“Shit, Delilah, what the fuck do I do?” he barks.
It takes him a minute to register the shaking of my shoulders is not, in fact, due to choking, but to laughter. His mouth flattens into a frown as realization dawns.
“Oh my god, your face!” I laugh so hard I nearly snort. “I got you so good, Buchanan, I thought you were going to pee your pants.”
“You’re joking,” he hisses, his grip tightening against my biceps. I watch the panic evaporate from his eyes, replaced by amused disbelief. “Christ. Damn near gave me a heart attack, woman.”
I shove playfully at his shoulders. “Serves you right for making fun of the way I eat pancakes!”
He scoffs. “I’ve seen dinosaurs take smaller bites on nature documentaries.”
I glare at him, offended. “You take that back.”
He shrugs and remains silent.
I poke him in the shoulder. “Take—” Another poke. “—it—” And a third. “—back!”
“Or what?”
“You’ll regret it!”
He laughs — laughs! — like my threat is the most adorable thing he’s ever heard. Like he thinks it’s somehow a good idea to argue with a redhead when she’s in a temper.
My eyes narrow and before I can talk myself out of it, I reach out, dip my finger in the syrup on my plate, and smear a thick line of it down the bridge of his nose.
“Ha!” I yell in his face, grinning.
I’m victorious.
I’m vindicated.
I’m a veritable badass, no one messes with me!
My self-congratulations screech to a sudden halt when I see the way Luca’s eyes are suddenly glittering. I realize I have made a massive miscalculation.
See… I forgot, for a second, that Luca isn’t like most men I spend time with. He won’t pull a pressed handkerchief from his pocket and wipe away the syrup with an indulgent shake of his head, like one of my corporate dreamboats would in this scenario.
Oh, Lila, how childish. Now, as I was saying, my latest merger…
Nope.
Not Luca.
He won’t indulge me.
He’ll strike back.
Reading the dangerous gleam of retaliation in his eyes, I quickly see the error of my ways. I begin to backpedal away from him, hands thrown out in front of me.
“Sorry, that was— I didn’t mean—”
My lips clamp together when I realize nothing I say will save me.
He stands totally still for a beat, as a single drop of syrup slowly dribbles down his nose, leaving a sticky trail in its wake. Frozen, we both watch as it falls to the floor in what seems like slow motion — a tiny amber-colored raindrop, splattering onto his hardwood. I suck in a breath of air as his eyes lift from the floor and lock on mine, feeling my heart start to pound as a dark, wolfish smile spreads across his face. In a move designed to strike fear into my heart, he slowly reaches out and takes hold of the plastic syrup jug.
It’s the most terrifying thing I’ve seen all day — and I was in jail two hours ago, so that’s saying a lot.
You just had to go and poke the bear, didn’t you, Lila?
I don’t have time to answer my own question, because a second later…
Luca pounces.
You can probably guess that things don’t exactly go my way. Honestly, it’s not remotely a fair fight — a jacked MMA fighter armed with adrenaline and a full bottle of syrup, up against a girl in garters who generally considers running through the mall sufficient weekly cardio?
Yeah.
He moves like lighting, chasing me around with the bottle held aloft. Screeching louder than a cat in heat, I turn and sprint for the other side of the apartment. There’s little point — I’m not even running in the direction of the front door, so I’ve got no chance at escape unless I plan to hurl myself from the balcony into the harbor five stories below.
I hear him close on my heels as I race toward the sectional. The wood floors are slippery beneath my stockings; I nearly face plant multiple times, but somehow manage to remain upright as I make a flying leap up onto the cushions. Don’t ask me why, but the only tactic I can seem to remember from all my years of binge-watching Game of Thrones and Vikings is that high ground always has the advantage in a battle.
And that’s exactly what this is.
A battle.
No — a war.
“Don’t even think about it, Buchanan!” I scream over one shoulder, laughing like a lunatic. I whirl around just in time to see him charge the couch, a blur of sinuous athletic grace. There’s a look of such dark thrill on his face, it makes my throat close up.
Oh, boy.
I realize, too late, that running from Luca will do me as little good as pleading with him. In fact, by doing so, I’ve given him what any alpha predator enjoys most in all the world.
A good chase.
He jumps up onto the couch along with me, landing on the cushion with such force my entire body is launched three inches into the air. Bouncing like a kid on a trampoline, I try to save myself by spinning around and dashing madly for the other end of the sectional.
Maybe I can make a run for the bathroom and barricade myself…
But it’s far, far too late for that.
I’m mid-leap when Luca’s arm snakes out and hooks me around the stomach. Before I know it, I find my course fully reversed, all forward momentum halted like a car hitting a brick wall. I’m hauled straight back into his chest, plastered so tight against him I can feel his every chiseled chest muscle firmly against my spine.
“Gotcha,” he mutters victoriously, flexing his grip like a cat playing with the mouse between his paws. “Any last words?”
My chest heaves beneath his hold. I couldn’t answer him, even if I wanted to. My pulse is pounding like a war drum as his face ducks down to the exposed slope of my shoulder. Nudging his still-sticky nose against my bare skin, he wipes the residual syrup in a streak across my thumping jugular vein. I try to laugh but, for some unfathomable reason, it comes out sounding more like a squeak of fear.
“Delilah,” he growls against the hollow beneath my ear. His voice is thrumming with dark delight. I hear the pop of a cap — the syrup bottle opening — and begin to struggle in his hold.
“Noooooo! Don’t you dare!” I plead, breathless with laughter and other emotions I really don’t care to define too closely. “You let me go right this minute, Luca Buchanan!”
A dark chuckle vibrates in my ear.
“Apologize, and maybe I’ll let you go.” His free hand, the one not wrapped around my midsection tighter than a bungee jumping harness, brings the syrup bottle into my line of sight. “Or don’t… and face the consequences…” He raises the open bottle menacingly, until it’s poised over my face. One tilt of his hand, and I’ll be a sticky mess.
“Fine,” I hiss, eyes locked on the gaping mouth of the bottle, where syrup threatens to flow. “I’m sorry…”
Hearing my admission, Luca’s hold loosens fractionally. He thinks I’m giving up. Little does he know, I’m never one to admit defeat, nor am I about to pass up the prime opportunity for escape he’s just given me.
In a single fluid motion, I strike an elbow sharply into his ribs, then let my body go totally limp and duck out of his grip before he can react — a move I learned in a self-defense class I took last year, mainly because I thought it would help me meet cute guys. It’s nice to know I actually got more than a few phone numbers out of the experience.
My Krav Maga instructor would be so proud.
Crowing with victory, I bounce from cushion to cushion like a kid playing a round of The Floor is Lava. With a massive leap, I hit the ground running and race for the bathroom like my life depends on it. (To be fair, it probably does.)
Thrilled by my escape, I can’t help taunting him a bit.
“I’m sorry all right…sorry you’re such a sucker!” I yell over my shoulder.
I hear his answering roar, the sound of his feet hitting the ha
rdwood as he dives off the couch and races to catch up with me. Grinning like a total maniac, I keep my eyes fixed on the bathroom door, on escape, determined to beat him there, running as fast as I can to evade him…
He’s faster.
I’m nearly there when he grabs hold of me again. The syrup’s disappeared at some point in the shuffle; both his hands clamp onto my shoulders and he spins me around to face him, dangerously close. His eyes are brimming over with humor and so much heat, I feel my breath catch in my throat at the sight.
“You like playing games, Delilah?” he rumbles, looking down at me.
“I…” I can barely breathe, let alone form words with him standing this close, looking at me like that. “I…”
He grins — a slow, sinful smile — and I stop breathing altogether.
“Happy to play with you, babe, but you should know…” His voice drops to a whisper. “I’m very competitive.”
His head lowers toward mine and I know, down to the marrow of my bones, that he’s about to screw everything up royally. That he’s about to cross an irrevocable line of demarcation. That, after this moment, nothing between us will ever be the same.
Because he’s going to kiss me.
And, worse…
I’m not going to do a damn thing to stop him.
Everything inside me is screaming to pull away, to turn my cheek, to run for the hills and never look back. And yet, I can’t seem to move. In fact, I can’t seem to do anything at all, except watch Luca’s lips closing in on mine, until we’re a hairsbreadth away. Close enough to bump noses.
The pulse is roaring so loud between my ears, as I wait for him to erase that final bit of distance, it takes me a minute to register the sound of his front door swinging open, and the man’s voice that shatters the tense moment like a gunshot.
“Bad time, Blaze?”
I spring away from Luca faster than a kid caught red-handed stealing cookies from the cooling rack. Cheeks flaming, I turn to see a towering, attractive man standing in the threshold, his eyes moving between me and Luca with a look of baffled intrigue. He runs a hand through his sun-streaked surfer-boy locks, smiling as he steps fully inside.
“There’s a joke to be made here about a maid… in the kitchen… with the candlestick.” He smirks, gesturing at me as he addresses Luca. “I’m guessing there’s a story to go along with her. Unless you’ve got the rest of the suspects from Clue hiding out in the bathroom.” He makes a big show of glancing around the apartment. “Professor Plum? Colonel Mustard? You guys here, too?”
“Colt,” Luca mutters, sounding distinctly pissed. “Ever heard of calling before coming by?”
“Wasn’t expecting you to have company at this hour.” The blond grins, entirely pleased with himself. Crossing toward me, he stops about a foot away and sticks out a hand for me to shake.
“Colton O’Leary. Nice to meet you, Mrs. White.”
I roll my eyes at the board game reference and slip my hand into his.
“It’s Lila. And we’ve actually met before,” I say, voice wry.
“When?” His brows lift skeptically. “I think I’d remember meeting you. Especially if you were wearing this…” His eyes scan me up and down. “…outfit.”
“Colt,” Luca growls warningly.
“Shockingly, I don’t actually always wear this.” I pull my hand from his and cant my head to one side. “In fact, I hardly ever dress up like a cosplay character, unless I’m acting out some kind of kinky bedroom fantasy with—”
“Delilah.” This time, Luca’s growl is even more menacing.
“Oh, relax, I’m kidding.” I wink at Colton. “Mostly.”
His grin gets huge. “I swear, I’d remember you. When did we supposedly meet?”
“New Year’s Eve. Luca’s last fight against Jack Forrester. You let me and my friends cut the line to get in without paying a cover. Thanks again, by the way.”
“Ah, you must be a friend of Zoe’s. I don’t do that for just anyone,” Colton murmurs, glancing at Luca. “Speaking of the minx, have you spoken to her recently?”
Luca shrugs. “Last I heard, she and Parker were island hopping across Southeast Asia.”
“Sounds miserable,” Colton drawls sarcastically. “She coming back to this time zone anytime soon?”
“No idea. I’m not her keeper anymore.” Luca runs a hand through his short hair. “Care to share what you’re doing here uninvited, Colt?”
Colton’s eyes dart to me, then narrow on his friend. “Why? You have some pressing business to attend to?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”
“You were supposed to be at the gym with me an hour ago.” Colton crosses two beefy arms across his chest. “Not like you to blow off our workouts this close to a championship.”
“I had shit to do.” Luca’s tone darkens. “You’re not my babysitter.”
“No, I’m your fucking manager,” Colton snaps back. “And since when was you catching a little tail more important than training?”
Luca moves so fast, I don’t even see him cross the room. One minute, he’s standing at my side, the next he’s up in Colton’s face, a look of absolute fury clouding his handsome features.
“Say one word like that about Delilah again in front of me,” he murmurs in a deadly soft voice. “See what happens.”
Colton shoves Luca back and raises his hands in surrender. “Think you’re saying enough for the both of us, Luke.”
For a prolonged moment, the two men glare at each other, about to come to blows. Over me. I’m overcome by a strong desire to melt into the floorboards.
“I really should go home anyway,” I murmur, swallowing hard. “I’ve imposed on you long enough.”
Without waiting for a response, I turn and walk to the coffee table where I left my clutch purse and car keys. I hear a muffled argument going on behind me as I slip my high heels back on, followed by the sound of retreating footsteps. Just before the front door slams closed, Colton’s voice carries in my direction.
“I’m sure I’ll see you soon, Lila.”
I turn to say goodbye, but he’s already gone. My eyes drift to Luca, who’s standing in the middle of his living room, arms folded across his chest. There’s a menacing expression on his face as he eyes the clutch purse in my hands.
“We still have shit to discuss, Delilah.”
“You have to go train.” I clench the bag a little tighter. “And… I have to go home.”
“I’ll meet Colton later. Now, you’re gonna finish your pancakes and then you’re gonna tell me what the hell happened with your boss that led to you borrowing a two hundred thousand dollar Bentley.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re bossy?”
“Anyone ever told you you’re evasive?”
“Evasive is my middle name.”
“Thought it was James.”
My eyes narrow. “How the hell do you know that?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he closes the distance between us. I fight the urge to back away as he reaches out to take the bag from my hands.
“Sit down. Start talking. I’ll give you a temporary reprieve.”
I blink. “From our syrup battle?”
“Sure,” he agrees, eyes gleaming in a way that makes me suspect he might not be referring to syrup at all. In fact, as I watch him walk back to the breakfast bar in languorous, self-assured strides, I’m almost positive he’s referring to something else that almost happened between us, when his lips were an inch from mine and our hearts were beating the same staccato rhythm and my self-control evaporated like heat off asphalt on a steamy summer day.
Momentary insanity — that’s the only explanation I can think of to explain why I’d ever in a million years let Luca Buchanan kiss me, after I’ve spent the past six months avoiding him at every turn.
Well… that… and the fact that he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever met.
Crap on a caesar salad, hold the croutons.
Chapter
Five
I grew up in the state of Massachusetts but these days, I live in the state of constant anxiety.
Delilah Sinclair, checking her bank account balance.
I don’t really want to confide in Luca, but he hasn’t given me much choice and, truth be told, I feel obligated to give him some kind of explanation for a multitude of things, including (but not limited to) the slutty maid outfit and my brief stint in the clink.
We stare at each other across the careful distance of the breakfast bar, eating lukewarm pancakes and pretending nothing has changed between us. Except it has — there’s a marked difference in the way he’s looking at me.
If I’m honest with myself, there’s always been a weird sort of tension between us from the very first time we met, but it feels different now. Electrically charged, as though an invisible switch has been flipped to crank our lingering sexual tension from a low simmer to a rolling boil. I can barely meet his eyes as I push my pancakes around my plate, appetite lost as I try to force out the words.
“Delilah.” Luca sighs. “It can’t be that bad.”
“Spoken like someone who doesn’t know all the facts.”
“If you’d just spit it out already, I’d know them.”
“You’re impatient.”
“And you’re stalling.” He pauses. “Think of it this way — you don’t even like me. So you can let me in on whatever’s going on with you, because my opinion won’t matter. It’s not like I’m Phoebe or Nate or one of your close friends.”
My heart squeezes guiltily, when he says that.
God, I’ve been a real bitch to this guy.
My eyes lift to his and I see something soft behind all that ice on the surface of his irises. It makes me shiver, so I ignore it completely, steady my shoulders, and take a deep breath.
“I’m broke.”
Luca’s brows lift. “Come again?”
“Broke. Impoverished. Drained of all liquid assets.” I shrug. “Take your pick, they all apply.”
Take Your Time (A Boston Love Story Book 4) Page 7