He said it without rancor, obviously blaming himself rather than her. A sudden insight burst inside her. As often as she compared Lucas’s arrogance to her father’s, this was one stark difference—unlike her father, Lucas admitted when he was wrong. Even when it was the hardest thing in the world for him to do.
Conflicting emotions swirled inside Allie—empathy for this powerful man sometimes laid low by his mistakes, and her lingering anger over his actions. “You should have asked me first about the car.”
“I know. But I only wanted you to be safe.”
How could she fault him for that? Allie’s heart melted, washing away her ire. “Thank you.”
He raised a brow in query. “For…?”
“For the car. For the apology.”
He looked away again, then nodded brusquely. “You’re welcome.”
“Lucas…” She waited until he’d turned back to her. “I’ll miss you…riding into work, I mean. And home.”
He rounded the kitchen island, closed the distance between them. “I’ll miss you, too.” Bending, he brushed a kiss across her forehead, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
The ever-present desire flared in his gray eyes, setting Allie’s heart to racing. He swallowed, the movement of his strong throat entrancing.
He backed away, banging his elbow on the kitchen counter. He snatched up his briefcase, headed for the door to the garage. “See you in the office.”
Over the rumble of the garage door opening, Allie heard Mrs. Vasquez calling out a hello as she came in the front door. Dazed, Allie leaned against the granite-topped island as Mrs. Vasquez entered the kitchen.
“Has Mr. Taylor gone to work?” Mrs. Vasquez asked, pulling an apron from a drawer.
“Yes. And I should, too.” Waving a sketchy goodbye to the housekeeper, Allie picked up her purse and headed out to the garage. Climbing into the Volvo, she ran her hand over the butter-soft leather seat. The door shut with a satisfying, solid ka-chunk. The engine started with a quiet purr.
One hand on the leather-covered steering wheel, she reached for the gearshift, ready to shift into reverse. Her gaze fell on the center of the wheel, near the button for the horn. Attached there was an engraved gold plate, glimmering in the dim light of the garage.
Allie skimmed her fingers over the letters—Alison Taylor—and shook her head in disbelief. Each time she discovered a new depth to Lucas, another layer presented itself. Would she ever truly understand the man she’d married?
A bittersweet smile curving her lips, she backed from the garage and headed off to work.
Lucas drove north on Highway 99, his eyes hooded against the glare of the Mercedes’s headlights. Exhaustion lay heavily on his shoulders. A quick glance at the car’s clock—it was well past ten—and he felt even more tired. He should be home by now, sitting with Allie and watching the evening news while she read her book. Or better yet, wrapped in her arms in his bed.
No profit in letting his thoughts run in that direction. Flipping on the car fan to vent cool air on his face, he changed to the right-hand lane in anticipation of taking the Highway 50 exit. Wisps of tule fog drifted across his path as he drove, a distraction that tightened the point of tension between his eyes. Every fiber of him ached to be home, to be sharing the company of a woman he’d become frighteningly dependent upon within such a short time.
Throughout the afternoon and early evening, she’d been almost a lifeline for him. Every call he’d made to the home office had been on the pretext of business. He needed a fax of last month’s sales data broken down by product category, a memo dictated over the phone then e-mailed to him, the phone number of a supplier back east. But as the day wore on, Lucas realized simply talking to Allie, just hearing her voice on the phone was a balm to his jangled nerves. She energized him, restored him.
He’d called her as he was leaving the Modesto plant, this time at home. Her voice had sounded a little sleepy and he wondered if she’d dozed off on the living-room sofa while she read. She’d had dinner without him—some of Mrs. Vasquez’s chicken adobo. He’d had two calls, one from John, one from Melissa—a woman he’d dated only a few months ago—who’d been shocked to learn he was married.
Allie had promised she’d wait up for him. That was what pulled him now, weighted his foot on the accelerator, pushed his speed slightly past the limit. The quicker he got home, the sooner he could be with her. It ought to terrify him that seeing Allie meant so much to him; in fact it did. He didn’t care.
As he pulled up his driveway, headlights cutting through the misty darkness, he exhaled a long breath, eager for his first glimpse of Allie. In the garage, he cut the Benz’s engine, left his briefcase on the seat as he climbed from the car. Slipping into the house, he tossed his keys to the breakfast table and headed for the living room.
When he first saw her, his heart squeezed so tight in his chest he couldn’t breathe. She was curled up on the sofa, sound asleep. The one lit lamp in the room cast a golden glow on her face. Her head rested on the sofa’s arm, her fingers lay lax on the book she’d been reading. The softness of her parted lips, the slope of her breast under her turtleneck sweater teased him, tempted him to touch her.
He sank down on one knee beside her, brushed her dark hair from her face with the lightest of contact. “Allie,” he murmured. “Allie, honey.”
Her eyes fluttered open, confusion in their green depths. “Oh.” The sound whispered from her lips. “I guess I fell asleep.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “I guess you did.” His fingers were still tangled in her hair. “I’m sorry I’m so late.”
She pushed herself up, and he let his hand fall back to his side. “I’m sorry you had to stay so long. Did you solve that problem with the supplier?”
He straightened, then sank onto the sofa beside her. “For now.” He leaned back with a sigh. He was home now, with Allie. He could let go of the day’s stress.
“You must be dead tired.” She rubbed a hand down his arm, the light pressure of her fingers warming him even through his suit jacket. “Let me rub your shoulders.”
Even as a tingle of sensation marched up his spine at the suggestion, his good sense sent out a warning. Having Allie’s hands on him would only lead them both into perilous territory.
He looked at her sidelong. “That’s not a good idea, Allie.”
A series of emotions flickered across her face—first hurt that he’d rejected her invitation, then realization when she’d understood his meaning, then determination. “I’m only offering to rub your shoulders, Lucas. We’ll both be keeping our clothes on.”
Color rose in her cheeks, far too enticing. He should tell her no, should head off to bed, to the safety of his room. Instead he presented his back to her.
She rested her hands on his shoulders. “You have to take off your jacket.”
He hesitated, then tugged his arms free, tossed the jacket to the other end of the sofa. Sitting stiffly, he waited for her to touch him.
His breath caught at the first gentle contact, then whooshed out as she stroked along his shoulder blades. Warmed by her palms, his skin heated beneath the thin cotton of his dress shirt. His body reacted to her nearness, sensation shooting up his spine with each pass of her hands across his back.
If she’d intended to relax him, she was failing miserably. But where the tension of the day’s catastrophes had exhausted and demoralized him, Allie’s touch re-charged him, filled him with an urgency to act. That the act his body suggested to him was forbidden didn’t seem to dampen its enthusiasm.
She dug her thumbs into the taut muscles of his neck, then along his shoulders. In the wake of the steady pressure, aches he hadn’t known he’d locked in his body eased. The troubles of the day dispersed like valley mist chased by morning sun. All the yearning he’d felt driving home to Allie crystallized in that moment into pure contentment.
But his balance on that razor-sharp edge between pleasure and despair was too precarious to tr
ust. He tried to hold back the feelings, the unfamiliar emotions. But they seemed to rush willy-nilly inside him, filling him with confusion.
Allie’s gentle strokes moved slightly lower on his back to his trapezius. Suddenly realizing where her hands were moving, Lucas tensed, ready to pull away. But her sure fingers found the ugly ridge of scarring before he could shift away from her.
As she ran her fingertips along the periphery of the marred skin, Lucas grew still, frozen by anticipation of her questions. When her hands stuttered in their discovery of the expanse of ruin, from six inches below his shoulder to just above his waist, a sick dread built in his gut. He guessed at the horror she must feel, the aversion.
Then her hands moved again, gliding up his back. He felt her lean close, felt her lips press to the nape of his neck. In that moment, he thought his heart might burst.
“Better?” she murmured.
He wanted to reach behind him for her, to curve his arms around her and pull her close. He kept his hands in his lap. “Much better. Thank you.”
She rested her cheek against his back. “Shall we turn on the news? The eleven o’clock should still be on.”
He ached to say yes, to spend an hour, two, so close to her. But the roil of emotions in him drove him to his feet. He felt the coolness of the air between them when they parted.
“I’m pretty beat.” Reaching for his jacket, he slung it over his shoulder. “I’m heading for bed.”
Can I join you? he imagined her saying. Can I sleep with you tonight?
But of course she said nothing of the kind. She just smiled, her expression sweet and wistful all at once. “See you in the morning, then.” She reached for her book. “I’m going to read a bit more, then I’ll be up.”
He nodded good-night, started for the stairs. He thought he could feel her gaze on him, but he didn’t dare look back. If he did, he might not be able to leave her.
He felt so edgy, he thought he’d never fall asleep. But his brutal exhaustion took him nearly the moment his head hit the pillow.
Allie set aside her book and rubbed at her burning eyes. It was nearly 2:00 a.m., long past time she went to bed. The book wasn’t that riveting—she just felt too restless to sleep.
She sighed, gazing up the stairs Lucas had climbed hours ago. It hadn’t felt right today having him gone, even though he was only seventy miles away in Modesto. Each time she’d passed his empty office, a hollow ache had settled in her stomach. She’d found herself staring at the phone, waiting for it to ring, willing it to be him on the other end of the line.
Each time he’d called, for a quarterly fiscal report or a list of employee salaries, her heart had beat faster. When he’d call back to confirm he’d received the data, the rumble of his voice in her ear sent her pulse racing.
When she’d phoned him at six to let him know she was leaving for the day, he’d sounded harried and frustrated. She wanted nothing more than to be there with him, to soothe him.
Glancing at the clock, she winced at the late hour. She ought to at least take the book upstairs and read in bed. Snapping off the light, she headed for the stairs. When she reached the second-floor landing, she looked toward Lucas’s room, wishing the light still burned under the closed door, that she could go inside and spend a few more minutes with him.
In her room, she quickly went through her nightly routine of face washing and teeth brushing, then threw on an oversized T-shirt for bed. Although it hung nearly to her knees, the sleep shirt wouldn’t be warm enough when winter settled in with its chill rain. But for now, the short-sleeved shirt was sufficient for cool autumn nights.
Reaching for the covers, she realized she’d left the book downstairs. She debated with herself whether she should even bother retrieving it—she had few enough hours until morning. But reading a couple more pages would help relax her.
She got as far as the landing when she heard a long, low groan from Lucas’s room. She moved closer to the door, pressed her ear against it. Another cry, half scream, half moan, filtered through the heavy wooden door.
“Lucas?” She said his name softly at first, loathe to wake him. “Lucas?”
“No!” His shout sent a chill arrowing up her spine. “No!”
She hesitated only another heartbeat before wrenching open the door. The light from the landing spilled into the room, dimly illuminating the large bed that dominated the far wall. Lucas lay tangled in the covers, writhing and struggling against some unknown demon.
“Please!” His pleading tone gripped her heart. “Please… No!”
She quickly covered the distance to the bed, sank to the edge. “Lucas.”
His arm shot out, his hand grabbing a fistful of her T-shirt. “Please,” he pleaded again, his eyes still shut tight. He tugged at her.
Murmuring his name, Allie stroked his bare arm, from wrist to shoulder. His hand went lax, releasing her shirt, then his arm slipped around her. He pulled her toward him, shifting his body until she lay beside him.
A thin blanket and sheet provided the only barrier between them. With the covers low on his hips, Lucas held Allie tight against the bare expanse of his chest. The soft curls there tickled her cheek, tempted her to touch them. Tentatively she placed her hand on the taut muscle, threaded her fingers into the nest of hair.
He sighed, the long exhalation signaling the dispersal of his nightmare. Bringing his other arm around her, he pulled her even closer so she had to hook her leg over his. As his heat seeped into her, warming her despite the lack of covers, a sense of well-being permeated every cell of her being.
As her hand moved in a lazy, slowing pattern along his side, his back, sleep lapped at her, tugging her closer to unconsciousness. When her fingers brushed again against the scar she’d felt earlier on his back, he stirred, seemed to nearly wake. As she stroked lightly, he drifted back into sleep and only a few moments later, she followed.
Before she even opened her eyes, bliss infused Allie when she woke the next morning. Lucas still held her close, one arm cushioning her head, the other draped over her waist. Her T-shirt had ridden up to her hips and she’d flung one leg over his. The covers lay rumpled on the other side of the bed. There was nothing between her and his rigid manhood but the thin knit of her panties.
He thrust against her and her eyes flew open. From the laxness of his face, she realized he wasn’t yet awake, aware of what he was doing. Even so, with his arousal pressed against her, her breath caught and wet warmth spread between her legs.
She had to wake him, to stop him. But the enervating pleasure of the pressure against her sensitive center kept her mute. Even as her cheeks flamed with the shame of her enjoyment of his unconscious state, she shut her eyes, wriggled closer to him.
She knew the instant he woke. He stilled, his manhood still thrust against her. His low groan vibrated against her, heightening the sensations his body sent through her. Forcing herself to open her eyes, she met his gaze.
The harsh lines of his face, so relaxed in sleep, stood out sharply in the pale morning light. “Allie?”
She started to pull away, but he stopped her. “I…you…” she stuttered. “You had a nightmare. I just…”
He stroked her hair back from her brow. “You came to comfort me.” His voice was as harsh as his face although he didn’t seem angry.
Allie tried a smile. “You didn’t seem to want to let me go.”
“No,” he said quietly. “I don’t.”
She puzzled over his statement, over his enigmatic expression. “Do you remember it? The nightmare?”
His jaw tightened. “I don’t remember my dreams.”
He wasn’t being honest with her; she could see it in his eyes. As she slid a hand up his back, her fingertips skimmed the edges of his scar. He flinched, sucking in a breath.
Allie jerked her hand away. “I’m sorry. Does it hurt?”
He shook his head slowly, but Allie saw pain reflected in his face, mingled with a soul-deep grief. In that moment she would h
ave done anything to ease the agony within him.
“Lucas—”
He lowered his mouth to hers, covered her body with his own. While his tongue thrust between her lips, the heated length of his manhood burned her thighs.
“Lucas…” she moaned, trembling, as passion sapped everything from her body but need.
Chapter Eight
If he had taken her in that moment she would have let him.
So overwhelmed with sensation was she, every fiber of her being screamed for release. But when she might have expected him to rip her shirt, her panties from her, he seemed to gather his control back around him. His kiss gentled, his lips skimming across hers, his tongue trailing along her cheek and jaw, flicking lightly in her ear.
Rearing up over her, he cradled her face in his hands. “We can stop now, Allie,” he said, his voice rough-edged.
His eyes were hooded as he gazed down at her, something hiding in the gray depths, a puzzle that teased her to untangle it.
Even as he dragged in ragged breath after ragged breath, he kept those few inches of distance from her. The taut muscles of his shoulders stood out in ropy tension.
An ache started in her chest, the longing to soothe him, to be his balm against the devils raging inside him an undeniable urgency. Even more than the sexual need that flared inside her, echoed in his gray eyes, the yearning to comfort him drove her. Surely in intimacy, in a joining of their bodies, the walls would come down and Lucas, the real man, vulnerable and powerful all at once, would step clear of his self-imposed chains.
As answer, Allie curved a hand behind his head, tugging him closer. “Love me,” she whispered as she touched her lips to his.
He resisted a moment more, pulling back. “I haven’t got protection,” he said harshly.
Protection. She hadn’t even considered it, rejoiced now when she realized she was in the least fertile part of her cycle. “Don’t worry,” she murmured. “It’s a safe time for me.”
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