L'amore: The Luminara Series

by SJ Molloy

  I’m not sure if it’s a compliment, an act of sincerity, or an attempt to chat me up, but he’s succeeded in making me quiver ever so slightly, and oddly, he doesn’t seem to intimidate me, especially not the way he did yesterday.

  Is it too early for wine?

  He tenses a little. “Are you intimidated or appalled by me because I have a reputation for being a womaniser?”

  “What? No, I mean I’m not intimidated or appalled. Why would you think that?”

  He sighs. “I see it in your eyes.”

  Lucca tells me this often. “Okay, I admit I did have my opinions of you, and if I’m honest, they weren’t favourable ones, but I didn’t know you. Right now, I don’t have any feelings other than embarrassment about the state I’ve got myself in today and thankful that you’re kind enough to help me.”

  I lie.

  Stopping at a bench in the narrow dirt path surrounded by overgrown wild greens, he sits down to take a rest but keeps me on his lap. I shuffle over so that I’m sitting on the bench by his side stretching my legs and rotating my ankle slowly. Doris lies at my feet. Jackson watches me stretch out, narrowing his eyes over my bronzed legs.

  There is an awkward silence. I know he’s waiting for me to say something, but all I can think about the is pulsing throb at my ankle and the fact that I think Lucca will be furious when he finds out I’m spending time with Jackson. I know his intention is to help me, and he isn’t threatening me in any way, but Lucca won’t see it like that. He’ll assume Jackson’s trying to flirt with me and for that reason alone, I should ensure I put Jackson in his place.

  “I’m not fazed by stardom, money, or status. It doesn’t impress me. People probably think that I’m with Lucca for his money, but I’m not. I love Lucca for who he is, what he is to me, how he makes me feel. I’d still love him if he were penniless because money can’t buy you love or happiness.”

  I pick a piece of broken bark splintering from the bench and twist it until it breaks off. This is the same bench that Cameron and I sat on when we were having our chat yesterday morning. I wonder what he would make of this. I know he thinks highly of Jackson and that gives me some comfort.

  Jackson drops his head, leaning his arms on his legs, and holds his hands in front of him. “That’s what I mean. You’re honest and sincere. Not like the women I’ve been linked with who have no interest in getting to know the real me. All they care about is the image, the money, and the stardom. It’s hard to convey a true picture of me when the press tarnishes my reputation at every opportunity.” He sighs and shakes his head.

  There is gentleness in his tone that tells me he is telling the truth. That he’s not the smarmy, unfaithful man the press makes him out to be. He doesn’t seem audacious or over-confidant. There is a definite vulnerability there in his face, voice, and actions.

  “I would hate to be in the public eye like that. Having people judging and criticising my every move.” I mean it too; it must be awful. I love my privacy and the thought of being exposed like that must be soul destroying. I guess some people like being in the public eye, but it can’t be easy.

  He looks up, cocks his head to the side, and smiles his sexy smile. He runs his middle finger and thumb over his stubble of his jaw. “So you understand that I’m not the person your eyes told me you thought I was?”

  “Yes, I suppose I do now. Jackson, if you’re not happy, then I’m sure there is someone out there for you. Someone who is interested in you and not your status or money. You just haven’t found her yet.”

  He rubs his thumb over my hand. “I just did, but she’s taken.”

  Bloody hell.

  I pull my hand away and almost choke sucking in a huge gulp of air. My cheeks are flushed and head is starting to throb with an imminent headache. He doesn’t even know me, how can he say such a thing? I can’t say anything. I’m lost for words.

  Three things strike me. Firstly, I know Lucca will go caveman if he heard this. Secondly, I know for certain Jackson would never try and hurt me after his confession; he’s too sincere and honest, therefore I’m safe. Thirdly, what now? I know where I stand, but he clearly doesn’t, and that I need to address properly when I find the right words.

  “Come on, let’s get you home.” He stands and scoops me up in his arms again. I’m not aware I’ve been holding my breath until I gasp for air and sag against him. Nothing will ever happen between Jackson and me. Ever. My heart is with Lucca, and he knows it, but I’m still flattered and confused by his compliments.

  We’re quiet until we reach his car. No surprise, it’s a ridiculously expensive, black Rolls-Royce. Rolling my eyes, he catches me and smirks. He places Doris in the back then helps me sit me in the passenger seat.

  “You’re lucky I’ve not got the Bugatti today. The dog wouldn’t fit.” I want to laugh, but I shake my head. “Oh sorry, I know, it doesn’t impress you,” he adds, not with sarcasm but with a general apology.

  I give Jackson the code for the gate so I don’t have to get out and walk around to the panel on the driver’s side. I think I trust him enough to know he won’t be breaking and entering.

  Parking in front of the water feature, he eyes up our cars and raises an eyebrow. Both Aston Martins and my BMW are here, along with Lucca’s Bentley classic car that Peter has obviously been working on today.

  “What?” I ask him as he studies me quizzically.

  “Nothing.” He tilts his head to the side and coyly smiles.

  “They were a gift, of course.” I blush looking down.

  “Of course,” he adds mockingly and smirks.

  Unclipping my belt, he picks me up without asking then climbs the steps and opens the front door. Rose must be inside because the door is unlocked.

  “Nice house.”

  “Thank you.” I refrain from saying it’s actually Lucca’s house because I need to reiterate my place. I belong here. With Lucca.

  Lexi and Lucca.

  The Italian god and I.

  Us.

  Together.

  Castello di Caruso.

  He asks which way and I point in direction of the kitchen because it’s a neutral space. Bedroom too intimate, lounge too cosy, family room too inviting, dining room too stuffy. He strolls into the kitchen area and sets me on top of the island in the middle of the kitchen.

  “Thank you for bringing me home. I’ll be okay, honestly.”

  He stares at me and moves a stray curl from my face behind my ear, lightly brushing his thumb across my cheek. I shuffle, letting him know that I’m uneasy with this level of intimacy and shift away.

  “Right, let’s see what the damage is.” He carefully slips my shoes off, but I wince a little. “It’s bruised,” he says while frowning. It will be highly inflamed and bruised. Just another minor setback to add to my many injuries, but it does feel like instant relief getting my shoe off.

  He traces over the swollen area with the pad of his thumb. I wiggle and rotate it then do the squeeze test compressing the tibia and fibula. I then do an external rotation stress test, keeping my leg straight as I stress the deltoid and syndesmosis.

  “Yes, it’s just a sprain, thank goodness. I should be good in a few days, but another six weeks of recovery possibly, depends how quickly it heals.” I sigh.

  Satisfied, he lifts a glass tumbler from the cabinet and fills it with water. “Drink up,” he says. I do then I realise he must be thirsty also.

  “The drinks fridge is full so help yourself to whatever you’d like.”

  “Water is fine thanks.” He reaches up for another glass flexing his toned muscles in his arms and back that I need to look away from to distract myself. He is not as muscular or defined as Lucca, but still, his body is impressive. I quickly draw my eyes away because it doesn’t feel right that I should even notice such a thing.

  “Do you have a first aid kit?” Jackson asks after filling his own glass up.

  “Yes, why?” I wrinkle my nose and chew the inside of my cheek.

&n
bsp; “I’m going to clean up those cuts on your hands and knees.” He leans back against the counter top and points towards my skinned knees.

  “No, it’s okay. It’s fine. I’m just going to jump in a shower.” I know he means well, but it’s too much to have him tend to a cut on my knee. I’m a grown woman; I’m more than capable of doing that myself, unless it was Lucca. I’d gladly allow him to treat my cuts because he cares for me so tenderly.

  “I’d like to tell Cameron I never left you battered and bruised. He’d annihilate me if I did, and he’s too good a mate to lose. Plus, if it were someone I cared about, I’d expect them to be looked after, so let me do it.” He raises his brow so that his statement appears more as a question as he’s waiting on the okay.

  Chapter 21

  Guilty as Sin

  My brain is telling me not to entertain this, but my logic isn’t cooperating today. “There’s one in the third cupboard in the utility room I think.” I sigh and succumb. Doris bolts into the utility room for a drink from her bowl. Jackson returns, setting the kit on the counter, then fills up Doris’s bowl with fresh water and places it down for her then pets her.

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” He shrugs as if it’s nothing.

  Doris is thirsty. After her drink, she lifts her head and points her nose towards the counter, sensing some of Rose’s fresh-baked goodness sitting up there. Reaching over, I lift the lid off the tub, and the sweet smell of cinnamon fills my nostrils and my stomach rumbles.

  I hope Jackson didn’t hear that.

  I throw Doris a bun and she gallops away, knocking over a basket of clothes on her way. Picking up the basket, Jackson then opens the first aid kit and grins at me.

  “You have her spoiled, but she’s a great dog.”

  “Yes, she is. She loves Rose’s baking. I know I shouldn’t but—”

  “They do smell pretty good.” He lifts his chin and peeks over into the tub.

  “Help yourself. I think there’s a banana loaf and cinnamon buns by the look of it. She’s an exceptional baker.”

  “You should eat. You’ve be running on low fuel and have been sick, so no wonder you’re shaking.” He trails a hand down my arm and settles his hand on my wrist which is now gripping the counter top.

  I’m shaking because a premier league footballer, a very handsome one at that, is about to clean my cuts.

  Someone who my fiancé warned me to stay away from.

  Someone who my friends would drool and die over.

  “I’m going to refrain from the baking. I’ll end up too fat but please have some. Help yourself.”

  He stops then looks over his shoulder to locate the kettle and switches it on. He asks where he can find a clean cloth, and I send him to the downstairs bathroom. Staring at my hands, I turn my sore wrist inside the claw of my other hand, massaging it a little with my thumb and middle finger as the fall did put strain on my wrist fracture. How am I going to explain this to Lucca? Not that I’m doing anything wrong, but he will fret.

  Explode. More likely.

  Returning, Jackson puts his own hand lightly over my delicate wrist, and I tremble with the unfamiliarity of his touch.

  “Is this the injury you were referring to?” He sounds concerned, turning my hand around, and looks at the small thin scar on my wrist then shakes his head.

  “Yes, I fractured it in Tuscany. I had surgery and had a plate put in.”

  “Oh, shit. Is it okay? Did you hurt it when you fell?” He slackens his grip on my hand, frightened he might be causing any more pain.

  “It’s fine, just tender.”

  “How did it happen?” He frowns.

  “I fell.” Then I snap my mouth shut because I’m not telling him how. That’s a need to know.

  He chuckles. “Funny that, you have a habit of falling.” He sniggers and I’m glad he doesn’t probe any further.

  If he doesn’t open the space between us, I’ll be falling off the counter in a fluster.

  Smiling at his light-hearted comment, I relax my muscles and shoulders. Dropping my wrist, he runs the tap, soaks the cloth, and starts to dab my knees with the warm, damp cloth, carefully removing little shards of grit and stones clinging to the dried blood. His touch is every bit as sensitive as Lucca’s but different.

  Fuck!

  File T for traitor. Traitor because I can’t believe I’m allowing another man this close to me.

  The housekeepers from Lucca’s cleaning agency have finished for the day and enter the kitchen to say goodbye and tell me Rose is away to do the food shop for the week. I thank them and ask if they can leave the gates open for now.

  “Ouch,” I protest when Jackson dabs antiseptic on the cuts because it does sting. He then repeats the same process on my hands, being very gentle around my wrist.

  “Stop being a baby.” He chuckles because I’m screwing my face up.

  “I’m not being a baby. It stings.” He laughs louder. “What’s so funny?” I scold him.

  “You, the way you bite the inside of your cheek and furrow your brow when you’re concentrating.”

  “Stop trying to distract me.”

  “Well, is it working?”

  Oddly, it is.

  “No.”

  “You should put some of this antiseptic cream on when you come out of the shower, and I’d leave the cuts open, let the air get to them.”

  “You know a lot about cuts,” I say.

  “I’ve had my fair share of grazes, strains, and injuries on the pitch.”

  He lifts my wrist up to examine it with his chocolate eyes, skimming my skin, lifting my hand towards his mouth as if in slow motion. Gasping, I hold my breath because I think he’s going to kiss my skin.

  He doesn’t.

  Thank goodness.

  “Good as new. Well, almost. You need ice on your ankle, and you need to eat. I’m not much of a cook, but I can make you a sandwich or something so you don’t need to be on your feet.”

  I don’t catch much of what he’s saying because I’m still thinking about how he almost kissed my skin. His lips were so close that I could feel his breath skim across my wrist.

  “Alexis, breathe … Jesus.”

  Coughing and choking, I’m embarrassed. “What?” I sputter.

  “Sandwich?”

  “What about a sandwich?”

  “Were you even listening to me?”

  “Um, I …” Oh God.

  Doris starts barking and I hear the doorbell. Saved by the bell.

  “Wait there, I’ll get it.”

  Before I can say no, he’s confidently striding to the front door. I hear talking from the hall, then he returns with Omari. If I wasn’t heated and flustered before, I definitely am now.

  “Omari, what a surprise. Lovely to see you again. Lucca isn’t here I’m afraid.”

  He’s dressed in a smart, tailored suit, looking devilishly handsome and well groomed with a deep purple tie on which complements his dark skin tone.

  “I know Lucca is out of town. I’m here to deliver documents he asked for. They’re for you, actually. You can look over them and let me know if everything is satisfactory at a later date in case you want to go over anything with Lucca first.”

  “Okay.” I smile watching him set the document folder on the counter. I hope it’s not one of those prenup things, but I suppose he’ll want to protect his empire, and rightly so.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Omari inquisitively lifts an eyebrow, obviously wanting to know why I’m hanging around in my kitchen half-dressed with Jackson looking as if we’ve been tumbling around in the bushes.

  “I’m sorry, Jackson, this is Omari Fayed, Lucca’s very good friend and solicitor.”

  “Omari, I’ve heard a lot about you.” Jackson sounds upbeat, taking Omari’s hand which throws Omari off. Then reality dawns on him when he realises who Jackson is.

  “Really?” Omari looks at me and I shrug, not knowing where this is going.

&n
bsp; “Yes, Cameron introduced me to Lucca yesterday. He mentioned you’re a keen footballer, so I suggested we should get a charity match organised.”

  Omari looks absolutely thrilled. “That would be great. I love a good game, but I admit I don’t get the time to play often. Our mate Chris is diehard. He thinks he’s shit hot, but he’s not. He’s a delusional idiot.”

  Jackson laughs. He has a rather cute laugh.

  “Well, I’m sure we can get something arranged and all in a good cause.” Jackson nods his head.

  “One of Lucca’s interests is supporting the drug trials for treating certain cancers among many, but I’ll let him talk to you about that. I’m sure this will excite him,” Omari adds then backtracks when he sees the blank expression on my face.

  I wonder what Omari knows about it. I am curious. I remember the invoices I found in Lucca’s study. I had forgotten about that until he mentioned it.

  “Shit, Lexi … what happened?” Omari’s eyes trail down my legs to my knees. Jackson lifts some mugs from the cupboard and holds one up to Omari, moving around my kitchen as if he has been here forever.

  “Coffee for me, thanks. Are those Rose’s cinnamon buns I smell?” He walks over to the tub and lifts a bun out. “Hmmm, Lucca is one lucky son of a bitch,” Omari says before scoffing a bit of bun.

  Jacksons chocolate eyes meet mine. “Yes, he is,” he adds then turns around to make the hot drinks. My heart skips a beat.

  Fuckity-fuck.

  “So what happened?” Omari asks, pointing to my legs.

  “Oh, I was out running and went over on my ankle and fell. Jackson was out running too, so he helped me home as I could barely walk on it.” I lift my ankle so he can see the swelling and start of the bruising.

  “That’s a nasty bruise you’re going to get on your ankle.” Sighing, I shrug nonchalantly. Bruises fade; I’ve had many so they don’t really faze me. It’s the damage inside that stays with me forever. “Have you told Lucca yet?” he adds.

  “No, I’m just home and I didn’t have my phone with me. Why?” I sing and drag out the end because I’m curious what he’s going to say, but I think I have a pretty good idea.