Beauty and the Bachelor(32)

His posture and tone remained the same, but still she sensed a change in him. And she braced herself.

"I was fourteen. I had stayed home from school that day because of a  cold. Tired of being cooped up in my room, I'd gone downstairs for a  snack, and that's when I heard them in the study, arguing. Nothing new  about that except it was one o'clock in the afternoon. Dad was never  home from work that early. I remember stopping outside the cracked study  doors, eavesdropping, my stomach hurting. But not from being sick. I  knew something was different. My father never yelled, no matter how mad  Mom made him. But this time, he was screaming at her. His business  partner. His best friend. The man he'd trusted most. She'd slept with  him. He was devastated. I'd never heard that agony in his voice before.  And she … she didn't give a damn."

Lucas couldn't conceal the bitterness and rage. It spilled through,  burning away the cold in his voice, though his face remained impassive.  Her fingers itched to touch him, to try and soothe the hurt in the only  way she knew how. The only way he would allow.

"From that day forward, everything spiraled down at lightning speed. Dad  stopped going into the office, just shut himself up in the study. He  couldn't face the man who'd betrayed him with the one person he'd loved  most in the world. And his partner took full advantage of my father's  grief. Not three months after Dad found out about them, his  friend"-Lucas spat the word-"formed his own company, convinced the bulk  of their clients to follow him, and left my father with a failing,  bankrupt business. He was dealing with that when Mom-" He broke off,  straightened, and stalked to the bar. Several long moments passed as he  poured himself a drink and threw it back, barely flinching. After he  served himself another one, holding the squat tumbler in his hand, he  continued. "Mom and I were in a car accident."

Sydney gasped, horror squeezing her heart in a pitiless fist.

"Is that where you were … "

"Scarred? Yes. While she argued with her current lover on the phone, the  traffic light changed from yellow to red, and she didn't notice. We  were T-boned, and we spun out, wrapped around a tree. She died  instantly."

"Oh, Jesus, Luke," she whispered. "You were trapped in the car with her."

Again, an abrupt dip of his head. "Mom was dead, I had a broken arm and  was permanently scarred, and the business my father had built was gone,  stolen. I think Mom's death was it for him. Though she'd betrayed him  over and over again, had eventually left him, he still loved her. One  day, about three months after the accident, he told me he was sending me  to Chicago for the summer. To get me out of Boston and away from the  memories. I didn't want to go, but Dad was adamant. My flight was  supposed to leave on a Tuesday morning, but when the car arrived at the  airport, I lied and told the driver I'd forgotten my ticket. We returned  home, and I went directly to Dad's study, ready to argue with him. But  when I pushed the door open, I saw … "

He stopped, a muscle ticking alongside his jaw, his knuckles clenched so  tight around the glass they blanched white. Unable to remain in her  chair any longer, she rose and went to him. Pried the tumbler from his  hand. Wrapped her arms around him. Squeezed him tight, as if she could  transfer her warmth to him. As if she could absorb his pain. Several  seconds passed. Then his arms encircled her.         

     



 

"He must've done it as soon as I left. The smell, the blood … " He  shuddered, the tremble quaking through her. "Afterward, I found out he'd  made arrangements before … before. Living with my uncle, his half brother  I'd never met or knew existed. The adoption. The name change. The note  he left me said he wanted to give me a fresh start without the taint of  his name and legacy. I would've gladly carried his name," he swore  fiercely. "Proudly. But it had been his last wish, and I couldn't deny  him that. But as I stood over his grave, I promised I would regain  everything that had been stolen from him."

"Luke." She reached up, swept her thumbs over the lean lines of his  cheeks, over the patrician bones. Over the tough skin of his scar. "He  would be proud of you. You've achieved everything he had and more.  That's what he wanted for you. But," she rasped, shaking her head, "you  have to stop blaming yourself."

He stiffened against her. Grabbed her wrists as if to snatch her hands  away from him. But she tightened her hold, gripping his scalp.

"That's bullshit," he growled. "I don't blame myself."

"Yes, you do. Do you think I can't recognize guilt when I see it? After  it's been my best friend for so long? If you'd turned around ten minutes  earlier, you could've stopped him. If you'd refused to go to Chicago  instead of giving in, he would've delayed his plans and eventually  changed his mind. Anything you did wouldn't have changed his mind. You  said he already had arrangements in place. He was determined, and your  love for him and his for you wasn't enough to keep him here."

The last sentence rang in the room. His turquoise gaze nearly singed her in its intensity, and she refused to back down from it.

"And it's okay to be mad at him for it, Luke. After our talk in Seattle,  I returned to my room and admitted that all these years I had secretly  been mad at my little brother for jumping in that pool. He'd known  better. But it was okay for me to be angry with him, because I missed  him. I loved him. Your father left you. He didn't stick it out for you.  Being furious with him doesn't mean you love him any less."

His grip on her wrists tightened just shy of pain. Had she pushed too hard? Too soon?

"Luke, I-"

His mouth closed over hers, purloining whatever words would've come  next. Along with her breath. The kiss … it was soft. Gentle. Almost  reverent. No less breathtaking and powerful than his usual erotic  conquering, but … different. She opened under him, submitting to his  particular brand of passion as she usually did. But after a few moments,  she pulled away, cupped his face, tilted it down. And took control.

She pressed her lips to his forehead, his eyes, the scar, each cheek,  his chin. When he tried to recapture her mouth, she avoided him and  continued her path over his jaw, down his strong throat and over the  shallow dip in his collarbone revealed by the freed top button of his  shirt. His scent and taste-fresh rain after a storm and warm skin-roused  her desire from simmering coals to hot, licking flames.

With suddenly clumsy hands, she opened his shirt, the buttons seeming to  shrink in size as she fumbled to release them. Finally, she slipped her  hands underneath the gaping material and curved her palms over his  shoulders. Sighing at the taut flesh over solid muscle, she slid his  shirt from his shoulders. When they pooled at his wrists, he made quick  work of removing the cuff links and stripping the clothing off.

Since they'd first made love in Seattle, she'd seen him naked many  times. She wouldn't need sight to trace the delineated ridges of his  abdomen, the silken trail of hair bisecting his stomach, or the corded  muscle along his thigh. Still, that didn't keep her breath from snagging  in her throat at his masculine beauty. Slowly, she stroked her palms  over his broad shoulders, down his toned arms to tangle her fingers with  his. Rising on tiptoes, she grazed a kiss over his pectoral muscles,  down the strip of skin between before shifting to a small, flat nipple.

"This is for you," she murmured against his skin, flicking the tip of  her tongue over the dark brown disc. "Let me return the pleasure you  always give me."

Not waiting for his response, she sucked on the hard nub, lightly biting  down and soothing the sting with her tongue. Above her he swore, the  curse harsh, strained.

"Again," he ordered hoarsely. "Your teeth. Do it again."

She complied, grazing the edge of her teeth over the peak before  capturing it and nipping. Then she switched to the other nipple,  treating it to the same attention, swirling, teasing, worrying it. His  low growl vibrated under her mouth, the rhythmic clenching on her  fingers quickening, becoming more aggressive. She released his hands,  and they automatically darted to her head, sinking into her hair,  twisting, pulling, and the tiny stings to her scalp added to the heat  pouring through her veins. Yes, she kissed and tormented him. But his  grunts of pleasure, the coarse groans of "fuck yes" and "harder,  sweetheart," and the tense pull of muscles were like sensual caresses  stoking the fire in her higher, hotter.         

     



 

With a murmur, she sank to her knees, her lips tracing the light trail  of black hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his slacks. Like  his shirt, she attacked the closure, but unlike then, with surer  fingers. She lowered the zipper's tab, and the metallic teeth opened  with a muted hiss, revealing the band and front of his black boxer  briefs. Dipping her hand inside, she fisted hot steel flesh that pulsed  with its own heartbeat. Their moans of pleasure mingled as she freed the  long, thick column of his cock.