the entrance he’s driving up the road toward us. Violet’s clinging onto me and while I’m not complaining, would she be doing this if she hadn’t crossed swords with her ex?

As soon as we hit the pavement, there’s a flash of light from across the street. Instinctively my arm tightens around Violet. Not that the photographer would’ve seen her face, considering she’s nuzzling the base of my throat. Jesus, the hits just keep on coming tonight.

I’ll always give the paparazzi a smile, sometimes a wave. After all, they’re only doing their job, but tonight the only thing I want to give this jerk is a black eye.

Chad has the car door open, and I help Violet inside before following her. At least they won’t get any more photos through these windows, but that doesn’t improve my mood.

I virtually assured her we wouldn’t get hassled tonight. Fucking famous last words.

“I had a wonderful time tonight.” She gives me the most angelic smile as she hugs her bag to her waist, and inside I’m dying. I should take her home, but the house is empty, and what if she’s sick during the night?

Pathetic. Why don’t I admit that I don’t want to leave her alone tonight? Just because she comes back to my place doesn’t mean we’ll end up sleeping together.

Damn fucking right, it doesn’t. I’m not that much of a prat.

“Good.” We link fingers, and she rests her head on my shoulder. I’ve lost count how many times I’ve invited a girl back to my place, but this is Violet, my intentions are totally honorable, and the words lock in my throat.

Dating has never been so complicated. I don’t want her assuming I expect anything from her.

She slides her other hand along my chest, and I kiss the top of her head. Her hair is so soft, I want to bury my face in her red curls and inhale that elusive scent of coconut and cherries.

Not tonight, mate.

It physically hurts to pull back.

“I could stay all night, if you like.” Her whisper hits me right where it shouldn’t, and I gingerly shift my arse in the hope that’ll ease my hard-on.

It doesn’t.

How many times have I wanted her to say this? But even if she’s over her ex, tonight still feels too much like a rebound to me.

Sex isn’t on the menu. I know that, except that’s what Violet’s offering, and for all I know, it’s only because she drank more than she meant to tonight.

Not a great feeling. And not just for my ego, either.

She’s all sleepy-eyed and irresistible, and I steal a lingering kiss. Hell, I’m not a saint, and she tastes like fucking heaven.

“I do like.” I sound feral. Not that she seems mind, as she cups my jaw and tugs me close for another kiss.

Which I take. It’s only a kiss. We’ve kissed before. I’m not crossing any line.

By the time Chad pulls up in the underground car park, I can hardly think straight. Somehow, I manage to get us into the lift, although I don’t remember walking from the car, and as soon as the door closes, she winds her arms around my neck and backs me up against the wall.

Holy shit. Before I can stop myself, I cup her butt, and she melts against me. She’s soft and hot and everything I’ve wanted since the day I met her.

Back off. It’s a faint command, and I don’t even know what it means anymore.

We stumble from the lift to my penthouse, and I kick the front door shut behind me. Violet staggers and laughs, and every reason why this is the worse idea ever slams through my brain.

I rake my hand through my hair and exhale a ragged breath. I’ve never experienced the blue-ball phenomena, but I reckon right now mine are turning purple.

“Do you want a coffee? Hot chocolate?” I back toward the kitchen, and she follows me. Might’ve been a good idea if I’d released her hand first. Unfortunately, I can’t find the motivation.

“No, thanks. I couldn’t eat or drink another thing. Have I told you what a fabulous night I had? Thank you so much.”

“Yeah.” She’s told me several times what a great night she had, which reinforces the whole back the fuck off, Carter, demand. “You’re welcome.”

She sways her hips, as though she’s dancing to music only she can hear, and with every step she makes toward me, I back up a corresponding one. If my body wasn’t burning up in frustrated agony right now, it’d be funny.

I come to a grinding stop against the worktop, and she circles my ear-stud with the tip of her finger, as though it’s the most fascinating thing ever. I swallow a groan. Since when has a girl touching my earlobe been so sexy?

She abandons my stud and grips my shoulder, before kicking off her shoes and dropping about four inches. There’s no reason why that should be such a turn-on, but I’m way beyond rationalizing anything tonight. Even her sigh of relief and look of bliss that washes over her face is bloody irresistible.

“That’s better. My shoes were killing me.”

I grunt something unintelligible, because my brain’s given in and migrated south. My fingers plunge through her hair and tangle around the chain of tiny flowers threaded through her curls.

“Ouch.” She winces, pulls free of my other hand and with more luck than skill we manage to free the chain from her hair.

“Better?” I drop the flower chain on the worktop and then grip the edge of it so I’m not tempted to pull her back in my arms.

“Mm, much.” She’s gazing at me as though I’m the only guy in her world, but her eyelashes keep fluttering, as though she’s on the point of falling asleep standing up. “I’m finally going to see your bedroom tonight, Lucas.”

And I won’t be in there with you. How many times have I wanted her to see my bedroom? Talk about being specific when you make wishes.

“Yep, you are.”

“It’s been so long since I’ve done anything like this.” She hooks her fingers into my belt, and while that’s usually a sexually provocative move, I have the feeling she’s doing it more to keep herself upright than anything else.

“Okay,” I respond to her comment, because what am I supposed to say? I don’t want to know about her sex life with that creep. “Bed, then?”

She sinks against me, her fingers wedged beneath my belt. So near, and yet so far. I swallow a groan and focus on…fuck, I have no idea what to focus on, when right now Violet fills my entire universe.

“I thought you were never going to ask.”

This is torture in its purest form. She’s saying and doing everything I’ve fantasized about, and I can’t do a damn thing about it.

“Right.” I swing her into my arms, and she gives a breathless laugh and buries her face against my neck. Did I really think carrying her was a better idea than walking?

Yeah, sure. But not for any altruistic reasons.

Her breath is hot and uneven against my skin, and I grit my teeth against temptation. She drifts feather soft kisses along my throat, and her fingers trail across my jaw. I can’t even remember my own bloody name.

I don’t switch on the lights when I enter my room. It’ll be hard enough leaving when I can only see her outline in my bed, but unfortunately the light spilling in from the hallway gives more than enough illumination. Somehow, I manage to rip back the covers enough so that I can lay her down. She stretches like a contented cat, and her gorgeous tits almost spill free from her tight dress.

Jesus. I break into a sweat and take a hasty step back.

“Lucas.” It’s a soft, seductive invitation, and my mouth dries. Get out of here.

“Yes?” Maybe she needs some water. Or the bathroom.

Maybe she needs me.

That’s not fucking happening.

“Where’re you going?” She sounds so sleepy it makes my chest ache.

“Just, uh, into the kitchen.” To put my head in a bucket of cold water.

“Don’t be long.”

“I won’t.” I linger by the door, as she curls onto her side. After a minute or so, when she hasn’t moved, I risk checking up on her.

Her breathing is even, her body relaxed. She had no problem falling asleep.

Holding my breath, in case I accidentally wake her, I carefully drape a sheet over her. Her hair is spread across my pillows, her cheek is cushioned on her hand, and she’s so damn beautiful it’s hard to breathe.

Although I haven’t brought a girl back here, as I haven’t wanted anyone else from the day I met Violet, plenty of girls have slept in my bed, and not once have I ever left them alone in it.

Sure, I could sleep next to her without touching her. It’d kill me, but I could do it. Except I don’t think she’d ever forgive me. It’s like taking advantage, even though all I’d do is breathe in her scent and share body heat.

Because I’m clearly a masochist when it comes to Violet, I stealthily crouch beside her, and brush a soft kiss on her cheek. She doesn’t ever stir.

Just leave, already.

It’s gonna be a long night.

…

Violet

I’m so bloody thirsty. My mouth’s parched, and I lick my dry lips. My head hurts a little, and my whole body feels kind of strange, as though I’m trussed up.

Wait…

I had a date with Lucas. The sleepy tendrils anchoring me in a dreamy half world snap, and my heart slams against my ribs.

I stayed the night with Lucas. And I can’t remember a thing.

I’m frozen as I desperately try to probe my reluctant mind. Dread grips my stomach, and I force open my eyes.

The room is in shadow. Gingerly, I inch my hand across the great expanse of bed. It’s empty. Not even warm. The other side of the bed is like it wasn’t slept in at all.

I snatch my hand back, and then lift the sheet. No wonder I’m so uncomfortable. I’m still in my dress. Heat blasts through me, and I fight the urge to pull the sheet over my head and hide from…an empty room.

Nothing happened last night. At least, not in this bed. Plenty happened before I reached his bedroom, and I let out a mortified groan and pull the sheet over my head anyway.

That bloody bitch, Monica.

How am I going to face Lucas today? What if he thinks I’m a crazy stalker fan who only got the job cleaning his penthouse because I wanted to get close to him?

Oh, for fuck’s sake, Vi. I know I’m being stupid and melodramatic, but last night was a dream date until Monica and Geoff appeared.

And I drank too much.

Shit. I drank too much. Fresh horror skids through me as humiliating fragments of memory surface.

I literally threw myself at Lucas when we got back here. And he behaved like the perfect gentleman. Another groan burns my throat. What are my chances of slipping out of here unnoticed?

And never seeing him again?

Is that what I really want?

No. Definitely not. I peel back the sheet and take another quick look around the room. I’m busting for the loo, and I know he has an en suite, so it’s unlikely I’ll bump into him before I’ve cleaned myself up.

I tiptoe across the room, although I’ve no idea why since it’s not like I’m going to wake him. Did he sleep on the sofa? Probably in his spare room. Why didn’t he put me in his spare room?

Maybe because I invited myself in here?

I collapse onto the loo and bury my face in my hands. Everything had been going so well. And sure, maybe I’d drunk a little too much champagne for some added courage before Geoff and Monica turned up, but I really hit the bottle afterward, didn’t I?

And Lucas didn’t take advantage. As if he would. Even though I wanted to sleep with him more than anything, there’s a warm little glow in the center of my chest that we didn’t have drunk sex. I don’t want memories of our first time hazy and disjointed because I was half cut.

As I wash my hands I try to avoid my reflection in the wall-size mirror above the double sink vanity. I can’t even change out of my crumpled dress.

So much for my essential packing last night. If I’d thought it through a bit more, instead of totally focusing on having wild and bendy sex with Lucas, I would’ve stuffed a spare pair of knickers, jeans, and T-shirt in an overnight bag. What did I think I was going to wear this morning? Nothing but a satisfied smile?

Yes, that sounds about right.

There’s a soft tap on the bedroom door. Panic rakes through me, and I grip the edge of the sink. I already know Lucas is going to look completely delicious, and probably still damp around the edges from a shower, whereas I resemble something out of a Stephen King movie.

And pretending I’m not here isn’t going to change anything.

I hitch in a ragged breath, go back to the bedroom, and open the door.

He looks even better than I imagined. And that’s saying something.

“Morning.” He grins at me, as though I didn’t make a total twat of myself last night. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No. I was, um, already up.” Self-consciously I tug my fingers through my tangled hair, which forces another memory to the surface. Of Lucas helping to unravel my flower chain just before he put me to bed. Which should have been sexy, but I have the terrible feeling he only did it because the chain caught on his signet ring.

“Listen, make yourself at home. Have a shower if you want. There’re plenty of towels and whatever in the bathroom. I’ll make breakfast when you’re done.”

“Right, um. Thanks.” Could this be any more embarrassing? If I had the car, I’d make my escape, but I don’t fancy doing a walk of shame to a cab. I fold my arms. I suppose I will feel better after a shower.

“And Violet?”

Reluctantly, I meet his gaze. Not that it’s any hardship, but when in the presence of a sex god, a girl likes to look better than something the cat dragged in.

I didn’t find out if he’s a sex god or not. Seriously, I don’t think that question’s even up for debate.

“I’ll leave a T-shirt on my bed if you want to change into something else. Up to you.” His smile reaches deep inside and ignites a warm, tingling sensation, and I barely manage an articulate uh-huh in response.

Wearing one of his tees is a really bad idea.

But I’m going to, anyway.

By the time I’ve showered and towel dried my hair, I feel a lot better. That probably has something to do with the fact I’m surrounded by the scent of Lucas’s shower wash and shampoo, seductive and sinful.

It’s more than a bit of a turn on, and I indulge my senses for a few minutes before shaking off my fantasies and scooping up my discarded underwear.

Can’t say I’m thrilled to be wearing yesterday’s undies, but the only other option is going without knickers and bra and there’s no way I’m doing that.

Even if that image does excite my girly bits more than it should.

I open the bathroom door. The bedside lamps are on, and I get my first good look at the bedroom, as I never did get around to cleaning in here on that first day. It’s huge, and opposite the bed looks like all windows, since there are ceiling-to-floor curtains taking up the entire wall.

On the rumpled black quilt is a white T-shirt, and on closer inspection there’s an embroidered dragon on the left breast pocket. I trace the dragon with my finger, and there’s a silly smile on my face, but I can’t help it.

He didn’t just grab the first thing in his wardrobe. He went to the trouble of finding one that had a connection with one of our conversations. How adorable is that?

I pull the tee over my head. The sleeves are way too big, to accommodate his impressive biceps, and it hangs down almost to my knees. The soft cotton also has a lingering Lucas scent about it, which makes me all warm and tingly again.

I rummage in my bag for my brush, not that there’s a lot in there to rummage through. I didn’t even think to bring any makeup, apart from the lipstick, and that’s no good on its own.

When my hair is tangle free, my teeth cleaned, and I’ve straightened his bed, there’s no more reason to procrastinate so I take a deep breath and open the bedroom door. Although it’s sexy wearing Lucas’s T-shirt, I’m under no delusion that I look anything other than ridiculous. Why is it girls in movies are always drop dead gorgeous in these situations?

I make my way across the wide hallway and hover by the door that leads directly into the kitchen. Lucas is in there, leaning against the worktop, his arms folded, and with a brooding expression on his face.

His hair is tousled, his shirt, with sleeves rolled up to the elbow, is crazily sexy, and his knee length shorts show off his muscular calves and bare feet to their finest advantage. On anyone else this would be casual and normal, but Lucas looks as though he’s been prepped for a top cover shoot.

He turns, and his breath-stealing smile is admiring. Oh wow, I’m in so much trouble.