Take Your Time (A Boston Love Story Book 4)

by Julie Johnson

  “I— I’m sorry,” I finally force out.

  “Don’t want you sorry, babe.” His forehead comes down on mine, eyes closing, nostrils flaring as he breathes me in. “Want you smart. That means telling me when you’re in trouble. That means admitting when you need help.”

  I nod. “I will. I promise.”

  “Good.” His mouth is still frowning as it brushes mine in a hard, frustrated kiss. Though his anger has dwindled a bit, it’s not gone yet. Not completely.

  I pull out of his grip and walk to the railing, looking out over the water with my back to him.

  “Delilah.”

  “Don’t kiss me when you’re angry.”

  “Always want to kiss you, babe.” His voice is a shade warmer — closer to his usual gruff tones, rather than the guttural grind your bones into bread growl he’s been directing at me for the past few minutes. I feel his heat at my back, hovering close, but he doesn’t touch me. “Could be screaming my head off at you, or vice versa, I’d still want my mouth on yours and your hair in my hands.”

  Shit.

  I inhale deeply, affected by his words despite myself. I hate it when he’s sweet. It totally ruins my righteous anger vibe.

  He comes around to lean against the railing beside me, pressing his side into mine as we stare at the sea of stars shining down on the inky black harbor. The lights of East Boston glow like fireflies across the expanse.

  “What did your brother tell you?”

  “Not much.” I sigh. “I’ve known Duncan was in financial trouble for a few months, now, but I didn’t know about the loan shark stuff. Not until he showed up the other day. He said they were after him, but assured me they wouldn’t try to track me down.” I snort. “Guess he was wrong.”

  “Anything else?”

  “He needed money. When I couldn’t give it to him, he skipped town.”

  “How much?”

  The wind blows long, tangled strands of hair across my face. I tuck it back behind my ears. “He said a hundred grand. I have a feeling it’s probably more, though.”

  Luca curses.

  I can’t blame him. I feel like cursing, too.

  “Do you know where he is now?”

  I shake my head.

  “So, what was the plan, Delilah?” He doesn’t touch me, but his tone softens. “You figured you’d somehow come up with the money, somehow save your brother from his fate?”

  “What choice did I have?” I lift my brows. “He’s my brother. He’s the only sibling I have left. Was I supposed to just let them kill him, because he made some bad choices?”

  “No. But you sure as shit should’ve asked for help. Did you really figure you were responsible for handling something like this all by yourself?”

  I jerk my chin higher, not responding. He already knows the answer to his question.

  Yes, that’s exactly what I figured. Because I’m not used to having someone around who might want to be involved; someone who gives a shit about me enough to help when bad guys with big fists come calling.

  “You are not alone.” His words are halting. “You don’t have to do this alone, Delilah.”

  I nod in agreement, but my head is swimming with doubts. I’ve been alone for so long, I don’t know how to function any other way.

  He stares at me, as if he knows I don’t believe his assurances. “I’ll find your brother and drag him back here kicking and screaming, if necessary,” he vows, tone lethally soft. “He’s not dumping this on you.”

  “He already did,” I murmur, eyes stinging. I feel like the biggest of fools. Used, abused, abandoned. Not to mention a total idiot, for alienating the one man who’s been saving my ass all week.

  Luca runs a hand over his stubble, a tense gesture that underscores how hard it is for him to get out the next words. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I know I was a prick. I just…” His hands curl back into fists. “The thought of someone hurting you… I saw red.”

  I nod shakily. It’s probably the closest thing to an apology I’ll ever get from Luca. A typical alpha male, the man doesn’t believe in saying I’m sorry even when he’s wrong.

  “Tomorrow, we’ll go get your stuff.”

  My brows shoot to my hairline. “Excuse me?”

  “Your stuff. Clothes, photo albums, knickknacks, whatever other girly shit you filled all those boxes with, plus that writing desk you’ve got wrapped in bubbles. We’ll get it tomorrow, before the wedding.”

  “And we’ll be doing that because…”

  “Till this shit is cleared up, you’re staying here. With me. Don’t want you alone.”

  “Absolutely not!” I hiss immediately.

  “Where else are you gonna go?”

  “My parents’ place, in Nantucket.”

  “I’ll rephrase. Where are you gonna go that those two thugs or others like them can’t track you down with one fucking Google search?”

  Shit.

  My mind whirls. “For your information, the Macombers offered me a room and a full-time nannying position. I can stay there.”

  “One door down from the place you were attacked? Genius move, babe.” He shakes his head. “You’re staying here. End of discussion.”

  “You can’t order me around!”

  “Can. Will. Did.”

  I glare at him. “You’re being a jerk.”

  “Delilah,” he growls, back to his angry smash-stab-kill tones. “Piece of advice — don’t fight me on this. You won’t win.”

  With that, he stalks back inside, leaving me (both literally and figuratively) in the dark.

  I snuggle with Fenway on the sectional, so pissed off I could spit. Glaring up at the ceiling, I think of a variety of creative ways to take my revenge on the mammoth man in the next room now that I’m his unwilling houseguest. Also known as a hostage.

  If he intends to keep me here, I’ll just have to make it equally unpleasant for him.

  Switch his sugar out for salt.

  Cut holes in the crotch of all his sweatpants.

  Change his Netflix password to something obscure.

  Walk around nude, just to drive him crazy.

  Ha! That’ll show him!

  …and probably get me screwed sideways before I can blink.

  Which would be bad.

  Very bad.

  Right?

  Crap on a cucumber sandwich.

  I sigh and toss onto my other side. Fenway glares at me from his spot on the cushion as if to say, Human, I’m tired, go to sleep already. Rather than risk alienating the other male in my life, I force my eyes closed and start counting sheep.

  I’ve only reached four when I hear the French doors swing open. I decide my best strategy is to pretend I’m already asleep, since fighting with him clearly does me no favors. Actually, based on the outcomes of our past arguments, I think arguing with him may make things worse for me.

  My sleeping strategy doesn’t work out much better, considering Luca takes one look at me curled up on the couch, slides his hands beneath my body, and scoops me into his arms so fast, there’s not a chance of squirming free.

  “Hey!” I hiss, glaring up at his Adam’s apple. “What are you doing?”

  “Bringing you to bed.”

  “I was already asleep!”

  “No, you weren’t.”

  “Well.” My cheeks heat. “I was about to be asleep. Bring me back to the sectional.”

  “No.”

  “Luca!”

  “Babe. I’m tired. Don’t wanna fight with you anymore. Also don’t wanna sleep without you in my bed. While you’re staying here, you sleep next to me. House rule.”

  He lowers me onto his mattress and follows me down. I try to keep my frame rigid, stiff-backed at the edge of the mattress, but he’s having no part in that. He reaches out, pulls me back into his chest, and curls his large frame around mine so we’re spooning.

  I have to admit, it feels pretty nice.

  “You’re bossy,” I inform him sleepily, eyes
drifting closed despite my best intentions.

  A kiss lands on the back of my neck. “Yeah, well, you’re a pain in the ass.”

  I smile in the dark — safe and warm and utterly content, wrapped in the arms of a man who drives me insane.

  I’m half-asleep when a low whine reaches my ears. Without opening my eyes all the way, I murmur a command to my bossy big spoon.

  “Luca, love… the dog.”

  I’m so tired, I don’t notice the way Luca’s whole body goes still at my absentminded endearment, as if I’ve said something that stuns him. My own eyes are closed, so I don’t see the way his light up in the darkness.

  Very gently, he untangles his limbs from mine, leans over the side of the mattress, and pulls the puppy into bed with us. Fenway settles in the spot by my stomach and immediately starts to snooze.

  I’m nearly asleep, slipping over the rim of unconsciousness, so I can’t be sure if Luca’s low growl is real or the fragment of a dream when it reaches my ears a few moments later.

  “Mine.”

  In the morning, he’s gone when I wake.

  Again.

  I walk into the kitchen, experiencing a strange sensation of déjà vu, except this time there’s no one on the patio and bright light is streaming through the windows.

  I catch sight of a note pad sitting on the countertop beside a French press full of fresh coffee. I help myself to a cup as my eyes scan Luca’s messy handwriting.

  Babe -

  Took Fenway for a walk. Back soon.

  Don’t go anywhere.

  - L

  I sip my coffee and shake my head, amused and exasperated. Even in note form, his domineering side shines through clear as day. Pulling open his fridge in search of creamer, my eyes widen when I find shelves full of organic vegetables, Greek yogurt, two dozen eggs, and a metric ton of fruit. The drawers are full of protein — chicken, steak, hamburgers. It shouldn’t surprise me: the man is a fighter, after all; clean eating is a vital part of staying in his weight class and maintaining those impressive muscles. Still, it’s somehow hard for me to picture Luca cooking anything except banana pancakes.

  A smile twitches my lips up as I spot the bottle of syrup on his shelf. I reach past it and grab the creamer. After dumping a dollop into my lukewarm coffee, I zap it in the microwave for thirty seconds, then take my steaming mug out onto the patio to watch the boats drift by from one of Luca’s lounge chairs. There’s a Coast Guard base next door to his building — I spot several patrol inflatables zipping by, along with tankers, tugboats, and more than one sailing vessel.

  It’s been ages since I made it out on the water for a sail. Not since the last time I was home in Nantucket. My parents have a forty-foot sloop, mostly reserved for impressing potential business clients in the cockpit without ever leaving the slip.

  I’m afraid the boat has been even more neglected these past few years, since Mimi and Charlie died; they took it out more than anyone else. I have about a million memories of the three of us, racing through the deep blue waters of the Cape, laughing in the sunshine.

  I stand and lean against the railing for a better view, my thoughts consumed by the sudden flood of memories. Like it or not, Mimi is on my mind and she doesn’t seem to be going away anytime soon. Part of me would like to believe it’s her spirit, trying to guide me from beyond; a bigger part of me knows my preoccupation with her and Charlie’s tragic end is tied to the sudden developments in my own love life.

  Yesterday, at the rehearsal, I thought my panic was spurred solely by watching Phoebe practice saying I do. But now, with the benefit of space, I recognize it had very little to do with my best friend… and everything to do with the man who was standing directly across from me on that wedding dais.

  Marriage, as an institution, does not scare me.

  Luca scares me.

  This thing between us, whatever it is, is only getting more intense the more time we spend together. And he doesn’t see the problem with any of it. In fact, he keeps pushing for more, dragging me deeper into this ocean of desire, until I’m so caught up I can’t tell which way to swim to reach the surface.

  If I were smart, I’d cut it off now. Walk away before we have another night like last night… before he can embed himself even further in my life… before I start believing him when he tells me I’m his… before I start wanting impossible things…

  Things like commitment.

  Things like love.

  The thought alone sends chills down my spine. I have not come this far protecting my heart to let it be stolen from my chest in a matter of days.

  Certainly, I cannot be this foolish.

  Can I?

  One night with a man, in his arms and his bed, has never affected me like this before. I tell myself it’s just sex, just lust… but, if that’s true, why can’t I bear the thought of walking away from him? Why can’t I stomach the idea of ending this, like it’s any other fling from my past?

  I don’t know when it happened, or even how… but the idea of leaving Luca seems somehow… intolerable.

  I roll the empty coffee mug back and forth between my palms. I have to admit, he’s under my skin.

  Luca Buchanan has threaded himself into the very fabric of my heart, and I fear pulling out the stitches will be the most painful thing I’ve ever done.

  And yet… I have no choice. Sooner than later, I’ll have to take scissors to the organ beating inside my chest and carve him out as best I can, even if it takes vital pieces of me along with it.

  Because the alternative — letting myself think there’s actually a future here, letting that heart slowly shatter into pieces when this comes to an end?

  I guarantee that pain will hurt worse.

  Two arms slide around my waist. I flinch and nearly spill coffee all over myself, but a hand reaches out to steady mine.

  “Whoa. Just me.”

  Luca’s mouth hits my neck as his palm slides along my stomach. The friction of his fingers against the fabric of my shirt — or, technically his shirt, since I pilfered it from his collection — feels so good, it’s hard to hang onto all the thoughts in my head about staying away from him; about putting an end to this before anything else happens between us.

  Very important thoughts… about him… and me… and his lips moving slowly up the column of my throat…

  Shit!

  All plans of holding him at arm’s length go up in smoke. The only way I want to hold him right now is closer, until we’re so intertwined I can’t tell his limbs from mine.

  (I’m weak. So, sue me.)

  “Good morning,” Luca murmurs, teeth scraping my earlobe.

  “Where’s Fenway?”

  “Inside.”

  “How was your walk?” I ask, unable to resist leaning back into him.

  He chuckles — a low, sexy sound that vibrates against my back. “We attempted a game of fetch. It didn’t go well.”

  “He’s barely mastered walking a straight line on a leash, and you expect him to retrieve a flying object for you?” I snort. “Good luck with that.”

  He chuckles again and I feel my stomach flip in response. Before I can talk myself out of it, I turn in his arms, so my back is to the railing, and drape my wrists over his shoulders.

  “This is a pretty nice place to start the day,” I inform him.

  “Oh yeah?”

  I nod.

  He leans in, until his mouth is lingering just over mine. “It’s even better with you here.”

  His lips close the remaining distance to deliver a light, sweet peck. Tightening my hold around his neck, I push up onto my tiptoes to kiss him harder. Deeper. A bit more desperately.

  If our kisses are numbered, I have to make the most of them while I still can. I’ll be living on their memory for the rest of my life.

  My fingers slide into his hair as my tongue pushes into his mouth. Groaning in response to my sudden ardor, Luca starts walking backward, his mouth never breaking away from mine as we move across
the deck, through the door, into the kitchen. Our hands are ravenous for each other, sliding under hems and reaching for waistbands. We’re almost to the bedroom, when we walk into a wall of cardboard.

  “Fuck!” Luca curses, turning to push the stack of boxes aside. He looks back at me, eyes glittering with heat. “Where were we?”

  I don’t react when he reaches for me. I can’t. Because my eyes are stuck on the stacks of boxes all around us. Familiar boxes. My boxes. The ones I left in my apartment.

  They definitely weren’t here a half hour ago, when I woke up. I don’t know how on earth he got them inside without me noticing. He must’ve moved in total stealth while I was out sunning on his patio.

  All my thoughts and worries come rushing back as my eyes sweep around. The sight of my things, here in his home, is giving me heart palpitations. Every instinct in my body is screaming at me to run, to dodge, to push the eject button before this gets any more serious. Before I’m led down a path that will only lead to tragedy.

  My wild gaze cuts to Luca’s.

  “Your note said you were out for a walk. A WALK! Not out secretly removing all my belongings from my house while I was asleep and thus unable to stop you!”

  “We were out for a walk.” Luca pauses. “Didn’t say which neighborhood we were walking in, or what we happened to be carrying while taking our walk back and forth from my truck to your doorstep.”

  I let out a scream.

  In solidarity, Fenway attempts to bark from his bed in the kitchen, looking more than a little pleased with himself at the resulting yap.

  “Luca. Please listen to me. This is nuts.” I shove my hands into my long red waves. “I’ll go to Phoebe’s. I’ll stay at a hotel. I’ll put my stuff in storage. I’ll give it all away at a yard sale. But this…” I gesture around at my belongings. “This is not happening. It can’t.”

  “It can’t… or we can’t?” he asks in a guarded voice.

  God, how does he always see straight through me?

  I swallow and look up at him. “Both.”

  His face adopts that intense, determined expression he wears right before he steps into the ring.