Dynamite (Stacked Deck Book 10)

by Emilia Finn

  “Bed looks pretty comfy,” Luke says casually.

  Snorting, I turn away from the mirror and step back into my room as he trails his fingers along a lacy black bra I tried on earlier and discarded. “Smooth.” I fold my arms and smile. “Are you looking for an invitation into my bed, Luke Hart?”

  “Sure. I mean, I probably would have jumped in regardless. But since you’re offering…”

  “Charming.”

  I nibble on my bottom lip and study him all over. The thick thighs, the broad chest, and muscular arms. Beneath that shirt, I know for a fact tattoos exist, and each one of them means something. I intend to ask later, and I promise to try to make it at least half because I’m genuinely curious, and not entirely because I want to study him.

  “Are you analyzing me again, Allyson Moore?” Luke sits on the end of my bed and grabs my discarded bra. It’s bad enough he touches it, but then he brings it to his face and inhales so deep that my toes tingle. “Does it turn you on when you try to get inside my head?”

  “Heh.” Nervously, I walk toward the bed, and slow when I’m still a couple of feet away. “I was making a plan to analyze you. Later, after dinner, I would come to you with a series of questions that would help me understand your brain a little more.”

  “You just can’t help yourself, huh?” He reaches out with lightning-fast reflexes and wraps his arm around my hips. Then I’m falling, falling with a squeal, until I land in his lap, and his palm stops on the bare skin where my dress should be covering. “You’re wearing a thong for me?”

  “No.” I swallow down my nerves and meet his eyes. “I’m wearing a thong for me. You just so happen to get to enjoy the view.”

  “And I do,” he rumbles low in the back of his throat. “I enjoy the feel, too.” He spiders his fingers along my bare thigh and up to where the material disappears between my legs. “You can continue to dress for you, Ally. And I’ll continue to enjoy the shit out of it.”

  “Are you ready to go to dinner yet?” I smile when he presses a kiss to my cheek, and groan when his teeth venture to my neck. “Jesus.”

  “Five minutes of this first,” he breathes out. “I’ve waited all day to taste you again.” His teeth sting my sensitive flesh, but then he follows it with his tongue, and my legs drop open, even against my wishes. I didn’t come to him just now with the intention to be laid out and open within seconds. But that’s where we’re at anyway, and though some part of my brain knows better, my body says Who cares? Enjoy it. “Did you have a good day?”

  “Mm.” I don’t fight the throbbing that pulses through my body. Instead, I let Luke do as he pleases, with his hands, with his mouth. “Interesting day. You?”

  “Tiring day. Gym, the pier, then here. I’m soaking up the last of the sunshine before winter gets here and kicks our asses.”

  “Maybe I should come out to the lake this weekend. I could tan while you work.”

  “Work with a view,” he hums. “Perfect.”

  I laugh and elongate my neck. ‘When in Rome’, and all that. “Or tanning with a view. It’s all about perspective. I’d wear a bikini and sunglasses, so we could both look, and no one has to know.”

  “Deal. Be there at eleven o’clock. I’ll be coming straight from the gym, so I’ll be extra sweaty for you.”

  “Mmm. I feel like that was supposed to gross me out,” I snicker. “But mostly, I’m imagining your chest glistening under the sun.”

  “Whatever turns you on.” Luke’s hand is larger than my butt cheek. His erection digs into my skin. But with one last, firm squeeze on my ass, he sighs and presses a kiss to my lips. “Come on. I promised dinner, not a fast fuck.”

  “Oh… well…” I smile when his eyes come to mine. “That’s disappointing.”

  He stands from my bed, lifting me as he goes, only to set me on my feet and press a long, close-mouthed kiss on my lips. Pulling back, he stands over me and grins. “We’ll do the fast fucking thing later. But for right now, we’re doing the dating thing. Gotta get the horse before the cart and all that.”

  “Am I the horse, or the cart?”

  He presses another kiss to my lips. Then one to the tip of my nose. “You’re the princess riding in the carriage. Come on, before I change my mind and decide to order room service.”

  He takes my hand and leads me toward the door without giving me time to grab anything but my room key. No purse. No phone. And though I know I could dash back to where I left them by the sink, I choose not to. I choose to keep my hands empty, and instead dive head-first into this wonderful new adventure called dating.

  I’ve done it in the past, of course. But this time feels a little different. Though, the reasons for why this is different are terrifying.

  Luke leads us out of my room and into the hall, and just moments after the door swings shut, we descend the staircase and head toward the lobby. “I saw your friend on the way in.”

  “Hmm?” In a daze, and thinking about the pulse between my legs, it takes me a minute longer to catch on to Luke’s words. “What friend?”

  “Jason.” Luke says the name with a growl in the back of his throat. “He was down here when I walked in. Honestly, it pissed me off, and then it pissed me off that I was mad about it.” He leads me off the stairs and onto the bottom-floor landing, then we’re gliding toward the front door. “But then I remembered that I wasn’t gonna get pissy about that. So here we are, I gave you full disclosure, and now we’re heading outside together.” He opens the front doors and leads me out into the twilight. “And because you’re holding my hand,” he lifts our hands and shows us the way our fingers twine together, “means I’m doing pretty fucking good, so I literally have no reason to be mad.”

  “But, wait…” I stop at the side of Luke’s truck, and glance up into his eyes. “Remind me again why you’re cranky about the existence of this guy you don’t know.”

  “Because he likes you.” Luke smacks a kiss to the tip of my nose, and leaves me to climb into the truck myself.

  He moves around to the driver’s side, slides in, and when I follow, he leans across the seat and slowly, gently grabs my seatbelt and works it into place. His aftershave wafts in the enclosed space between us. He smells so good, and when his broad shoulders brush over my chest, my breath catches and my brain scrambles.

  “But to be fair,” he rumbles, low and deep, “if he didn’t like you, that would also piss me off.” Luke pulls back, but only an inch or so, so our breath mingles in the tiny space between us. “Because you’re so fucking beautiful, Ally. If he looked and didn’t like, that would also be offensive.”

  “So either way, this new guy in town can’t win?”

  “Well, yeah.” Chuckling, Luke pulls back and straightens out to fix his own belt, then starting the truck, he has us ambling forward just a moment later. “He looked, so now he can’t win. What he should have done was kept his fuckin’ eyes to himself. But no. He wants to be the big man, he wants to look and grin, so now he’s on my list.”

  “And what list might that be?” Settling in for the short journey, I angle my body to face him while he drives. “What list are you compiling?”

  “I compile loads of lists. Groceries. Workouts. Netflix binges.”

  “Okay… and what list does Jason fall on?”

  “Future rap sheet entries.” He grins when I scowl, and then grins some more until my stony glare turns back into a smile.

  “And what list am I on?” I guess my analysis won’t wait until later. Though it scares me that I even care. “Where do I land on your list of lists?”

  “Somewhere around ‘amazing-in-bed’ and ‘gonna-hold-on-to-that-one’.” He slows at an intersection and meets my gaze. “Trust me, I’m surprised too.”

  My eyes narrow to slits as a self-destructive portion of my brain zooms right past the kind list, and screeches to a stop on the other. “How long is your bed list?”

  “Just you,” he laughs. “For as long as you’ll keep me, there’s only you.�
�

  When the single set of traffic lights in this town turns green ahead of us, Luke pushes his truck into gear and slowly putters across the intersection. “Ask me one of your questions.”

  “What questions?”

  “For your brain study. Ask me one of the questions.”

  “Oh… hmm…”

  I let my thoughts tumble around for a moment as we pull into the parking lot of an Italian restaurant I’m already partial to. Pinocchio’s delivers, and I’ve been in that hotel long enough now to have clocked in a few nights sitting on the end of my bed with a tub of creamy white pasta while I watch television.

  Before I get to answer his question with one of my own, Luke cuts the engine, dives out of the truck, and races around to my door. Swinging it wide, he offers a hand, and adds some kind of gallant bow.

  “Wow.” I take his poised hand, and slide out of the truck with a smile. The moment my toes touch the gravel parking lot, a question flashes into my mind. “I have it.”

  “Have what?” Luke pulls me under his arm, and squeezes me close as we move toward the restaurant doors.

  “My question.”

  “Oh. Let us get a table.”

  As soon as we walk inside, the hostess’s eyes lock on to my date, and bulge.

  Someone has a crush, and part of me is smug that I’m not getting pissed off about it and picking fights. But there’s that self-destructive portion of my brain again, calling me a liar.

  The hostess needn’t ask Luke’s name – he has a reputation in this town. She merely looks down at her reservations list – more actions in Luke’s favor – then grabs two wine glasses from the rack on the wall, and walks away for us to follow.

  The restaurant is set up so it caters to almost any party type. Booths for families. Small tables for the couples. And on the far side of the room, massive tables sit inside partitioned spaces to afford the customer a little more privacy.

  As soon as we arrive at a small table, Luke rushes to pull my chair out – more actions – he waits for me to position myself, and then as I lower and he pushes my chair in, he loses a point when he bites my neck and elicits a painful gasp.

  “Now ask your question, Ally.” He presses a gentle kiss to where it hurts, then dashes around to his seat and drops down. “I’m your willing lab rat.”

  Shaking my head, I go to work unfolding my cloth napkin. “Okay. Let’s say you were asked to go to the store to buy something.”

  He tilts his head the way a curious puppy might. “What was I asked to buy?”

  “Bread. A very specific brand,” I answer. “I want grains, and no preservatives. Not the most expensive brand in the store, but not the cheapest either. I give you the exact name I’m looking for, and really easy instructions. Luke, please go to Jonah’s and buy me a loaf of this brand bread. What do you do?”

  He stares into my eyes for the world’s longest sixty seconds before he tilts his head the other way. “I… go to the store and buy the bread.” He looks around, self-conscious and waiting for the shoe to drop. “I don’t get it.”

  Snickering, I sit back again when the hostess with the no-longer-bulging eyes comes back with two bottles of wine. One red, one white. She doesn’t have to speak. She merely holds the bottles in offer, and stares longingly into Luke’s soul. Notice me. Love me!

  Smiling for the girl – a genuine smile, yes, but the way he doesn’t actually see her is cruel – he chooses the white, and pushes his wine glass just an inch closer as she sets the red down, cracks the white open, and pours.

  She goes through the same routine with me, but she doesn’t long for my soul. Rather, she wishes to have me taken care of – via cement shoes and a deep body of water – so she can take my place at this table.

  As soon as she sets down the half bottle of white, and walks away with the red, my eyes go back to Luke to find him resting his chin in his hand and smiling.

  “What?”

  He shakes his head and smothers an almost silent snicker. “Nothing. And that can’t have been the whole question. No way you analyzed my brain with that nonsense.”

  I bring the glass of wine up to my lips, and taste. It’s icy cold, fruity, and delicious. “Okay. No. There’s more to the question.” I take a deep swallow, then setting the glass down, I spin it and smile. “Say you get to the store, and there’s none of that bread left. That entire brand is all bought up. What do you do?”

  He studies me for a moment, searching for my meaning. “Is there no bread in the store at all?”

  “Yes, there are other brands. Just none of Brand A anymore. All sold out for the day.”

  “Okay… and what makes Brand A so special?”

  “It’s tasty, but not unique. Seeds and grains. Flour, yeast. Nothing that hasn’t been replicated a million times before in brand B, C, and D’s warehouses.”

  “So…” He allows his brows to rise, rise, rise until it becomes almost comical. “I buy a loaf of brand B, C, or D. Right?”

  He’s so unsure, so worried about getting the wrong answer, that I burst out laughing and bring my glass of wine up to try to smother it.

  “Did I get it right? Ally!” he demands when I continue to laugh. “Did I pass?”

  “Yes. No.” I set my wine down. “There’s no answer sheet on this. It’s just a question. I wanted to see how your brain would work through the problem until you found a solution.”

  “So, how’d I do? Fuck. The pressure is killing me.”

  “You did fine.” Sitting taller, I spin my glass of wine and try with all my might to stop smiling so big. “Some people might consider their job done if they were sent to the store in search of A, but there’s no A in stock. Maybe there’s B, and maybe there’s C and D, but they were sent for A. If there’s no A, then there’s nothing they can do about it. Job done, time to go home.”

  “But if you were sent to the store to buy bread, that means you need bread. Going home with no bread is literally the opposite of what was asked.”

  “Right.” I cross my legs beneath the table and try not to focus on the way my heart continues to do flips in my chest. It’s making me woozy. And nervous. “If I asked you for bread A, but there’s no bread A, I would expect the correct answer to be bringing home any kind of bread at all. Because any bread is better than no bread.”

  “Unless you’re celiac.”

  “Unless you’re –” I stop, and let my gaze snap back to his. “Yeah. Unless you’re celiac.”

  “So did I pass?” He’s like an eager puppy, searching for his treat. “Did I pass your analysis?”

  “Well, you brought bread home, so yeah, you pass that one.”

  “Fuckin’ A,” he hisses and does his own mini victory jig. “And they said I’d never amount to anything in life. Next question?”

  “Oh… um…” I grab my menu when I catch sight of the hostess watching us from her desk, and scanning the list of meals, I know I’m going to settle on what I always have. “Okay. First thing that comes to mind when I say single mom.”

  “Wait.” Smile gone, Luke’s eyes widen as he watches mine. “Are you a single mom?”

  “No.” I set my menu down again. “I’m just asking what flashed through your mind when I said it. And don’t forget, my mom was a single mom. So watch what you say.”

  He chuckles and brings his wine up to sip. “When you said ‘single mom’, I guess my first thought was hands.” He thinks on it for a moment, nibbles on his lips, then settles and nods. “Yeah, hands.”

  “Hands?” I narrow my eyes. “I don’t get it.”

  “Well, like, if I’m dating a single mom, then I’m thinking about her, right? Obviously, I’m already into her body. She’s clearly pretty fucking charming, since we’ve made it to talking about the kid. So then I’m thinking hands. Because kids have sticky hands, right? They’re always sticky, or they’re coated in paint to make handprints, or they’re slippery from popping soap bubbles in the garden, or they’re wrapped around a weed, because to a litt
le kid, a flower is a flower. If it’s pretty, then it’s for Mom.

  “I have this niece; she’s not actually my niece, but I already explained to you about how, in our family, everyone is related, even if they’re not. So Alyssa, she’s getting older now, but I met her when she was a toddler. Sticky hands, flower-holding hands, hand-holding hands, puppy-scratching hands. And now, she’s learning sign language for her deaf friend, so… hands.” He lifts both of his and flexes them. “She communicates with her hands a lot now, even when she’s talking to us folks who can hear. So… when you said ‘single mom’, I thought of the kid, and when I thought of the kid, I thought of hands.”

  “That was…” I sit back again, taken aback, and swallow. “Insightful.”

  He flashes a proud grin. “It was? I pass?”

  “I mean, when I asked about single moms, you could have said sneaky sex, date night, hiding away, split custody.”

  He watches me with smiling eyes. “The sneaky sex would be a bonus, for sure.”

  “But that wasn’t your answer.”

  “Maybe I have an unfair advantage because of my life experiences. I know Alyssa, so I already have that in with little kids. They’re not foreign and terrifying to me. And then there’s Smalls; her mom was a single mom when she met Uncle Aiden. Aunt Izzy… well, it’s not exactly the same. But the idea is already there in my world. Maybe I come from a nuclear family with the married parents and one home, but that doesn’t mean other family types are unknown to me.”

  “Let’s talk altruism.”

  Luke scoffs, loud and obnoxious. “It doesn’t exist.”

  My brows wing up in surprise. “Huh?”

  “Altruism?” he nods. “It’s a false word. It’s make-believe. It’s as real as the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus. They’re all a nice thought, and the magic they imply is a lovely, warm feeling. But cut the cheese and get down to real, and they’re just an ideology.”