by Toni Blake
“I didn’t know that, about your brother,” he said, his voice soft with compassion.
And Tessa sighed. The truth was, Jeremy was like her Crohn’s disease: She thought of him often but tried not to. Because it came with so much worry, and left her feeling so helpless. “It’s scary. He e-mails us, but he’s kind of tight-lipped, so we don’t really know what’s going on with him.”
Lucky nodded, brow knit in understanding. “So . . . you came home, you bought this place, and . . . you started feeling better?”
She gave a slight nod, still resting against him. “Slowly but surely. Though it took a long time before I felt even remotely normal. It was the strangest, darkest time of my life. And . . . the oddest thing,” she said, looking back. “This all started in the winter, and other than doctor’s visits and occasional stabs at going to the office, I spent a few very long months mostly in my condo, never going out at all. And when I finally felt good enough to go outside again, it was like . . . it was brand new.”
“What do you mean?”
Tessa still recalled this part with a bit of wonder. “This will sound crazy, but it was like . . . the grass was greener, the sky was bluer, flowers smelled sweeter. I suddenly couldn’t get enough of being outdoors. Now, I’m all into gardening and sitting outside, even at night—”
“Like the night I found you on the deck looking at the stars,” he reminded her.
And she smiled softly against his chest. “Yeah, like that. I was never so into nature before, but the experience changed me in that way. And . . . I don’t take as much for granted anymore. Any day I feel well is a good day. Any day I can get dressed and go out into the world, I feel fortunate. Those are . . . the few good things that came out of it all.”
“You go through something tough and it gives you a whole new outlook, doesn’t it?” he said as if he knew.
She raised her eyes to his. “Yeah.” And she would have asked him how he knew—but just then, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he was here, holding her, relating to her, making her feel better. “Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“Being here with me. I didn’t think it would help, but it does.”
It was almost twenty-four hours later that Tessa lay in her bed, but no longer in Lucky’s arms—now he hovered over her, holding a tray in his hands, clearly trying to figure out how to make things better. She’d slept a lot today, feeling worse than yesterday, and worry shone in his eyes.
“Feel like eating?” he asked.
“What is it?”
“Chicken soup. From your mom. And some Club crackers. She said you liked those when you aren’t feeling good.”
Tessa’s eyes opened a little wider. “My mom?”
He gave a short nod, looking uneasy. “She dropped by a little while ago.”
“Oh God.”
“Yeah, I think I scared the shit out of her, answering your door.”
Tessa bit her lip. Her mother had called this morning after not hearing from her for a few days, suspecting she was unwell, and Tessa had tried to soft-pedal it. She’d also mentioned Lucky was there, looking out for her, “so you don’t have to come over. I’ll be fine.”
“Lucky’s there?” her mom had asked. Tessa had told her mother about her new neighbor—that he was Mike Romo’s long-lost brother, and that they’d spent some time together. She’d been trying to ease her into the idea.
“Yeah,” she’d said simply, leaving it at that.
But her mom understood what a big deal it was—she knew Tessa didn’t like anyone around during these times. So she’d asked, “Is it serious?”
Good question. Since it was no longer just sex. And maybe it never really had been, even if that had been her original motive. All she knew was that there was much more to Lucky than met the eye, that he called her his girl, and he was here for her now. Still, she wasn’t quite ready to put a label on it, so she’d just said, “I don’t know.”
What she hadn’t mentioned to her mom was that Lucky was a biker with long hair and tattoos. So now, as she peered up at the man carefully lowering a tray to her lap, she asked, “What happened after you answered the door?”
Lucky’s brow knit slightly. “Not much. I told her you were asleep. She gave me the soup. She seemed less freaked out after she talked to me for a few minutes.”
Good. Maybe that meant her mom had seen past his appearance to the guy underneath.
After that, Lucky lay down beside her and they watched TV together while she ate. When she was done, he said, “How do you feel?”
“A little nauseous,” she replied, easing back into the pillows propped behind her.
It was a few minutes later that Lucky lifted the tray away and set it aside—and then, to her surprise, he bent back over her, sliding his arms beneath her. “Wrap your arms around my neck and hold on,” he said.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he scooped her up into his grasp.
“You’re always talking about wanting to experience life,” he replied, “and now I get why. So . . . I’m not gonna let you lay in this house not experiencing life for one minute longer tonight.”
“Lucky, I’m still feeling blah,” she said in protest, taken aback by the fact that he was carrying her down the hall, apparently headed for the front door.
He wore a determined look on his face as he said, “You don’t have to do a thing, hot stuff—it’s all on me. Trust me.” And then he carried her out of the cabin into the dark of night, down the walk and to the passenger side of her Nissan, which he promptly, gently, loaded her into. “Be right back,” he told her, and she waited, bewildered, until he returned carrying her keys and her iPod in his hand, her grandma’s quilt draped over one arm.
After tossing the blanket and iPod in the backseat, he climbed behind the wheel, then proceeded to back out onto the road, all without saying a word.
“Lucky, where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into Creekside Park, but Tessa still didn’t understand why. “The park is closed after dark,” she said, pointing to a sign near the entrance.
And Lucky just slanted her a look, as if to remind her he was a bad biker dude and it would take more than a sign to keep him out of a park.
After he brought the car to a stop and opened his door, she did, too—only to have him say, “No, don’t get out—I’m coming to get you.”
Then he grabbed the quilt and iPod from the back, and a moment later he was again carrying her in his arms, this time into the quiet solitude of the unlit park. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out the white gazebo, and the playground in the distance on the bank above Sugar Creek. Tall, shadowy trees lined the creek’s edge.
Soon Lucky lowered her to her feet, announcing quietly, “Here,” then he spread the quilt on the ground and whispered, “Lie down.”
It hit her only then that the night was warm, the warmest they’d had so far, and as she lay back into the quilt’s softness, she drank in the sweet, lush air and heard the faint, peaceful sound of crickets in the nearby woods. As Lucky lay down beside her, he said, “Now—look up.”
She did—and she saw the same thing as when she’d recently given him the same instruction: a dark velvety sky sprinkled with twinkling stars. Only . . . it was even more stunning tonight. Because tonight she needed it more. And maybe Lucky knew that. “Wow,” she murmured.
“Yeah,” he agreed. Then added, “Isn’t this better than being stuck in the house, staring at the ceiling?”
She glanced over at him with a smile. “A lot better.” The truth was, it was almost enough to make everything else fade away, even illness.
Just then, Lucky pushed abruptly back to his feet, though, and she said, “Where are you going?”
“I’ll be right back,” he promised before disappearing quickly into the darkness.
What on earth . . . ? she wondered, waiting. And she was just on the verg
e of feeling a little abandoned when Lucky finally arrived back beside her in the dim moonlight.
Although that faded, too, when her gaze was drawn to the bunch of daisies clutched in his fist, clearly plucked from along the creekside walk—they must have bloomed early, from the warmer-than-usual spring. She smiled up at him as he lowered himself to the quilt beside her. “I think picking flowers in the park is illegal.”
“Guess my brother’ll have to haul my ass to jail for all these bad crimes I’m committing tonight,” he said, then held one of the daisies out to her.
For some reason, the simple gesture made her heart feel so full she feared it might burst. “Thank you,” she said, taking it from his fingers into hers. Then she teased him, looking at the remaining flowers, which he’d lowered to the quilt beside him. “Keeping the rest yourself?”
He gave her a grin. “Keep it up, hot stuff, and you won’t get your present.”
“My present?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Now close your eyes so I can make it a surprise.”
Hmm. What was Lucky up to? She shut them, both touched and amused. Although when a few minutes had come and gone, she grew impatient. “When can I open my eyes?”
“Just . . . a second,” he said in a way that told her he was concentrating on something. Then finally he told her, “Okay, open ’em.”
When she did, she found big, masculine Lucky Romo dangling a chain of daisies from his fingers. And the sight took her breath away. Oh God, he’d just sat in the park making a daisy chain in the dark of night—for her.
“Sit up a little, and I’ll put it on your head,” he said.
Oh—it was a wreath. A smile stole over her as she propped herself on her elbows and let him place it in her messy hair. “Thank you, Lucky,” she said.
He looked endearingly sheepish. “When I caught sight of the daisies, I just . . . thought you’d like it.”
“I do,” she promised him.
Lucky reclined next to her again, and they silently peered back up at the sky. And though she’d already forgotten all about the iPod, Lucky then gently inserted one earbud in her ear and the other in his, so they could both hear. Then she listened as the notes from a gently plucked guitar began Jack Johnson’s “Constellations,” a song about . . . the sky. She just looked at Lucky. How could he know? How could he know, even better than she did, what she’d needed right now? It was one of the most perfect moments of her life.
“Don’t look at me, hot stuff—look at the stars,” Lucky said. So she did. She let the relaxing song waft over and through her as she lost herself in everything around her: the millions of stars glittering above, the soft quilt beneath her, the man whose hand slipped warmly into hers. And she began to understand something she hadn’t only a few short minutes before; she began to feel a certain, undeniable truth seeping into her skin, her muscles, her very bones.
And when the song came to its sweet, peaceful conclusion, she continued peering up at the sky even as she leaned her head over to rest it on Lucky’s shoulder. And she whispered, “You love me.”
He kept gazing upward, too, his answer coming softly. “Yeah. I do.”
And it sounded . . . like it wasn’t a surprise to him at all.
The new knowledge made Tessa’s skin tingle even as her body filled with warmth. And she pulled back just slightly to peer over at him, this man who loved her. He hadn’t put it into words, but he hadn’t needed to—because he’d shown her, in so many sweet ways.
When his beautiful eyes met hers, she reached up, pulling their earbuds away. A minute ago, soft music had been perfect, the perfect distraction from feeling unwell. But silence suddenly seemed better—right now, she wanted nothing to dilute her focus on Lucky.
Their eyes stayed locked and she experienced a familiar pull inside. It stretched all through her—from her chest to the crux of her thighs. And, leaning forward, she brought her mouth tenderly to his. The kiss was slow, warm, gentle. It was the nicest thing she’d felt in days. When it ended, she didn’t move away; she simply rested her forehead against his, felt his breath on her lips, felt the emotional connection they shared.
But when she drew back again to gaze on him, she experienced more than just an emotional link. And more than just a physical one, too. When those two things joined together, they created a whole greater than the sum of their parts, and it swirled through her suddenly in a bundle of need and lust and sweetness and sex. She kissed him again, and again, still slow and deep, until the sparks inside her sizzled. “Oh my God,” she breathed in soft wonder.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re amazing. You’re so hot you actually turn me on even when I don’t feel well.”
A small, sweet grin made his dark eyes sparkle. “Damn, I knew I was good, but . . .”
And she giggled lightly . . . aware that her desire was truly overriding every other feeling.
But then her smile faded as she confided in him, “You have no idea how un-sexy I feel most of the time, because of . . . you know.” Right now, she didn’t even want to say it, didn’t want to give it power over her.
And Lucky looked at her like she was crazy. “Babe,” he said, soft and low and sure. “You’re the sexiest girl I ever met.”
She kissed him again and realized she didn’t want to stop kissing him, ever. She never again wanted to feel anything but the way Lucky was making her feel at this moment: cherished . . . and sexy as sin, even in old jogging pants and dirty hair.
Lucky hadn’t touched her anyplace intimate since he’d first found her at home sick, but now his hand slid to her breast. She sucked in her breath at the shocking pleasure. And then he began to squeeze and mold, and she tipped her head back to look at the stars once more and saw them in a whole new way: as a lovely backdrop for what was happening down here, on earth, where things really mattered.
“Lucky,” she whispered.
But he misunderstood. “Sorry, babe.” He drew his palm back down to her waist. “I didn’t mean to do that. It just happened.”
“No. I want that,” she immediately corrected him. Reaching for his hand, she placed it right back where it had been, on her breast. Then she gazed back into his eyes. “I want you.”
Looking up, I, with tear-dimmed eyes, saw the mighty Milky-way. Remembering what it was—what countless systems there swept space like a soft trace of light—
I felt the might and strength of God.
Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre
Fourteen
Even now?” he asked.
“Especially now. I told you—you turn me on, Lucky. You make it all better. You make me forget the bad stuff.”
Aw, hell. The truth was, she had the same effect on him, too. Completely. And . . . Jesus, had he just told her he loved her? He was pretty sure he had. He wasn’t sure how it had happened—but it had just been . . . obvious. In that moment, it had been so clear that he hadn’t even thought of denying it, even if, up until then, he hadn’t quite known it himself. He loved her. He loved Tessa. Now, the very thought made him kiss her a little more firmly as he resumed caressing her small, pert breast, the nipple jutting into his palm through her top. A tingling sensation rippled down his spine and his breath grew labored, just from this—from the touching and kissing.
In a way, he suddenly felt big—clumsy with her—and afraid, in her current condition, he might hurt her somehow. But battling with that fear was how badly he wanted her, how driven he felt to bond his body with hers. He was suddenly so hard for her he ached.
“Are you okay?” he whispered a moment later.
“Yes—yes, I promise,” she said. And the urgency in her voice, the desperation, made him finally believe her. And long to pleasure her deeply.
When he kissed her neck, she let out a pretty sigh that tightened his chest. And part of him wanted to stop going slow and being careful, but a bigger part of him longed to . . . make love to her. He’d never even used those words together: make love. Yet that was what he bur
ned to do right now—make slow, deep love to Tessa Sheridan.
Gently, he lifted the hem of her top over her soft, slender stomach and bestowed kisses there, as well, while easing his hand tenderly between her legs. A low, feminine moan echoed up into the warm night, filling him with heat, satisfaction, and he began to stroke his fingertips through the sweatpants she wore. Her breath grew thready as she moved against his touch, and he heard himself whispering against her skin, “You’re so beautiful, babe. So damn beautiful.”
Then he shifted, sliding his hand down inside her pants, her panties. At the same exact moment, he gently closed his teeth around her nipple, through her top, and the little sob that left her set him on fire.
Stretching out fully alongside her again, he kissed her some more while exploring her wetness with his fingers, somehow feeling that intimacy in a whole new way. How many women had he touched there, or had sex with? He didn’t know, but it was plenty. And yet this felt completely new. He was sure Tessa had been touched this way before, too, and he suffered the sting of jealousy over it, wanting to be the only one she’d ever shared herself with.
This must be what comes with the love part. Suddenly he understood why people said sex was so much better when you were in love, because right now, every touch echoed deeper, and in every place their skin connected, he felt truly joined to her. He wanted to belong to her. He wanted her to belong to him. He wanted to give her every joy, every comfort. He wanted to take away everything that hurt her.
And he was powerless to take away her illness, a knowledge that now tortured him—but tonight anyway, he could at least make her forget about it. Make it go away for a little while. And her every moan and sigh, and every lift of her pelvis against his hand, told him how much she was feeling it, how much he was taking away the bad stuff in that moment. “I want to make you feel so, so good,” he whispered against her lips, then kissed her yet again.
That’s when her breath grew short, choppy, and it was almost as if Lucky could feel the pleasure he delivered vibrating through her, growing, mounting. “Come for me, babe,” he rasped. “I wanna see you come so bad.”