Sam threw the car door open a little too forcefully. “Good-bye, Spike. Nice to see you again. Congratulations on finding success. I hope you—I hope you’ve found happiness, too.”
Before Sam could fold herself into the car, a ragamuffin little boy with wild curly hair wearing Superman pajamas and mismatched socks and carrying a ratty blue blanket came running out of the tour bus. It didn’t take long for Lukas’s guards to suddenly reappear from the inky blackness of the woods. The boy flung himself around Lukas’s legs and looked up with an impish grin. “The guys were teaching me how to play blackjack ’cause I’m smart and I can count to twenty-one. And I won Cheerios and guess what? I ate all of ’em.”
Lukas bent down and lifted the boy into his arms. The child handed him a bottle of beer then rubbed his eyes sleepily with his fists. “Carl said you need a beer. Wanna come see how I can bet?” he asked expectantly.
“Sure, buddy,” Lukas said, biting his lip to avoid saying out loud, Why aren’t you in bed? Why are those guys teaching you that stuff? Stevie had experienced enough negativity in his life. Besides, it was Lukas’s job to make sure his road crew didn’t corrupt an innocent child. Another area where he was epically failing as far as this kid was concerned. Instinctively, he tousled the jet-black mop of hair, stroked the child’s back where he was still horrified to feel the hard contours of his bones through his shirt.
Stevie sized up Sam. “You’re pretty,” he said unabashedly.
“And you’re up too late,” she said with a sweet smile.
“I’m Stavros Spikonos,” he said. “But you can call me Stevie.”
“I’m Sam.”
Stevie smiled widely. “That’s a boy’s name and you’re not a boy.”
No, she most certainly was not. If Lukas was not mistaken, he was witnessing a five-year-old flirt.
Must be a trait embedded deep in the Spikonos genes.
“It’s short for Samantha, but my friends call me Sam.”
“Can I be your friend?”
“Of course.” She smoothed the untamed hair, badly in need of a cut, back from his forehead. “Nice to meet you, Stevie.”
Lukas caught her gaze over Stevie’s head. She was casting him a judgmental look. The situation couldn’t appear much worse—an unkempt ragamuffin up at midnight, toting a longneck bottle and learning how to bet on blackjack. Some father he was turning out to be.
“He looks just like you,” she murmured.
The little boy yawned, propping the tattered blanket on Lukas’s shoulder and then snuggling in against him. How he could be so trusting after everything he’d been through was beyond Lukas.
“Stavros, go with Charles and James, okay? I’ll be in in a minute and we’ll get you ready for bed.”
“And read me a story?”
“Sure.” Lukas set Stevie down. The boy immediately ran over to the guards, took both their hands and walked with them, the big guys swinging him up in the air between them until he giggled with glee. Lukas smiled a little, too, watching them cross the lot. It was a relief every time the kid laughed.
Sam let out a harsh tsk. “You think that’s hilarious, don’t you?” She paced in front of him, throwing up her hands. “You haven’t grown up at all. You’re the same irresponsible, self-centered person you were when you left. And now you’re trying to raise your child in the middle of all this chaos?”
Lukas sighed. The words stung more than he thought they would. After all, he’d cultivated her disdain and it was no surprise to him how she felt. “I’m back in Mirror Lake for good, Sam. I’m in over my head, and I really need your help.”
The elephant compressing Sam’s chest refused to budge. At least, that’s what the dull heaviness preventing her from breathing properly felt like. The little boy just feet away had olive skin and big, wide eyes with lashes long enough to put mascara companies to shame. He was adorable. And he looked just like Lukas.
She should be happy to see Lukas with a child, even if she couldn’t imagine what taking one on the road would entail. A child was a symbol that people had matured . . . and moved on. In most cases, anyway.
Her stomach squeezed like a wrung-out dishrag. It alarmed her that she was—what, upset? Alarmed? Or, God forbid, jealous? Surely she didn’t expect him to still want her, this vagabond artist who’d never had a real family or roots . . . who was nothing but a pain in the ass, a thorn in her side, a . . . a . . . Well. She had no words.
She’d loved him once, a long time ago. She was a grown woman now, too old and too smart to deal with men who wanted her and then dumped her and then wanted her again. She was officially off that roller coaster ride. Besides, she’d found a man who truly loved her, who wasn’t afraid to show it, and who didn’t play games. A mature man with a fine, upstanding family. So she squelched those untamed feelings and forced herself to focus.
“You—you kissed me. In front of all my students. You don’t act like someone who desperately needs help.” She hadn’t expected that to come out of her mouth. Maybe it was the shock of discovering he was a father. The old murky feelings that had been dredged up. Oh, hell, the feelings that kiss had stirred up.
As if that meant anything to him. He was just showing off. He was known for being over-the-top and outrageous. His love life was comprised of serial dating one Hollywood starlet after another. He mesmerized females by the dozens and then left them in the dirt.
No, she would not play that game anymore. The one where, if asked, she could name his last five girlfriends, or the spots where he vacationed (Cabo, where she’d never been but had always wanted to go), and where he’d built his latest mansion (Sun Valley, Idaho, away from the hustle and bustle, which she admired). But who really paid attention, anyway?
He rubbed his neck. Like Lukas Spikonos could ever feel embarrassment. “It was the passion of the moment. Sorry about that.”
“I’m nearly engaged.”
“Nearly?” His ebony brows rose. “After six years?”
“Oh, come on, Lukas. At least I’ve been in a relationship for six years.”
He leveled those deep brown eyes at her, for so long it almost seemed like a game of chicken. But she refused to cave. “You look pretty, Sam. Really pretty.”
Pu-lease. He hadn’t lost his snake-charmer ways. She bit her lip, reminding herself that he was all flirt and no real form, all smirk and no substance. She was immune to his baloney and her life was none of his business. “How can I help you?”
“Stavros is my brother’s kid. But he’s—mine now. For good.”
“Your . . . brother?” She blinked in disbelief. She’d known he had brothers, that they’d been separated young, when Lukas was around ten or so. A strange, silly relief flowed through her. It’s not his kid. He doesn’t have a kid. Not a father. Nada. She worked hard to wipe the doctor did you just say it’s not terminal look off her face.
He snorted. “My oldest brother, Nico. He didn’t do a very good job being a father.”
“He—left his little boy with you?”
“A social worker found me three weeks ago. The child and family services agency was about to put Stevie in foster care. It seems my brother has a longstanding drug problem . . . among other vices. Stevie’s mother is deceased. She had cervical cancer that wasn’t picked up until too late.”
Sam opened her mouth to say something, but what? It was too terrible.
“Stevie’s mom has no family,” Lukas continued. “She was living alone in California, doing her best to scrape by and raise him. After she died, a friend of hers located Nico in a trailer park. From what the social worker told me, during the month Stevie spent with Nico, he watched a ton of TV and ate a lot of frozen dinners, but at least Nico didn’t lay a hand on him.”
“How did the social worker find Stevie?”
“Nico got pinched by an undercover cop when he tried to buy drugs. Trust me, it was the best thing that could have happened.”
“Does Stevie—does he—miss his mother?”
/> Lukas clenched and unclenched his fists as he spoke, not seeming to be aware he was doing it. “He has nightmares. Never lets go of his blanket. His appetite isn’t that great. He stays packed up all the time, like he’s expecting someone else to take him away. At times he gets quiet and he doesn’t laugh much. I don’t know much about kids but despite everything, he’s got a really sweet disposition. I just want—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat to cover his emotion. “I just want to do right by him. He’s been through enough.”
Sam felt a mixture of horror and sadness for Stevie and something else—compassion and admiration for Lukas, dammit, even though she fought it. He seemed one-hundred-percent committed to his nephew. Determined to give him a better life. She couldn’t help but be impressed.
Lukas patted his pockets, clearly looking for a cigarette. Somehow, that imperfection, that nervous tic, made her feel more in control. The man she’d worshipped as a teenager was just . . . a man, dealing with problems. A smoking hot, dangerous-looking man, granted but with a nasty habit. He had his own demons to slay just like everybody else.
There she went again. Allowing a tiny imperfection to make her soften towards him. Once she cracked that door open, the tiny trickle of water that meandered through would become a floodgate, an avalanche of messy feelings best kept shut away for good. As for that adorable little boy who seemed full of life and sunshine despite all he’d been through . . . well, he’d get her affection by the bucket. By the truckload.
“I don’t know many people in town,” Lucas said.
An understatement. Lone wolf did not begin to describe the man.
“I just need time to sort a few things out,” he said. “I could use some help finding a babysitter while I get things in order. I don’t start touring again until August.”
Wow, August. He was in town with a little kid for three months. That knowledge made her want to run screaming for the hills.
“Look, Sam, I’ve bought my foster parents’ place on the lake and I’m fixing it up. I need a home base somewhere and Mirror Lake is as close as I’ve ever come to having that. I wondered if we could put the past behind us and try to be friends.”
Sam closed her eyes as his words washed over her. He’d broken her heart and she’d waited for him but he never came back. She harbored years of unanswered questions and many things left unsaid. Now suddenly, he wanted to be friends? Well, she wasn’t twenty anymore and she was going to say exactly what was on her mind. “You dumped me right after I’d lost my brother and the next summer, I still was stupid enough to sit by your bedside for days after your motorcycle accident until you were out of danger. Then you left with barely a word. And now you’re back, after six years, kissing me in front of all my students like we were—like we were—”
“Like we were what?” His gaze roved up and down her body. He still possessed that hungry, uncivilized look that made certain parts of her light up like a pinball machine. She stepped back until she accidentally bumped into her car. “Like we were lovers?”
She stared at him. Her face burned, a telltale sign that she remembered another time. A sweeter time. She cleared those memories off her mental desk. Her life was different now. She’d started over, and she’d left the past behind for good.
She would never understand him or his behavior. He kept secrets, and he didn’t talk. The list of why he had been a terrible boyfriend could go on for an entire book. No, a series.
As she opened her door and got in, his gaze glided over the even, polished surface of her beautiful car. “You did a nice job with it.” He had a way of keeping her off balance. She never knew what he was going to say or do next.
When he’d left town, the last thing he did was hand her the keys. The ’84 Camaro had been a rusting, paint-peeling, gas-guzzling mess, and needed just about every part replaced. Which she’d done, bit by bit, until it was a now a very sexy car, candy-apple red and gleaming to a spit shine. She’d lived for this day, to show him what she’d done to the rusty rat trap she’d been given. So there, buster. Take that.
His eyes were so large and so expressive, the fault of his Greek heritage. There were too many feelings flashing in them, ones that she could not possibly fathom. So she avoided his gaze. She needed to keep thinking of him as an asshole.
Which he was. Truly.
He leaned over just a little and touched her arm. Startled, her gaze veered from his long, talented fingers, which looked so dark resting against her own pale skin, to his face.
“I want to be a good father to Stevie, but I don’t know where to start.”
Yes, how could he know? He’d suffered abuse at the hands of his alcoholic parents. He’d roamed from foster home to foster home for years. His smart mouth and brazen attitude had made him unadoptable. Which said a lot because in the looks department, he was King Cotton. His last set of foster parents had been kind but elderly, Mr. Ellis dying before he was eighteen and Mrs. Ellis passing a few years later. He wasn’t kidding that he’d had few examples of what a real family was like.
“Will you help me?”
Lukas represented everything in her life she had fought to get away from. Danger. Instability. Chaos. Not to mention his ability to string her along by dangling a carrot in front of her eyes and then yanking it away without explanation—twice. Harris, on the other hand, had come along right when she’d needed him, and had been her rock. A stabilizing force. One she was so, so grateful for.
She would help Lukas as a friend, but that’s as far as it would go. No matter how hard he kicked her hormones into overdrive.
“I’ll ask around about the sitter.” She cast him a quick, businesslike glance, forcing her gaze not to linger on his too-handsome face. Then she turned the key, put the car in reverse, and drove away.
CHAPTER 3
Eight years ago, Lukas Spikonos had burst into Sam’s life at a time when it really couldn’t get to sucking much more. Yet from the very first time she’d ever laid eyes on him, she knew he was big trouble.
Senior year, she’d been in love with Reggie Reid, the quarterback, like every other girl in the class, but her first love was Johnny Depp, (which proved she probably had a thing for bad boys all along). Maybe that was why she first noticed the handsome mechanic who’d fixed the fender on her Grandma Effie’s car that she scraped when she pulled in a little too close to the garage. When she’d gone into the shop to pick it up, she didn’t hear a single word he said about the car because she was too busy blushing and having a heart attack.
Even from the brief glances she’d allowed herself out of the corner of her eye, she saw he was a remarkable boy, with pitch-black hair worn a tad too long (although he was kind of going for a tough, Goth look, and it was probably dyed), skin that looked tanned even though summer was long past, a black T-shirt, and skinny jeans that showed off his lean form. He was older, twenty-one she’d guessed, and although he was thin, he was filled out in a way that made him look more like a man than a boy.
But the thing that got her was his eyes, which were big and brown, the color of strong rich coffee. And the way he looked at her! Lordie, no one had ever looked at her that way, with unabashed, unhidden desire. He noticed her, in a way that was totally different from any of the boys her own age.
“There you go,” he said, handing her back Effie’s credit card and oh, wow, their fingers grazed. He had such fine hands, with well-trimmed nails. Each finger displayed a different hammered silver ring with some sort of symbols she’d never seen before. As if all that wasn’t enough, his smile sealed the deal. When this guy smiled, she swore, the angels held their breath. It was beautiful, the slightest bit imperfect, and a little bit wicked. And it sent tingles scattering like fairy dust all over her body.
After that, Sam tended to notice him on her evening walks home from the craft store, where she worked until it closed at seven. Under the cover of darkness, she would see him leaning up against Clinker’s bright red garage doors, one sneakered foot braced up against the
brick, watching. Always watching.
She felt his eyeballs searing into her as she passed, but he never waved, never called out. Just stood there with his glowing cigarette or with his hands buried in his pockets.
This perplexed her. Had she imagined the smoldering stares? Why wouldn’t he talk to her? She’d gotten enough attention from boys to know she was pretty enough and thanks to all her brothers, she had a fairly good window into how the male mind worked.
Still, he was everything she’d been warned against from the time she was a baby. A ne’er do well is what Effie would call him. A slacker, most likely. A blue-collar kid with a penchant for trouble. Not for her.
“Walk home with me tonight,” she’d begged Jess one winter evening.
“Yes, he is staring at you,” Jess confirmed. Then shot her own hand into the air and waved.
Mortification flooded through Sam. “Jess, I swear,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
“Oh, chill,” Jess said. “Look.” She tilted her head toward Clinker’s.
Mystery Man was waving back. And smiling. And oh, that smile was like kindling, igniting Sam’s body into flames.
“He’s hot,” Jess said. “You have to talk to him.”
Yes, he was, and she wanted to. If only she could figure out how.
Weeks had gone by and nothing. He hadn’t sought her out, or called her. In fact, she rarely saw him standing outside anymore when she walked past Clinker’s. But she still got goose bumps, as if he were watching her from somewhere deep inside the shop, and she did subtly check out all the windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of him working.
Once when she went to see an old movie at the Palace, he was there, sitting by himself in the back. He’d stared at her so hard that one of her girlfriends poked her in the ribs on the way down the aisle. Their gazes locked, and she slowed enough that her friend bumped into her from behind. She waved as she passed—of course she did! Because by this time she was dying to see him. Wanted to sit with him and talk with him and know who he was. All he did was nod casually in her direction, nothing more.
This Loving Feeling (A Mirror Lake Novel) Page 3