by Dee Tenorio
And spit it back into the glass.
Brandon patted him on the back, concerned. “Are you all right?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, trying not to cough. “Riddoux thinks Kyle’s gay?”
The other man’s blue eyes twinkled. “He swears it.”
The laugh inside him wouldn’t be held in. Lucas saw Belinda’s eyes dart his way, her curious half grin as she spoke to Riddoux telegraphing her wonder about what could be so funny. He shook his head at her.
“I’ve told him over and over, but he refuses to believe me. He says there isn’t a man alive that could come to event after event with a woman like Belinda and not be attached to her unless he was her ‘gay friend’.”
Lucas couldn’t argue with logic. “Kyle always has been a little dumber than the average bear.”
“He seemed quite intelligent to me. He speaks very highly of you.”
If it was an admonishment, it didn’t faze Lucas much. He raised his eyebrow until Brandon relented with a shrug. “Well, he says you are brilliant, at least.”
“At most,” Lucas corrected. “It’s all right. We have a way with each other no one else seems to understand. I know how valuable my brother is, under the fluff. Kyle would be the first one to throw himself in front of a truck for me.”
“And you for him?”
Lucas nodded, but inevitably, his gaze had already gone searching for Belinda.
“Ah, but I think you’d leap in front of a train for her, mon ami.”
Lucas sighed. “You have no idea.”
“I think I do. Why do you think Hale did not continue to mash your bones into pebbles? All one has to do is look at the two of you.”
“Oh, yeah? And see what?”
“Perfection,” Brandon said with a flair only a Frenchman—maybe only a gay Frenchman—could pull off gracefully. “It’s a beautiful thing to see two people so well tuned to each other.”
“I wouldn’t say—”
“You don’t have to say. We’re artists. We appreciate things without explanation.” Brandon nodded to his mate and left Lucas standing there after a nudge to the arm and a murmured, “Good luck”.
When Belinda smiled at him, ignoring her conversation for a brief second, Lucas thought he might not need it. He started toward her.
“Well, well, well, here we are again, Mr. Lonnigan. Oh, I’m sorry, Kyle.”
Lucas looked down to see Yvonne MacInerney stepping into his path and rising on her toes to brush some kind of fake kiss against his cheek. He had the feeling there was supposed to be something sensual about the action, but he certainly didn’t feel it.
The urge to flee ran rampant, but he reminded himself she was a councilwoman on the trustee board. She not only held a vote that could be important to Belinda, she was the head of the project. Belinda had trusted him to help her look good. He had to show he was worthy of her trust.
“How are you doing, Yvonne?”
“Oh, perfectly well, thank you. The gala’s been a success so far, don’t you think?”
“Most definitely.” Starving artists feasting on pâté? What else could it be?
“We’ll have to make the announcements soon. A pity. It will be disappointing for so many.” She pouted briefly, waiting for him to make some sort of reaction.
“When will you have a chosen artist?”
“In about a month. Right now, only the style of the designs has been considered. After tonight, it’s about the bids and the feasibility of the design to the grounds.”
“Sounds time-consuming.” He was pretty sure he could pick something in about five minutes.
“Oh, it is. It is!” The thought occurred to him that if she was so put out, she could quit, but even he knew saying so wouldn’t go over well. Besides, she looked so relieved to have found a friend who understood, he almost felt bad for inching further away. “But it’s important to us, to the city. We take our jobs very seriously.”
Lucas nodded. He could escape from her soon. He only had to stay with her long enough to be polite. Eight minutes more ought to cover it. He hoped.
“Still,” she said, dragging the word over a few empty beats of silence, reaching out to tap his lapel and drag her fingertip over his chest for a second before taking hold of his coat pockets, “we do find time to…enjoy ourselves.”
Better make it three minutes. In eight, he’d no doubt be swallowed whole. “Good for you, Yvonne. Everyone needs downtime.” He looked around quickly, but for once, Belinda was completely out of view. He protected himself with another step back.
“Yes, yes, I agree. My personal time is very important to me. I choose who I spend it with very carefully since my husband died.”
Death, thankfully, Lucas knew the standard response to. “I’m very sorry.”
“Well, yes, thank you.” She fluttered her hand as if the dearly departed didn’t matter much. “Spending time with the right people is very important. The mind needs to be stimulated and kept sharp. You enjoy stimulation, don’t you, Kyle?”
All right, that was it. Time to flee. God, how did Kyle put up with this? He felt dirty and she’d only touched his coat for a half second. “I’m sorry, Yvonne, I think Belinda is waving for me.”
A definite look of perturbation crossed her face.
“I…make it a rule never to let my dates go unsatisfied,” he added quickly, relieved that the corny line he’d seen in a bad movie was right up her alley.
“Oh, then go on. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again tonight.” She touched his cuff, tilting her head somewhat to the side so that she was looking up at him through her lashes. That was some sort of signal, he gathered, but all it did was make his skin crawl. Probably in a desperate effort to drag him away. He forced a smile and went off to search for Belinda.
With any luck at all, he’d find her quickly and it would be time to leave.
Belinda smiled to herself as Lucas drove back to her loft. In her hands was a small medal with her name engraved on it. The top five. She’d made it to the top five!
“If you keep rubbing it like that, you’re going to wipe the letters right off,” Lucas teased with his deeply rumbling voice.
“Oh, leave me alone. This is my first award.” Even if it wasn’t, it would be the most important. Her fingers caressed the feathered wheat representation along the circular edge. Pride flared through her and she allowed herself the ridiculously girly move of holding it to her chest and hugging it.
“I’m pretty sure you won something in elementary school.”
“Nope, they don’t give awards for beating up crybabies on slides.” She laughed at his narrow-eyed sideways glare. “But I did get the cast,” she conceded.
“It’s been over twenty years. I think I’ve been raked over the coals long enough, don’t you?”
“You’re right. How about I harp on the time you ruined my math homework by putting your name on it?”
“That shouldn’t count. I’ve never been good at cheating.”
“What about the time you—”
“Belle,” he warned, despite the thread of humor underlying his tone.
“Oh fine, but I’m not letting you spoil my fun. I won something, Lonnigan. I get to crow.”
“No, you earned something. You and your design. You should be proudest of that.” He slid the car into place in front of the warehouse and pulled to a smooth stop. He turned his head to look at her, a faint smile on his mouth. He took her hand gently into his, turning her mouth dry suddenly. “I’m proud of you.”
“Because I pulled off this makeover?” Why she asked, she didn’t know. So many people talked about it. Away from him, the women tittered that they’d cut their hair off for him, too. They all thought she had given up something of her own principles to please him, just like her sister did. She wasn’t so sure she hadn’t. Was it what he thought, too?
Lucas’s scowl was dark even for the late night murkiness inside the car. He let go of her palm, only to caress her cheek with
the back of his hand. The strong hand that had always been there for her, offering help, support and kindness. It was impossible not to lean into it.
“If they think changing your hair changes anything about you, they’re out of their minds.” His fingers slipped down to tweak the little skull on her neck. “The important thing is that we know who you are.”
“We?” The tension in her throat made her feel like a frog.
He nodded, nothing but seriousness on him now. “You’re everything.”
Her indrawn breath, ragged and loud in the intimacy of the vehicle, must have sounded like she was trying to argue because he shook his head at her.
“I know you think I don’t know anything about the real you. You think I only see who you used to be. The little girl we played with because she was more fun than any of the boys on the block.”
“Lucas.” Oh, God, he was going to say things she didn’t mean to ask for. She took hold of his wrist, hoping to stop the words, but he wouldn’t be put off. Not this time.
“I know you’ve outgrown her. You’re not the doll your mom tried to shape with frilly dresses and shiny shoes. And you’re not the innocent kid trying too hard to be what no one should have asked of you as a teenager. But you’re not the antichrist you want the Donnas to think you are, either.”
She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the emotions welling up in her. But he kept talking and they kept rising, so much bigger and stronger than her. She might fear it, but God…she wanted to hear it all the same. Wanted to feel what he made her feel.
“You’re all of them, Belle. The girl, the innocent and the attitude, all balled up into someone I’m glad to know.” He feathered his fingers over her cheeks again, making her realize he was wiping away tears. She lifted her lids, looking at him through wet lashes. He swallowed, his huge heart right on his sleeve, burning into her own heart without mercy. “The woman I’m proud to love.”
Six words turned out to be all he needed to shatter her.
All her reserve, all her fears, simply crumbled into dust under the force of that one sentence. She’d always known how he felt, but neither of them had ever said it without hurling it in an argument. She’d always felt it from him, deep in herself. His love was her only constant, even when he was far away. When she railed against it, it held firm to her. When she needed it, he wrapped her in it like down, protecting her with everything he was, even from himself.
And she’d cursed him for it.
Almost as much as she’d cursed herself.
“I don’t deserve you, Lucas,” she said with a sandpaper whisper.
She wanted him, though. More than her next heartbeat, she wanted this man a part of herself forever. The good part, the strong part, the best part. Forever. Because she loved him, too. Always had, always would. Loved him in a way her own mother could never fathom—not with begging, not with fighting for every morsel of his affection, but with giving. With sacrifice and best intentions.
Lucas gave his heart completely, no matter what she did to him or how she aggravated him. She loved him with everything she had, and though she’d pushed him away, she wanted him to be proud of her, wanted him to see how far she’d brought herself. She wanted to be worthy of his dedication. For once in her life, she wanted to be worthy of the best.
“Because I’m not Kyle?” Doubt stained his voice for the first time in years.
She shook her head. “We both know I never wanted Kyle. I just needed to want him.”
Relief softened his expression, only to drift into a frown of confusion. “Why?”
Finally, he was asking for the truth.
“Kyle doesn’t get under my skin. I care about him, but he’s a buddy. Someone I can mother if I have to. I don’t need him. The way I need you is…terrifying.” She owed him these truths, even if they stripped her bare, so she kept saying them, wondering at the strange lightness that came over her after every revealing word. “I have no control around you, Lucas. You look at me and I feel like I’m yours. Not my own. You don’t know how frightening that is.”
“Yes, I do,” he whispered, breaking into her confession. “That’s exactly how I’ve felt since I was six years old. Owned, by the dirty little girl in pink ribbons and black bows. You may be mine, Belle, but I’m yours, too. With everything in me.”
“I don’t deserve you,” she cried, surprised that the words burst out of her again. Why didn’t he understand? Her stomach was so tight she thought she might be sick from it. “I’ve hurt you, I’ve pushed you away, I’ve—”
“Yes, you do, Belle,” he interrupted again, urgent and demanding, putting his hands on her shoulders as if to brace her. “For better or worse, you deserve me and everything else good in the world. You just have to take us.”
She bowed her head, wishing she could reach his shoulder and rest her soul there. Wishing so much more. “I wish I could see what you see in me.”
“Me, too.” His sadness sent a tremor through her. And then he let go.
Painful realization slipped through her like a snake as his warmth left her shoulders. He’s leaving…
He would kiss her goodbye and let her take the miracle of his love upstairs to her lonely bed to try and make it less than it was because that was what she always did. He would go home and hope to make more inroads to her heart on the next dare. The next chance.
He had no idea he was already there, far beyond her barriers into the very essence of her. She simply wasn’t whole without him. Tonight, she didn’t want to be empty any longer.
She took hold of his wrists, lifting her head and meeting his deep ocean gaze. “Show me.”
He tilted his head in silent question.
She leaned forward and grazed her lips across his in answer. Then she opened the car door and eased backward from the car, never letting her gaze slip from his. “Show me what you see in me, Lucas. Come upstairs and love me.”
There was hope in his eyes, she watched it flare. Then recede. “It has to mean something to you, Belle. As much as it means to me. I want your heart.”
She smiled at his cautiousness. She couldn’t even blame him for being worried. She would be too if she had to deal with herself as often as he did.
“I want you to come up because I—” Her throat tightened again, clamping hard on the words—the emotions—she’d never shared with anyone. She wanted to tell him how she felt, to give him what he did deserve, but the fear turned strangling and words became impossible.
But because he was Lucas, he understood anyway.
He nodded and she found she could breathe again. She could smile. She could even feel the glow inside her of something pure and wonderful. He rose from the car, closed the car door and circled the machine until he was before her, once again standing under the streetlamp as he had that first night he’d taken her to her bed. Only this time, he was letting her lead.
“Take me home, Belle.”
It wasn’t a vow…but it should have been. She smiled up at him, took his hands and led the way to her door.
Chapter Nine
His hands trembled. It wasn’t debonair, it wasn’t smooth and it sure as hell wasn’t sexy, but Lucas couldn’t make them stop. Was this how dreams came true? Was this the way a lifetime’s desires came together? With shaking hands and a tiny zipper sliding through a cloud of fabric?
He felt Belinda’s small hands tugging on the bowtie, the fabric sliding apart at her will. Her dress sagged and she let him tug it over her slim hips until it sank to the floor. She stepped out of it, standing in only the tiniest bits of silk and lace he’d ever seen. A tiny satin bra, black silk panties that made love to her faint curves and the antique garter belt he’d thought he’d go to hell for buying from the young, smiling clerk last week. Belinda wore them all; the gifts he’d tucked under pillows, behind tools, inside her lingerie drawer—right down to the beribboned black sheer stockings on those goddess-shaped legs.
He had to ease the air into his lungs slowly to keep from taking
hold of her right then, trembling hands be damned.
“I didn’t know you were wearing those,” he managed to say.
“If you did, we’d have put on a pretty good show under that horse statue, wouldn’t we?” She wore that sensual smile again, turning to show him the nonexistent back of her panty ensemble, jutting her hip to the side while she looked over her shoulder.
“Sweetheart, the Donnas would have been excommunicated just for hearing what I want to do with you.”
“So why are you still dressed?” She walked to the edge of her bed, still wearing the black heels no one had been able to see under the hem of her gown.
“I’m trying to figure out why you wore all this for me.” Had she meant to reward him? Or in case she needed comforting? More sex as a weapon? He braced himself for hurt, holding on to the sincerity that had been on her face in the car. She loved him. He knew it. She’d almost said as much before she choked on it. He tried not to be bruised by that particular stumble, given his own inability to speak properly when he was nervous. Someday she’d say it. He could wait.
She scrambled some of his thought processes by sitting on the fluffy duvet on her bed, stretching her body across it and lying on her side to study him. Suddenly, she was the curviest woman he’d ever seen, every lean length of her leading to the next rise or fall of her body.
“Well, my evil plan was to torment you from time to time tonight by letting you know I was wearing the stockings.”
He didn’t remember any particular skirt lifting action. “But?”
“But after I put them on I realized how much I liked them.”
“You did?”
She nodded slowly, something that sounded like a purr coming from her throat. “It felt like I had your hands all over me.”
He swallowed. “And you liked that?”
She lolled onto her back, her dark eyes still trained on his, her full lips parted slightly. “I always like that.” She pointed a lazy finger at him. “Too. Many. Clothes, Lonnigan.”
Zorro had less accuracy than that finger’s haphazard slashes in the air. In the three steps it took him to reach her, his jacket was gone and his shirt was open. He stood between her parted knees while she rose up to sitting. Her hands immediately began undoing his belt while his own cupped the back of her head so he could turn her intent gaze up to his.