Luke's Absolution (The Colloway Brothers #3)

by K. L. Kreig

  Kam studies me for long seconds. So long, I’m starting to squirm and my pits are sweating. I feel like I’m in an interrogation, eyes squinting under the bright lights meant to intimidate. This is stupid. I’m a grown adult, for Christ’s sake. I’m just getting ready to tell her to stick it when she starts laughing. “Taxes, Addy? Really? That’s the best you can come up with?”

  Kam and I have been friends since college. She knows me better than almost anyone, besides Livia and my brother.

  “Just admit you’re banging your new playmate so we can all sit around and gossip about how big his dick is. I, for one, really want to know if it’s as impressive as it looks behind a pair of tight denims.”

  “Jesus, Kam! You’re ogling his package?” I squeal. Do I sound possessive? I have no right to feel that way, but damn if the fact that my friend is checking out Luke’s junk doesn’t piss me the hell off.

  “Can you blame me? Hell, if you’re not doing him, hand him over. I’d be happy to take him for a ride or two.”

  Jealousy fogs over my vision. Kam is stunning, successful, and rich. A catch for any man, although I know exactly what she’s doing. She’s goading me into giving up the goods. Still, it doesn’t stop me from visualizing her and Luke together anyway, even though he’s not shown one ounce of interest in her.

  “Piss off, Kam,” I stammer, turning my back on her before I scratch her eyes out. No ogling with bloody retinas.

  Judas would be so disappointed in me for losing my cool.

  “God, did you see the balls of fire shoot from her eyes?” Kam laughs loudly.

  “See it? It singed me,” Alyse replies.

  “You’re a terrible liar, Addy. I honestly don’t even know why you try. You’re so doing him,” Kam says.

  Before I can come up with another denial, because I only “did him” once, my phone dings. When I dig it out of my purse, superglue couldn’t have stopped the broad smile that splits my lips, followed immediately by a loud bark of laughter. I actually hear a huge chuck of my wall hit the ground.

  Apparently, at some point, Luke helped himself to my phone. He’s added his contact info, only not as Luke. His reference last night to no dancing comes racing back.

  Tiny Dancer: do u like salmon, fireball?

  I’m laughing so hard I can hardly type my response. Kam and Alyse must think I’ve lost it.

  Me: I’m sorry. who is this?

  Tiny Dancer: fireball…you’re being a bad bad girl

  Me: so bad spank me

  Tiny Dancer: addy…you’re playing a dangerous game here

  Me: I thrive on danger. live for it. breathe it. I AM danger

  What the hell is wrong with me? I’m goading the great white that’s been circling me for weeks with fresh chum. I’m a clueless seal splashing merrily on top of the blue ocean water, completely unaware of what’s lurking in the depths below. Stupid, stupid girl.

  Tiny Dancer: don’t start something you’re not ready to finish yet

  Me: I’m not sure you’ve figured it out yet but telling me not to do something has the opposite effect intended

  Tiny Dancer: oh Addy…I know so much more than you think

  Why do I believe that’s true? For some reason, Luke easily sees past all my barriers no matter how hard I try to keep him out. They become translucent. He seems to know what I need even more than I do. Is that what they call a soul mate?

  Tiny Dancer: now, salmon?

  Me: yes

  Tiny Dancer: k. ltr baby. have fun shopping

  Me: ltr EJ

  Tiny Dancer: u should brush up on your music, fireball. there are well over two-dozen artists who have various versions of that classic song. my personal fav is the electric guitar version by doug smith

  Once again Luke has me speechless…and confused. He’s acting as if we’re a couple when we’re no such thing. Are we?

  I read his messages over and over. He’s so utterly complex and has a wicked sense of humor. He’s kind of mind-blowing all around. When I finally look up, Kam and Alyse are watching me, but the looks on their faces aren’t smug or full of “I-told-you-so’s.” They look…happy.

  “In the ten years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you look like this over a man, Ad. You’re glowing as bright as the Golden Gate Bridge at night.”

  Kamryn couldn’t be more right. Guess my ruse is up. Not like it was working anyway. “I know,” I confess softly. Leaning back against the closest wall I let my eyes float to the ceiling.

  My God, do I know.

  ___________

  Three hours, two cocktails, and a dozen packages later, I walk into my apartment to sounds of Elton John playing loudly through speakers I didn’t even know we had.

  I can’t help but laugh.

  “Hey, how was shopping?” a disembodied male voice yells from the kitchen.

  “Uh, fine,” I call back, dropping my purchases by the door. When I get to the kitchen, I think a grocery store may have exploded on our counters. There are boxes and bags and fresh vegetables and fruit everywhere.

  Luke’s hunched over the sink cleaning something green, a kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder. He hasn’t given me a clue what we are doing tonight, but it looks like we’re staying in. Does he know I would much prefer that to a fancy restaurant? My heart pangs with the domesticity of the scene in front of me and how much I like it.

  I clear the frog in my throat. “What’s with the music?”

  “Thought you were a big EJ fan?” His gaze slides to mine and I don’t miss the smirk tugging on his mouth.

  I chuckle. “Not really, but if you haven’t heard of “Tiny Dancer,” you’ve been living under a rock.”

  “Want something else?”

  “Okay.” I grab a piece of celery that looks to have been cleaned and take a bite, leaning against the counter as I watch him.

  He wipes his hands and whips out his phone, punching some buttons. A few seconds later Lifehouse’s Jason Wade starts crooning “Falling In.” Luke’s sultry eyes sweep to mine. “Better?” He smiles cheekily, but I don’t miss the undertone of affection on his face or in his voice.

  Shit. He’s good.

  I gulp. You’ve listened to Lifehouse, right? So no, this is absolutely not better. “Sure,” I croak, trying to ignore the lyrics Jason’s singing about not being scared because it’s love we’re falling in. Stay calm and unaffected, Addy. Cool, calm, and unaffected. “So, ah, whatcha got going here?”

  “That would be dinner. I know it’s a foreign concept to you, fireball, what with your protein bars, Cup-a-Soups, and frozen waffles that you think a meal makes.”

  It sucks having someone so observant living with you, especially when that someone is who you’re trying your best to guard against. Somehow the secrets you want to keep buried deep seem to bubble to the surface and you can’t stop the fizz that draws their attention.

  “I’m a busy gal.”

  He turns from his task, pinning me with a deliberate stare. It burns the truth right out of me.

  “Fine.” I throw my hands up in defeat. “I can’t cook. Not everyone has a ‘Leave It To Beaver’ mother like yours, Luke.” Mine was more like Courtney Love. I hate the sympathy I see in his eyes as he walks toward me.

  Cupping my check, he says, “I’ll teach you, then.”

  My eyes. They’re stinging.

  “Okay?” he asks softly like I’ll blow away if he breathes on me too hard.

  “Okay,” I answer just as quietly. Leaning down, he places a chaste kiss on my mouth. I try to keep myself from melting, but fail. Luke is simply unlike any other man I’ve ever met or known. He keeps telling you that, showing you that.

  Remind me why I’m fighting this again, because I’ve gone and completely forgotten.

  “Here, put this on.” He hands me an apron that he’s retrieved from a drawer. Huh. We had an apron? Who knew. “Gonna put you to work.”

  “But I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t even know how to chop an onion,”
I cry in a panic. Sad, but true.

  His hand lands on my shoulder. “Take a deep breath, Addy. It’s an onion, not plastic surgery. I’ll teach you, babe.”

  “Don’t make fun of me or I’m outa here.” I twist my head to look up at him and tremble a little at the amusement I see dancing in his eyes.

  “Can’t guarantee that, fireball, but we’ll have fun.”

  “You’re incorrigible, you know that, right?”

  “So my mom used to tell me.” He kisses the tip of my nose before clearing the space in front of me, setting down a cutting board and a huge knife that looks very sharp.

  “Uh, I’m not so sure you should be handing me such sharp objects. I tend to hurt myself. Don’t we have like a kiddie version of a knife somewhere? I know my brother got me one for Christmas two years ago. He bought it as a gag, but I seriously use it.”

  “You’ll be fine.”

  “Luke, I’m serious here. I cut off the tip of my thumb once with a serrated knife. I still don’t have feeling in the end of it.”

  “Then you won’t feel a thing if you cut it again.” He laughs and I slap his chest with the back of my hand pretending I’m really angry, although I don’t stop the smile that pops out. “Fine, then I’ll take you to the emergency room and you’ll get stitches. You’ll live.”

  “Maybe I could just wash vegetables or something like that?”

  “Now I’m more determined than ever to make you cut that damn onion. You do realize you’ve dug yourself into a hole, right?”

  Shit. Should have played that differently.

  “Fine.”

  We have two onions that need dicing, so Luke shows me how to do it on the first one. Cut it in half, peel off the first couple of layers, then slice thinly and dice into small pieces. He demonstrates his fine culinary skills slowly with his pungent piece while I try to replicate it with mine. Doesn’t seem so hard, until I look at the finished product. His pieces are all even and small; mine are large and irregular and look like the proud work of a six-year-old who used a butter knife.

  I look up at him and he’s trying to hide a smirk; it isn’t long before he bursts out laughing.

  “That’s it,” I growl, throwing down the knife and untying my apron. The knife bounces across the counter and falls off the other side. Whoops. Probably not the smartest idea I’ve ever had to throw weaponry around so carelessly.

  “No, no. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he sputters. He grabs my hands, halting my angry movements. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not. You’re still laughing.”

  Lightly chuckling, he pulls me close, careful not to touch my face with his now rank hand. “You’re just so fucking cute, Addy. I’m not laughing at you. Really.”

  “Well, you’re definitely not laughing with me, because that would require me to laugh and, clearly, I’m not.”

  “Baby, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You did good. And no blood or fleshy parts on the cutting board.”

  “I didn’t,” I complain. “A blind five-year-old could do better.”

  Laughter—not mine—echoes off the walls, drowning out Lifehouse. Well…that’s a plus, I suppose. “It all cooks the same, fireball.”

  “We have to cook it now?” I shriek, throwing my hands in the air.

  Luke’s body shakes as he tries to contain himself. “How about you pour the wine? Can you handle that?”

  “Wine?”

  “Yes, you know. The alcohol made from grapes.”

  “Smart-ass.”

  “We going down that road, Addy? Really?”

  “Fine. Wine I can handle.”

  Wine? What the hell am I thinking? The last thing I need is more alcohol to lower my inhibitions—as if his intoxicating scent isn’t enough to make me want to strip naked right here. The pheromones coming off this man constantly swirl in the air around him, making me lust-drunk and it’s not even his fault. I think he was injected with an extra dose of sexiness when he was created.

  I walk around him to the sink and wash the onion off me, internally panicking at how much I like this feeling of just being with Luke. When I take the towel from his shoulder to dry my hands, I’m nearly frozen with the look of heat and want I see blazing from him. Clearing my throat, I retrieve the wine from the fridge and take a few deep breaths while my back is turned, wondering how I’m going to keep resisting this incredibly sexy man for much longer. Or even why I’m trying.

  He could have easily tried seducing me any number of nights this week, but he hasn’t, which is confusing and endearing at the same time. We haven’t spent a lot of time together since he threw down his battle words. We’ve watched TV together a few nights this past week, him on his side of the couch, me in the chair, so I wasn’t tempted to crawl over to him like a cat in heat and rub myself all over his corded body. It was cordial, comfortable, actually, if I’m being completely honest.

  We trade barbs because that’s our thing, although it’s with far less bite now than it was even two days ago. It’s almost like a ridiculous mating dance that starts in grade school on the playground. Boy likes girl, pulls her hair. Girl likes boy, sticks out her tongue at him. Makes no sense, but it’s how the game is played nonetheless.

  Only this is no game and I already know that. Luke doesn’t strike me as the type to play games; he plays for keeps. He makes me feel things I never thought possible. He makes me feel like I matter. Every layer of him I uncover, I just want more.

  And regardless of how much I’m fighting this, deep down, there’s that tingle low in my belly that’s thrilled that I’m his target, that I’m the one he wants to keep.

  Me. Addy Monroe.

  Chapter 24

  Addy sets two glasses of wine down on the counter, a nice South African chardonnay I’ve picked out to pair with the salmon. I much prefer beer, but even though we’re staying in, I admit I wanted to impress her. As I watched her cut that damn onion—or attempt to cut it—all I could think of was how right this all feels. I never thought I would like domestic, but shit, I do. A helluva lot.

  She takes a seat across the island and her scent, a combination of perfume and her own uniqueness, hits my nose and my cock jumps. Fuck, maybe I should have taken her out instead of staying in. That way, I wouldn’t be tempted to strip her down, throw her on the closest surface, and fuck her into admitting she belongs with me.

  Who am I kidding? The setting wouldn’t matter. I want to fuck her anywhere and everywhere all the damn time.

  As much as I want to act out every wicked fantasy running through my head, I can’t and I won’t. Not now. She’s still skittish, even though she’s coming around, and I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize the progress I’ve made with her the past few weeks.

  “So what are you making?” she asks. She hums in appreciation when she takes a sip of her wine, making me smile. And harder, if that’s possible. Since she walked through the door, I’ve been trying to discreetly adjust my raging erection to a place that’s more comfortable. It’s not working too well. Thank God for the apron.

  “We’re making pomegranate-and-orange-glazed salmon, Mediterranean rice, and steamed broccoli. Chocolate chip cannolis for dessert—I picked those up at a little bakery on my way home, because they take quite a bit of time to make.”

  “Wow. Everything sounds great. Except the broccoli.”

  “Not a big greens fan?”

  “No, I like greens just fine, just not broccoli.” She makes the cutest damn face, wrinkling up her nose. “It’s stupid, really.”

  “Sounds like a story there,” I say, chopping a few cloves of garlic in short order as she watches in fascination. My knife skills are impressive, I’ll admit it. If that’s all it takes to impress her, then hot damn. We’ll be spending every fucking meal in this kitchen and she’ll be mine by next Wednesday. Why didn’t I think of this before?

  “Yeah. So when I was seven, my dad was cutting up some veggies. I picked up a piece of raw broccoli and popped it in my mouth. Eric freaked, te
lling me it was poisonous and that I was going die, so, of course, I was hysterical. My dad finally had to get our neighbor, who was a doctor, so she could assure me I would be just fine. Eric got in a whole heap of trouble, but permanent psychological damage was already done. Broccoli equals death to me.”

  She laughs and I laugh along with her. Eric was always a prankster and it appears he started at a mighty young age. “Shit. That’s cruel. Eric’s played one or two nasty tricks on me.”

  “I’m not surprised. He’s never lived it down. I’ve gotten him back tenfold, believe me.”

  “Why am I not shocked that vengeance lurks deep within your soul?”

  “I don’t know. You shouldn’t be,” she winks flirtatiously. Taking another sip of wine, she rolls her eyes slightly. Fuck…I want to be the one to make her eyes roll back in pleasure. Even though it’s not intentional, she’s making it very hard to keep my hands to myself right now.

  Willing my dick down and trying to get my mind back on dinner, I set a grater and lemon in front of her, describing how to grate the lemon rind we’ll need for the rice.

  “You still want my help?” she asks, surprised.

  “Can’t learn if you don’t do, fireball.”

  She eyes the grater as if it has spikes dipped in poison.

  “It’s fine, babe. This is easy, I promise.”

  “Okay, but no more dicing. And if you get any of my skin mixed in with the lemon, don’t blame me.”

  I chuckle. She really didn’t do that badly. “Fair enough. We’ll work on chopping again next time.”

  “Next time?”

  The look of hopefulness on her face slays me. Has no one ever treated this woman the way she deserves? More and more, I’m starting to think the answer is no and while I don’t think I’m good enough for her, what does that say about the other losers who have come before me?