Loving Lucas

by Violetta Rand

  She’s under my roof and regardless of what just happened, I’ll protect her. I know Connor will eventually show up—he has an extensive criminal record for public intoxication, DWI, disturbing the peace, and dropped charges for domestic violence. I know his type. A serial stalking motherfucker with an inflated ego who doesn’t know the meaning of no. Who doesn’t understand how spiritual and valuable a loyal woman is. Anger swells inside me. I climb out of the water for a twenty-minute dip in the hot tub, a shower, then a drink at Farrah’s, a popular bar five minutes away.

  I dress in shorts and a T-shirt, then slip into my tennis shoes. I grab my wallet and the keys to my new Harley-Davidson Softail Breakout. I haven’t had much riding time lately. I make it to the bottom of the stairs and find Karlie standing in the middle of the living room. She’s wearing a silky nightgown, her hair wet from the shower. She’s gorgeous without makeup. I try to keep my eyes where they belong, but it’s difficult. She’s unaware of the magnetic pull between us. Or on second thought, maybe she’s not. Perhaps that’s what scared her off.

  “Lucas?”

  “What’s wrong, darlin’?” I stay put on the landing, waiting for her to let me know it’s all right to approach. “I’m headed out right now. Need anything?”

  She nods. “A hug.”

  I wasn’t expecting that. But I don’t hesitate. She’s in my arms within a heartbeat, snuggling against my chest. She’s so petite, I’m afraid I’ll crush her. I sweep her up and carry her to the couch, sitting down with her on my lap. She smells like coconut oil. I take a deep breath, afraid to move. I don’t want this to end.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I tuck a stray curl behind her ear, looking down at her. “No apology necessary,” I half growl. “I’m the asshole.”

  “You’re not,” she replies. “You’re a hero.”

  She’s referring to my commendations again. I chuckle, happy to see her smiling. “Just doing my duty.” I don’t discuss my work much with anyone.

  I want her. Hell, I need her. It’s been four months since I’ve felt the soft touch of a woman.

  “Hold me?” she asks.

  “In bed?”

  She nods.

  I grit my teeth, not wanting to disappoint or reject her. But…“Let me put on my tactical gear before we get too comfortable,” I tease, knowing full well body armor won’t keep me safe from the sensations her body elicits every time she’s close to me. “Are you sure that’s a wise choice?”

  “Yes, Lucas,” she confirms. “I need to feel wanted right now.”

  That’s all I needed to hear. I carry her upstairs, pull the comforter and sheets on my bed back, and gently deposit her in the middle of the mattress. I crawl behind her, tucking her into the curve of my body. Her heat envelops me, the scent of her long hair lulling me into much needed rest.

  Chapter 8

  I shoot up, tangled in sheets. Where’s Karlie? What time is it? I check the alarm clock on the nightstand: six. In the morning? Shit. I’ve never slept for ten hours. Then I smell breakfast—bacon. I roll out of bed, still wearing my T-shirt and shorts from last night. Last thing I remember is rubbing Karlie’s back. I think she passed out pretty quick. I pad downstairs. It’s still too early for sunrise, but predawn light shadows the dining room.

  The table is set and I take a closer look. Mushroom and cheese omelets, bacon, toast, and strawberries.

  “Lucas?” She peeks around the corner.

  “Good morning, Cat Cora.”

  She gives me a strange look. “Who?”

  “An internationally famous chef,” I explain.

  She smiles. “Think we can keep the dishes on the table today?”

  “Willing to try,” I say, checking the floor. The glass is gone. “You cleaned up?”

  “I woke up at five. You were snoring away, so I came downstairs. Hope you don’t mind.”

  Mind? I sit down, admiring the hot food, knowing I’m going to get hooked on her cooking. She places a cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice in front of me only to disappear inside the kitchen again.

  “Sleep well?” she asks.

  “Like the dead.”

  Then she joins me, taking the same seat next to me as last night. “Can I explain what happened?”

  She doesn’t need to. I overstepped my boundaries. Enough said. “Don’t feel obligated, darlin’. I meant what I said.”

  “So did I,” she explains. “I admit there’s some kind of chemistry between us. I’m just not sure…”

  I pat her hand.

  “I’ve never…”

  Climaxed? Been held all night? Or been treated like a lady? “I know.” I’ll never forget what Brandon said at the track.

  She scoops a couple of pieces of bacon onto her plate. “After a year and a half in Connor prison,” she starts, “living in a place like this, where I’m free to be myself, well, it’s mind-boggling. I freaked.”

  I clear my throat; anger jolts through me whenever I hear her ex’s name. “We’ll figure it out.” I take a sip of juice, shoveling a forkful of eggs into my mouth. It’s good. “Why’d you drop out of coronary, I mean, culinary school?”

  She giggles at my quip. “I’m already a cook. And landing a position in a five-star restaurant is pretty hard, especially in South Texas. Not too many openings. I decided to pursue something a little more challenging, more academic. If I can’t find a job after I graduate, I can always cook.”

  “I just might handcuff you to my stove.”

  She laughs. “I wanted to thank you again for this opportunity. It means a lot.”

  “My stomach couldn’t be happier.” Of course my dick is still raging hard. “What’s your schedule?”

  “Monday through Thursday,” she says. “Classes start at nine, and I’m usually home by four unless I have a lab scheduled. There are no classes today—it’s some administrative holiday.” She nibbles on a piece of toast. “What about you?”

  “Eight to six, three-day weekends twice a month. I don’t go back to work until next week. I need time to get settled.”

  She nods. “Do you miss Lake Jackson?”

  I shrug. “If you blink you’ll miss downtown,” I say. “Thirty thousand people and a golf course. What’s to miss?”

  “Family? Friends?”

  “My parents live in San Marcos now. I have cousins in Corpus. As for friends, we’ll see each other on the weekends.”

  “At the races?”

  I grin, thrilled that she rides motorcycles. “Every chance I get.”

  “What about that AMA title?”

  “Is this a formal interview?”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “Just a regional title,” I say nonchalantly. “Got lucky in 2012. Now I’m a weekend warrior. Life kinda got in the way.”

  “Your son?” she blurts, then covers her mouth.

  How’d she find out about my family? My eyebrows jump in question. “Who told you?”

  “I-I’m sorry. Brandon did a background check,” she confesses. “So we’d all feel better about our arrangement.” She gives me a nervous smile.

  “At the bail bonds office?”

  “Yes.” She looks at me intently.

  I rest an elbow on the table, pleased she’s resourceful enough to go to such extreme measures to protect herself. “Alex is five,” I say. “Miss him every day.”

  “And your wife?”

  “Irreconcilable differences,” I muse. That’s what the paperwork says. I know better. “Remarried and living in St. Paul.”

  She swirls her eggs around on her plate with her fork. “I can’t imagine what it feels like being separated from your son.”

  I lean forward, using my napkin to wipe a crumb off the corner of her mouth. “Excruciating pain at first,” I admit. “But as time goes on, you get numb. Lots of phone calls, video chats, and letters.”

  “Why’d she win custody?”

  I opened the honesty door…“The judge sympathized with my wife. Just because I�
��m a public servant doesn’t mean my profession impressed the court. Long hours and high risk, that’s how they classify me. It’s in the best interest of my son to live with someone who can provide a stable home environment. Direct quote from the case worker who investigated me before the final hearing.”

  “I’m truly sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” I say hesitantly. “That’s what attorneys are for.”

  “You mean…”

  “Still battling it out.”

  She folds her hands on the table and gazes at me thoughtfully. “It’s not a kind world.”

  “There’s a lot of suffering,” I agree. “But I’ve also seen communities pull together and change the tides. People are generally kind.”

  “They can be.”

  “Did you have good foster parents?”

  “They didn’t abuse me if that’s what you mean,” she says. “I think they cared more about the monthly checks the state sent. But I had clean clothes and food to eat. Mrs. Johnson still sends me a Christmas card every year.”

  “Do you ever visit them?”

  She shakes her head. “Tried to a couple of times. But Texas supposedly frowns on foster parents maintaining close contact with former wards of the state.” She sips her coffee, completely comfortable with the subject change. “There is one advantage.”

  I appreciate her positive attitude.

  “Most people can’t pick their families. I did.”

  “Marie and Brandon?”

  “Thick as thieves.” She crosses her fingers.

  “Where did you meet her?”

  “We spent two years in high school together.”

  I recline, absorbing everything we’ve learned about each other this morning. She returns my smile, all that hot nervous energy we felt last night seemingly gone. I finish my coffee and bacon, trying to remember the last time I talked this long with a beautiful girl.

  “Can I take you out to dinner tonight?”

  “A date?” she asks, standing up and gathering our plates.

  She’s surprisingly calm. I guess a night in the same bed together, clothed or otherwise, accounts for something. I fight a smile. “Did I leave you speechless again?”

  She arches an eyebrow at me before she enters the kitchen, reappearing seconds later with a washcloth. “Where do you want to go?” She wipes the tabletop clean, scooping crumbs into her hand.

  “There’s a great place in Rockport called Poor Man’s Country Club. Blackened fish tacos and cold beer.”

  She licks her lips. “Tempting.”

  “Is that a yes?” My caveman instincts are kicking in again as I focus on her smile, then those beautiful breasts encased in silk. Thump her on the head and carry her upstairs. Isn’t that how it used to get done? I chuckle.

  “Lucas?”

  “Did I miss something?”

  She thrusts her hand on her hip. “I said yes.”

  “Good.” I stand. “I’ll pick you up at five.”

  —

  The last thing I expected was for Lucas to leave me here alone. He gave me a chaste kiss on the lips, then left via the garage. I watched him pull his Harley out and speed away. So last night and today are snippets of what life can be like with a normal man. I sigh as I load the last glass into the dishwasher, shut the door, and press start. The kitchen and dining room are spotless. I grab the cleaner caddy from the cabinet underneath the double sink and head to the guest bathroom. There are streaks on the mirror, so I wash them off, then the countertop. The bathtub and toilet are now sparkling clean, so I vacuum the hallway and living room next.

  As I finish up with the downstairs, I head to Lucas’s bedroom. I make his bed, admiring the soft sheets and wondering how many beautiful women have shared this bed with him, what they’ve done. Crap, where did that jealous thought come from? Hurrying to push it out of my mind, I quickly straighten up the pile of magazines and books on his headboard. I’m obviously too damn efficient, as I now find myself with little else to do. But I check his bathroom just in case. Wow is all I can think—sunken tub with mirrors surrounding it, tastefully decorated with white, black, and gray tiles—this shitter is outfitted for a man of importance. On the way out of his room, a silver picture frame sitting on his dresser catches my eye. Smiling back at me is a pretty brunette and a too-cute-for-words little boy with the same hair color as his daddy. I let out a frustrated cry—not because I’m envious over of his son, who’s adorable. It’s just the fact that I’d never be able to fill the void in Lucas’s heart knowing he has a beautiful family out there.

  Although his ex is apparently remarried, the way he talked about his family this morning proves he hasn’t recovered from losing them, and probably never will. In racing, second place is the first loser, and I’m used to that. Seems to me that logic can be broadly applied to life in general. I collect the cleaning supplies and go downstairs. I peek in the garage next, curious what a man like Lucas tinkers with in his spare time.

  It’s a three-car garage. His workbench and tools are perfectly organized. There are two rolling tool chests on the far wall and two motorcycles. His Chevy Silverado is parked in the last stall. I edge closer to the bikes, my heart skipping a beat when I realize what I’m staring at. A 1950 Triumph Thunderbird in perfect shape, sleek and black. I timidly touch the leather seat. Holy shit. I love vintage English bikes, and this is the best specimen I’ve ever seen. This specific model was one of the fastest in its class and one of the prettiest.

  I examine the second bike. Oh. My. God. I think I’m in love. With the bike and Lucas. A 2014 Ducati 1199 Panigale R—in blazing red. Now I’m envious—that Ducati is my dream bike. Italians engineer the finest machines, almost too pretty to drive. I drag my fingers over the tank, then the seat. This baby has more horsepower than some late-model sports cars. I sigh, realizing I shouldn’t touch his babies.

  I turn out the light and head back inside, deciding I’ll take a swim. One thing I have lots of is bikinis. I choose my pink-and-white-checkered Tootsie classic, and grab a towel and my sunscreen from the bathroom. It’s already a beautiful morning, not a cloud in the sky. I spread my towel over one of the wood plank lounge chairs, then dip my big toe in the water. How did I get so lucky? Marie and Brandon have a pool at their apartment complex, but this is crazy nice; I don’t have to share space with anyone. I jump in and swim to the far side.

  I snap my head up when I hear someone close the gate. Did Lucas get home already? I hope so. But it’s not him, although the tall man standing on the other side of the pool poses a striking resemblance to Lucas.

  “Can I help you?” I ask, unsure what to do.

  He takes his sunglasses off, revealing caramel-colored eyes. “Is Lucas here?”

  “No,” I answer, staying in the pool.

  “I’m Craig Hansen, his cousin,” he says. “You must be Karlie.”

  How does he know my name? “Yes.” Now I paddle to the ladder.

  “I don’t bite,” he jokes, the same line his cousin used to convince me I’d be safe.

  “That’s what Lucas said.” I roll my eyes and climb out, water splashing all over the place.

  We stare at each other, his gaze sliding down my body. But he quickly returns his attention to my face. Thank God. “A family thing,” he teases. “Women tend to be afraid of us.”

  I wonder why. Giants, both of them, not to mention good-looking, clean cut, and unbelievably virile. My teeth start to chatter and he picks up my towel, offering it. I dash around the pool, only too happy to cover myself. “Can I offer you some iced tea or a beer?”

  Craig looks at his watch. “Sure, a beer.”

  I never expected him to say yes. I wrap the towel around my center, squeezing the excess water from my hair before I pad inside. I open the fridge and grab a Corona and a can of Diet Coke. My guest is waiting for me at the picnic table. I set the beer down and sit across from him.

  “You moved in yesterday?”

  I nod; obviously Lucas gave him details. “I
t’s such a nice place.”

  He looks around, then back at me. “My wife and I live three blocks from here.”

  Wife? I take a deep breath. That’s comforting; Corpus can’t handle another Lucas running around. “Lucas told me he had family in town. Are you excited he transferred?”

  “Lucas is a damn good cop. The department is lucky to get him. We work together,” he informs me. “And my wife is thrilled he’s here.”

  I smile appreciatively. Craig takes a long swig of beer, studying me.

  “Did you come here to check me out?” I let slip.

  He laughs. “You would say that, wouldn’t you?”

  I giggle nervously, shifting forward. “Probably,” I admit. “I assure you Lucas and I have a legitimate arrangement.”

  “That’s good to hear,” he says, getting up. “Let Lucas know I stopped by, okay?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer, but abandons his half-finished drink and gets ready to leave.

  As I follow him out the gate, I notice the cherry-red Mustang in the driveway. He gets in and screeches away. Did I piss him off? I return to the backyard and my cell phone rings. I rush to the lounge chair and look at the screen. Connor. Should I answer?

  Chapter 9

  I meet Connor at Jack Ash’s Drinkery on South Staples Street at three. Supposedly he has a pair of earrings I left at his house. I checked my jewelry box before I agreed to go. He’s sitting on the patio, at a table shaded by an umbrella, smoking a cigarillo. He stands as I approach.

  “Karlie.” He tries to kiss my cheek, but I jerk away, uninterested in any physical contact.

  I sit across from him, wondering why I ever lived with him. Just the negative vibes he gives off make me want to vomit. “I appreciate you bringing my earrings.”

  He reaches inside his shirt pocket revealing my diamond hoops, a Christmas present from his mother I don’t want to lose. I treasure any memories that make me smile, and at times, his mother reminded me of something I never had, but always wanted. I stick my hand out, but he grabs my fingers instead. “I miss you.”