Lucas : A Preston Brothers Novel (Book 1)(62)
It took three sessions for Lucas to understand that by me talking about it, it didn’t mean that I blamed myself. I just wanted closure. For me. So I could move on and not second-guess everything I said, everything I did, especially when it came to our relationship—which, Lucas and I agreed—was the most important thing to both of us. “And sexing,” Lucas quipped. Lily didn’t find it as funny as I did, but… she didn’t know him the way I do. No one does.
When we got home that night, he spent two hours showing me how he thought I should be treated. He was so careful with my body, so gentle with his touch, so open with his adoration both physically and emotionally. I cried when his lips skimmed my scars, when he whispered my name, when he told me he loved me, when he let me experience the pleasure of his mouth, of his fingers, of his determination to love me right. And when I was done, he lay beside me, kissed away my tears, and I thought of Dad’s words all those years ago:
“You impress people with your mind. With your kind heart and humble attitude. And while you’re a beautiful girl, your looks or the way you dress shouldn’t be the reason people are impressed by you. And when you’re older and boys start to notice you, I want you to remember that. Because if it’s only your looks they’re attracted to, then they’re not the one for you, Lo. You can do better. You will do better.”
I took Luke’s face in my hands, kissed him until I could no longer breathe. “You’re the one for me, Lucas Preston.”
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” It’s the third time he’s asked in the past five minutes. Today’s the first day he’ll be working with his dad. It’s also the first day classes start at UNC. He was able to defer a semester due to our circumstances (and also a little pull from Vivian), and it’s the first time he’s leaving me alone for more than an hour.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Babe.”
“I wouldn’t go if Dad didn’t need me.”
“I want you to go. I want you to have more in your life than just sitting at home and taking care of me,” I tell him, bagging his lunch at the kitchen counter of our apartment. As soon as I was able to climb the stairs without trouble, we moved back in, and I moved in—officially. Dad comes by every second day, like clockwork. I see him more now than I did when I lived at home.
Luke wraps his arms around my waist, kisses my neck. “But I like doing that.”
I turn in his arms, look up at him. “And I love you for it.”
“What are you doing today?”
“Hanging with Leo. He’s taking Vivian and me to that craft store in Charlotte. She can’t stop knitting now that she knows how to do it.”
Luke’s gaze narrows as he steps back, eyes me from head to toe. “Are you trying to make me jealous?”
I giggle. “No. But is it working?”
“Is this what you’re wearing?”
I look down at my dress. Back up at him. “Yeah. Why?”
“It’s a little too cute to be wasted on Leo, don’t you think?”
God, he does crazy things to my heart… and other places, a little lower. I pull down the collar of his Preston Construction work shirt, kiss his collarbone, bite it gently.
He moans, cups my ass, squeezes it—not so gently—and I squirm under his touch.
“I know you want me, Lane. Just ask for it.”
I do. “Shut up.”
He shifts my dress to my hips, lifts me onto the counter, then raises an eyebrow. “So?”
I shake my head, press my lips tight, and he chuckles, nuzzles my neck, kisses me there, soft and slow.
I grasp his arms, try to stay upright. But then he lowers the strap of my dress and frees my breasts from my bra and his mouth is there and I go insane with want, with need, and my hands are on his belt, on his zipper, and I’m releasing him while he pushes my panties to the side, and the front door opens, and I squeal, and Luke says, “Fuck!” and Leo says, “Fuck,” and Lachlan, eyes covered by Leo’s hand, says, “Are they sexing?”
“Two minutes,” I breathe out.
Lucas scoffs. “Twenty-eight minutes.”
Without a word, Leo takes Lachlan, and they leave, close the door after them.
I laugh. “Twenty-eight minutes?”
“What?”
“So specific. Do you time yourself?”
“Shut up. And why is the front door unlocked? I told you to make sure—”
“You were out last when you went for your run!” I cut in.
“Was not.”
“Was to!”
“Was not!”
“Was to!”
He rolls his eyes. “We’re like an old married couple.”
I smile.
“What?”
He knows what. “Nothing.”
He stands higher, covers me up and adjusts my dress. I do the same for him. His pants—he doesn’t wear dresses. He kisses me once. “Have a good day with Leo and Vivian.”
“Have a good day at work.” I hand him his lunch, and he kisses me again. “I’ll miss you,” I tell him, and I really will. I’ve gotten so used to him being around.
He heads for the door, and I start on cleaning the kitchen.
“Hey, Lane,” he says, hand on the doorknob.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll need a few years.”
“For what?”
“For the whole married-couple thing.”
My heart lodges in my throat, stops me from breathing.
“Wait for me, okay?”
I nod, unable to speak.
He smiles. “I love you, Lois Lane.”
I get home a half hour before Luke does, and when he enters our apartment covered in construction dust and dirt, I frown. “How was your day?”
“It was okay,” he tells me. “I’m going to jump in the shower real quick.”
He returns to the living room five minutes later, shirtless and in running shorts.
“You going for a run?”
He shakes his head, flops onto the floor between the couch and the coffee table, rolls his neck from side to side.
I sit behind him, massage his shoulders, and he moans in appreciation. “Tough day?” I ask, kissing his cheek.
“I don’t think I realized how hard our dads work until today.”
“Did you hate it?”
“As weird as it sounds, I really enjoyed it. I mean, I’d worked for him before, but it was different today. I was in the mix, you know? It’s good, hard, honest work. And when you think about it, we’re building a house for a family, and they’re going to live and make memories in there. It’ll mean so much to them. It’s… rewarding.”
“So… you like working?”
He grasps one of my hands, stops me from working on his shoulders, and turns to me. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”
“About what?”
“Well…” He moves to sit on the couch next to me and shifts my legs until they’re on top of his. He massages my knee, says, “This project is going to be done in a couple of weeks. After that, they’re building a new house from the bottom up, and I think I really want to be part of that. See it through to the end. Dad said he could use the extra hands, and I could work around your rehab and our therapy, and it’s not like we couldn’t use the money.”
“I’ll get a job.”
“Babe.” He laughs once, waits until I’m looking at him. “You’re not listening to me.”
“I am. But this isn’t 1950, Luke. I’m not just here to make you lunch and send you off to work to provide for me.”
He sighs, his gaze distant. “I don’t see the problem with that, Lane. That’s how things were with my mom and dad, and it worked for them. The point is I want to work. And I want to take care of you. I don’t want you getting a job until you’re fully healed, and even then you don’t have to. You can go to community college, build up some credits, or not… I mean, you can do whatever you want. You can sit around and knit all day. I don’t care. I just want you to do whatever is going to make you happy.”
“And this job,” I ask, loving him more with every second, “this job is going to make you happy?”
“I think so.”
“What about UNC?”
“UNC is months away; we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
Chapter Forty-One
LOIS
We did cross that bridge. Lucas deferred for another semester. He was in the middle of building a house, and he wanted to see it to the end, so he did. I got my old job back, working at the movie theater, day shifts only. It was pretty quiet during the day, so I spent most of the time flipping through course catalogs trying to find something that interested me. It’s been six months, and I still don’t know what to do with my life.
My injuries have fully healed, but like the docs said, I still have a slight limp. That’s never going to change. Neither will my undying love for the boy sitting opposite me at the kitchen table, watching me, his eyes worried.
“Why didn’t Vivian give it to me?” I ask, looking down at the envelope addressed to Lois Sanders from an inmate at North Carolina Department of Correction.
Lucas says, “She wanted me to decide whether or not to give it to you.”