Lukas

by Carian Cole

  “It sounds like they were just really worried about something happening to you, and like you said, just wanted to keep you safe. Were you lonely?” Thinking of Lukas as a beautiful little boy, being kept in a house and not outside having fun with other kids makes me want to cry.

  “I didn’t have any friends to play with, but I didn’t know any better, so I guess, for me, it was all normal. I played in the attic mostly. Even back then, I loved all the old stuff they had stored up there. I drew and painted constantly, and read anything I could get my hands on. They had a lot of old books. I taught myself how to play music on some old instruments they had, too. When I was about ten, they both started to fail mentally and physically, and I took care of them. I cooked, I cleaned, had to remind them to take their meds . . . everything pretty much.”

  “Oh my God, you were so young to have to do all that! Tommy is only seven, and I can’t even imagine him having to take on that kind of responsibility.”

  He shrugs and takes a bite of his sandwich, chewing carefully before he talks again. “I did what I had to do. They were all I had, and I was all they had. I loved them. They were as good to me as they could be. My grandfather got bad first. He developed dementia and had to be put in a home, and passed away a year later. I tried to take care of my grandmother, but she was having a real hard time with her own health and then grief. She fell in the kitchen one day and smacked her head, and she died right there in front of me. I went into shock and sat there for an entire day on the floor next to her. I was afraid to call 911 because I knew they were going to take me away. I spent some time in the hospital for a little while after that.” His voice wavers and his eyes brim with the beginning of tears. Instinctively, I reach across the table and touch his inked hand.

  “Lukas . . . I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what to say,” I have to blink back my own tears just thinking about how devastating all of that must have been for him. He was way too young to have to go through all of that.

  He wipes his eyes with his other hand, not moving his hand from beneath mine. I’m touched by his emotion and the fact that he doesn’t try to hide it or act ashamed of it, like most men would. “It sucked,” he says. “After I was let out of the hospital, I was put in a foster home, but I really didn’t get along with them. They didn’t like how quiet I was, the things I drew, my attraction to antiques, or that I enjoyed sitting in the dark. They wanted me to be social, go to dances, cut my hair, and get involved in sports. I didn’t want to do any of those things. It just wasn’t me. I didn’t feel like I belonged there.”

  “You sound like you were a good kid. Maybe just a bit of a loner?”

  He smiles a sad smile at me. “Yeah, I was. I still am.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that. I am, too, actually. I’ve always been really shy.”

  “I sensed that about you.” He turns his hand under mine, so our palms touch, and our eyes shift from our joined hands to slowly meeting each other across the dim table. A warm tingle spreads throughout my body, from my head to my toes, and settles in my stomach. Lowering my eyes, I gently slide my hand out from under his. The candle flame dances on the table, mimicking the waltz slowly starting between us, the tiny steps forward and back. I’m not ready for this.

  “So, um, how did you find out about your brother?” I ask, trying to recover from whatever the moment was that just happened.

  He clears his throat and runs his hand through his hair, and I find myself wanting that hand to be mine touching that dark silky hair. “My father’s mother found out that her son had two kids he never told the rest of his family about. When her husband died, she hired a private detective to find us so we could be included in his inheritance and become part of the family.”

  I swallow my food and gape at him. “That’s incredible. And are you, now, part of the family?”

  “I am. My grandmother, the one that looked for us, is an amazing woman. She’s just . . . so cool. It turns out, most of the family is kinda famous. My uncle, who is my dad’s brother, is a retired musician that was really well known many years ago, and his sons, who are my cousins, are in a really popular rock band. My brother is part of that band now, actually. And my aunt is a best-selling author. The money I inherited allowed me to partner up with my brother to buy the building and open the shop. It’s always been a dream of mine to have my own business.”

  “And you’re both tattoo artists?”

  “Yeah, it’s kinda cool. We have a lot in common. He’s just a bit fucked up, though. Not exactly the easiest person to get close to. He’s got some issues.”

  “I’m sure that will change in time. I imagine it must be hard to form a family bond with people that you didn’t grow up with. Especially for men, I think it’s harder for them to form relationships.”

  “You’re right. It’s kinda weird to just all-of-a-sudden have a bunch of people in your life that you never even met.” He pauses. “I don’t give up on people, though. If I want someone in my life, I make sure they are.”

  My heart flutters as I wonder if that slight tone change at the end of his sentence and that spark in his eye is hinting toward me. No. No way.

  I’m thrown by the intense attraction I feel toward him, unsure how to react to it. I’ve never been attracted to a man so much younger than me before, and I definitely have never taken notice of men with tattoos and long hair, but those things mixed with his sensual brown puppy eyes, sweet personality, muscular body, and heart-stopping smile have my insides doing somersaults. When he smiles, I can tell he feels it, and means it. He’s what I call an old soul. There’s a quiet deepness about him, like he knows things that he couldn’t possibly know, and he has a therapeutic, yet stimulating affect on me that I’m drawn to like a magnet.

  “How ‘bout you?” he asks. “Brothers and sisters? Close family?”

  “I have a brother that’s two years older than me. We’re a close family. My parents live here in town, and I grew up here. My brother lives about an hour away, so I get to see them all pretty regularly, and of course on holidays and birthdays.” I take a quick sip of my coffee. “My parents are still a little freaked out over the idea that I might be getting divorced. They’re old fashioned.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Might be getting divorced? Is there a chance you and Paul might be getting back together, then?”

  Embarrassment heats my face. “No. I think I still go into denial at times. Obviously.” I smile weakly at him.

  “Would you take him back?”

  Damn, this kid is direct. “Lukas . . . I’m not sure I want to talk about that.”

  “Shit. I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s none of my business.” He sits up straighter. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “You’re not rude at all. You’re a sweetheart, and I appreciate you bringing me here for this delicious latte, and for being so nice. It’s still just hard for me to talk about that stuff.”

  He holds his hand up and smiles. “Say no more. I totally get it. I want you to have a good time, not be uncomfortable.”

  We talk about lighter things while we finish eating, until finally, I glance at my watch and see the time, which has flown by. “I didn’t realize how late it was getting. I should really get going. I like to be home when Macy gets there, so she’s not coming home to a dark empty house.”

  “Gotcha.” He reaches into his pocket and places a few dollars on the table. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  The street is much quieter on our walk back, as all the stores are closed for the night and hardly any cars are driving by. The air is chilly, and it feels like snow could be on its way. Usually, I hope for a white Christmas because it’s my favorite holiday, but this will be my first Christmas without Paul. Years of our own little family traditions have been casually thrown away. I hope I can still make sure the kids have a happy holiday, and they don’t have to feel the effects of the separation too badly.

  “Do you live alone?” I ask as we near his shop. The stained glass
windows on the upper floor are glowing beautifully, and I wonder what his apartment looks like inside.

  “Yup. I’ve had some roommates in the past at other apartments, but this place is sacred to me, so I really don’t want any friends living with me and trashing it. It’s pretty big inside, three bedrooms. Do you want to come in and see it? It’s really pretty. The woodwork and the stained glass are all original. It’s actually been in some magazines.”

  Eek. I can’t go into his apartment. That would be totally inappropriate. Right? “No, but thank you,” I say politely. “It sounds really beautiful.”

  He looks down at me with a hopeful smile. “Maybe next time,” he says.

  Just like the last time I was here after hours, my car and an older black Corvette are in the dark parking lot.

  “Is that your car?” I ask, motioning to the ’Vette.

  “Yes. That’s my baby. I wish this place had a garage I could keep it in. It’s the only thing I don’t like about living here.”

  “Corvettes are such pretty cars. I’ve always liked them.”

  Reaching my own boring mom-car, we stop walking and he turns to me. “Me too,” he agrees. “Especially the older models. They have beautifully designed curves, like a woman.”

  Wow. Very sensual comparison. And true.

  I lean against the front fender of my car and peer up at him. He really is extremely good looking—those dark eyes, paired with his chiselled jaw and crooked smile, make me want to just sit and look at him. “Thank you for dinner,” I say, hating to end the first good night I’ve had in a very long time. “It was really good, especially that latte. That was yummy.”

  He steps closer to me and pushes his hair out of his face. “I want to see you again,” he says softly, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

  My insides melt, and I of course reply with something lame. “I have my next appointment in two weeks.”

  He gently lifts my chin with his finger and holds it there, luring me to look up into his deep, chestnut eyes. “No. Not for that,” he replies.

  “F-for what?” My voice is shaky, just like the rest of me right now. Having his body so close to mine, his finger still under my chin, and those eyes of his locked on to mine are all shocks to my sheltered little foundation.

  “Dinner,” he replies. “I can cook for you, or we can go out. Your choice.”

  “Lukas . . .” I can’t do this.

  “Don’t say no, Ivy.” His voice is gentle and hopeful. “I’ll give you as many forks as you want, and I’ll try not to think about putting things in your mouth,” he teases, making me laugh. I’m not sure how he can be so sweet, adorable, and sexual at the same time. It’s completely rattling.

  “I’m really not ready to date yet,” I admit. “My head is still messed up.”

  He strokes his finger back and forth under my chin, and I want to rub on him like a cat. “Everyone’s head is messed up, Ivy. Messed up is the new normal.”

  “Yes, that’s very true.”

  “So, say yes. Don’t think of it as a date. No expectations other than good company and good food. And forks.”

  I try to stand my ground, even though it’s getting harder by the second with his sexy voice and pleading eyes. “It’s not a good idea. I’m not ready, and I think I’m just a little bit too old for you. I’m very flattered, though.”

  He tilts his head. “Really? Or is it that you think I’m too young for you? Because your age means nothing to me.”

  “Well, it is a big age difference, no matter how you want to spin it.”

  He moves a little closer to me, our bodies almost touching, and I put my hand up between us and rest it on his chest. I meant it to be a resisting gesture, but as soon as I touch him, my intention falters. He feels so solid, so real, so warm . . . So much like a man. I feel dwarfed between the car and his tall, fit body. His chest and shoulders are so broad that I cannot even see around him. As I look up at him, I see a shooting star fly by in the sky over his head.

  “You have no idea how captivating you are, do you?” he says softly. “Your face and your eyes just now . . . wow.”

  “I just saw a shooting star. I haven’t seen one of those in years.” Something in the air tonight feels magical. I’m not sure if it’s from being with him, or if the stress of the past few months is slowly dissipating, allowing me to enjoy small parts of life again. Whatever it is, it feels damn good.

  “You have to make a wish, then,” he says knowingly. “Or gift it to me.”

  “What would you wish for? I need to know if it’s worthy before I gift it to you,” I murmur, my fingers very slowly rubbing the middle of his chest, as if they have little minds of their own. The fabric of his tight flannel shirt is thin and soft, letting me feel the warmth of his skin through it.

  “I’d wish you’d have dinner with me, and I’d wish I could kiss you goodnight.”

  My stomach does cartwheels, and I can feel his heart beating faster beneath my hand, just as my own is.

  “Lukas . . . that’s two wishes . . .” I whisper, suddenly barely having the ability to speak or breathe.

  He leans his head down closer to mine. “You looking at me like that, and saying my name like that, just makes me want to kiss you even more.”

  I swallow hard, unable to tear my eyes away from his. “You really shouldn’t be saying things like that,” I breathe, my voice quivering. He’s got my nerves in overdrive. Hell, who am I kidding? He’s got my entire mind and body in overdrive right now.

  He moves his hand to cup the side of my face. “Close your eyes, Ivy. Let’s make our wishes at the same time.”

  Lukas is a wizard, and I’ve quickly fallen under his spell. My eyes flutter closed, and his lips touch mine, so softly that we are barely touching at all, but it’s enough to make me see even more shooting stars, this time behind closed eyes, in that place where magic happens. His kiss is completely unexpected but way too perfect to break away from. I drop my bag to the ground and bring my hands up to rest on his shoulders. He kisses me a little harder, his tongue gently touching my lips, silently asking permission for more. Parting my lips, I let him kiss me deeper, his tongue slowly meeting mine, caressing in enticing circles. The feel of his tongue piercing and lip ring is so strange to me, yet incredibly erotic. I think I like it. His hand goes to my hip, pulling my body possessively but gently against him, as his kisses grow more passionate and urgent. My legs begin to shake with timid desire, my hands squeezing his muscled shoulders, hanging on to him in this sudden dizzying realm he’s led me into. Did a first kiss ever feel like this before? Has any kiss ever felt like this before? No. Not for me. Not ever.

  He oozes skilled sensuality; every touch, every breath, every kiss is measured in perfect timing and depth. This is not an awkward, clumsy, rushed and horny boy touching me for kicks. Not by a long shot. He’s savoring everything. And I don’t want him to stop.

  Grasping my waist with both hands, he effortlessly lifts me up onto the hood of my car, bringing me closer to eye level with him. He moves between my parted legs, guides my thighs around his jean-clad hips, and covers my mouth with his again, kissing me long, deep, and tantalizingly slow as he gently holds my face in his hands. It’s the kind of kiss that brands complete want and ownership. He leaves no doubt that he wants me. The logical part of me is telling me to stop him, but the lonely, aching part of me takes over, and I slide my hands up his chest and over his shoulders to clasp behind his neck. My fingers tangle in his long silky hair, and I love how new and different it feels. Everything about him is so different, like tasting an exotic food for the first time that quickly leads to crazy indulgence. That magnetic pull I felt the first time I laid eyes on him is a force to be reckoned with right now. It’s controlling me, taking over every part of me, squashing my fears and reservations, and paving a very clear path that leads directly to this man. I cannot even begin to understand or make the tiniest bit of sense of this attraction. But it’s there, and it’s stronger than anything I�
�ve ever felt in my life.

  Suddenly, he stops kissing me, his lips just a whisper away from mine, and stares into my eyes for a few moments, before letting his dark eyes slowly close as he pulls me closer against his body, his hard cock pressing against me through our clothes, sending a hot surge of raw desire through me.

  What I glimpsed in his eyes shook me even more than his kiss.

  Passion.

  Care.

  Desire.

  All feelings that carry the ability to give immense pleasure and pain. Neither of which I am ready for.

  I slowly try to pull myself away from him, but he holds me close against him.

  “Wow,” I say breathlessly, leaning my head against his shoulder.

  “Come upstairs with me, and let’s see if we can upgrade that to a holy shit,” he whispers, his hand resting on the back of my neck, gently squeezing.

  A wave of heat rushes to my thighs, making my insides quiver at his words. I am so out of my league right now with him. Could I actually please a man like this, with my lack of experience, not to mention my very not-perfect body? I wonder, if I buy the thigh master and do it for ten hours a day, what kind of results I can achieve in a week, coupled with one of those cabbage soup diets maybe.

  “Lukas, I can’t. I really have to go home . . .”

  He doesn’t let go of me. Instead, he takes my hands in his and holds on to them between us while his eyes seek out mine.

  “Don’t be nervous.” He lifts my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to it. “Come upstairs with me. I want to sit on the couch with you and hold you and kiss you for hours. We don’t have to do anything else. I just don’t want this feeling to end.” His eyes are full of hope and want, reflecting my own emotions. I feel so connected to him, like everything we are feeling is the same. Equal. Together.

  God, I want him. So bad. I cannot think of anything that would be better than being in his arms for hours. His kisses and touches are a slice of heaven I have never even dreamed of, and I want more.

  I try to catch my breath and regain my composure. “I can’t. It’s getting late, and I really don’t want my daughter worrying about where I am. She’s not used to me not being home.”