Chasing Forever(42)

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You owe me many more gestures of kindness before I feel indebted to you.”

“A man has to start somewhere.” She saw the edges of his mouth curl up in a smile as he ran his finger along her bottom lip, his eyes possessive and intense. “Let’s get out of here and pursue those other ideas.” He lifted her up again and started climbing up the hill in the direction of the mine and their car.





Chapter Eighteen





Regan knew exactly what Lucas hoped would happen when they returned to his house. His hooded amber gaze and his husky voice made it perfectly clear what he wanted.

As they drove along the highway, hundreds of reasons raced through her head warning, no begging, her to say no to him, and only two reasons why she should say yes. Because she missed being with him and she really, really wanted him.

She had spent the last six years doing everything right, and if she thought about the decision hanging over her right now, she would walk straight into her room when they returned to his house and lock her door. But she knew she wouldn’t do it because when it came to Lucas Evanston, she couldn’t resist his sinful smile, his charm or his wit, and it had been so long since she’d been with anyone—over six years to be exact, not that she’d ever share that fact with Lucas.

She’d dated over the years, and a few times she wanted to take the relationship to the next level, but she never could. Lucas Evanston was like a specter hanging over her life, and maybe for that reason alone, she needed to pursue this. If nothing came of it, and tomorrow she hated him again, at least she would have some closure instead of the bomb that went off in her face the last time she dated him.

Lucas pulled into the garage of his family’s vacation home and grabbed her hand as she reached for the door handle. “Let me carry you inside.”

She started to shake her head, but he lifted her hand, brought it to his mouth and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “Please,” he said, looking at her through his dark fringed amber eyes that were even more heated than before. “Let me take care of you.”

“Okay,” she whispered after taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. “I can do that.” For now, she added silently because it was distinctly possible she would start hyperventilating in the next five minutes if she didn’t get out of her head and into the moment.

Lucas opened her car door, and he bent down, his eyes never leaving hers, not even for a moment. “Ready?” he asked. Despite the mischievous grin on his face that highlighted the dimple she was beginning to adore even more now than six years ago, she felt happy. Six years ago, Lucas could make her heart skip a beat with a mere touch. Right now she wanted to feel that connection and breathtaking desire again. If that made her stupid, so be it. She’d deal with it tomorrow.

Regan wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yes,” she said, knowing she might very well be saying yes to a lot more than being carried into the house. The house was quiet as Lucas carried her inside.

When he reached the entrance to her room, he stopped. “Do you need ice for your ankle?”

“I’m not sure,” she answered. Truthfully, her ankle didn’t hurt much anymore and she was much more interested in the warm flush spreading through her body from being so close to him than any lingering pain.

Lucas placed her tenderly in bed on her back. “Let me look at it,” he said, his voice gravelly and warm slithering over her senses.

Without warning, he glided the hem of her pencil skirt up her legs, inch by slow inch, until his hands were positioned on the back of her upper thighs, pausing there to draw leisurely circles on her feverish skin.

She sat up, bracing her upper body on her elbows. “Ankle, not leg. Remember?”

“Are you sure it was just your ankle? I don’t want to miss anything serious. I think we need to check everything.” He moved his hands from her thighs, downward, stopping at her knee. “Like your knee. You could have twisted it when you fell.”

She shivered. “No. My knee is fine.”

Smiling, his moved his hands lower. “What about your shin? You could have hit your shin on a rock.”

Her lips parted, and she nearly moaned from his touch. “No,” she whispered unable to say anything else.

“Okay. Let’s check your ankles.” His hands moved again, feather-like touches that practically burned her skin. “Which one hurts?”

“The right,” she answered.

He moved her ankle in a slow circular pattern. “It doesn’t look swollen. Does it hurt when I move it?”

“A little.”

“Hmm…” He released her foot back onto the bed.