Sweet Nothing(22)

“Nah.” The smile lines around his eyes crease slightly. “Kick ass SoBe parties be damned. I’d rather be here than anywhere else.” He reaches for my cup and tugs it gently from my grip, resting it on the coffee table. “And to tell you the truth, I’m glad everybody cleared out early.”

“Oh. Yeah. Me, too.” My mouth goes dry, and I search his face for meaning. Does he mean that he’s glad we’re alone? It’s what I want him to mean, the kind of wanting that reaches down deep and holds me captive next to him. And at the same time, I know the truth: Luke would never want a liar like me.

“So, it went well, don’t you think? I mean, the kids had a good time, and I loved seeing your place and everything.” I’m chattering, a nervous habit I’ve had since I was a kid.

“Yeah, it was a good time.” I can feel him watching me. When silence falls between us, he doesn’t fill it. Wanting tugs at my core. A warning sign.

“Okay. I should go.” I don’t move.

“Big plans tonight?”

“I think Gwen and Waverly are baking cookies.” My voice is high; lilts up at the end like I’m asking a question. I regret the childish words the instant they leave my mouth. And even more once Luke bursts out laughing.

“You know, you’re tough to read sometimes.”

“Yup, that’s me. Complicated. Many layers.” I stand to leave, but Luke reaches for my wrist, pulling me to seated again.

“Wait. I didn’t—I meant that in a good way.” He leans close, brushing my bangs away from my forehead. “It’s like, you’re this incredibly strong woman and this sweet little girl at the same time.”

Woman. I don’t usually like it when guys use that word, but when it leaves Luke’s lips it sounds hot. And I like that he sees the kid in me too, the part of me that doesn’t have it all together. It’s like he’s glimpsed the real me, and he’s not turning away.

“I don’t feel strong,” I murmur. It feels good to tell the truth. “Not today, anyway.”

“Well, you obviously don’t see what I see,” Luke says softly. With both hands, he reaches out and strokes the studs in my ears with his thumbs. His fingers graze my neck, sending electric jolts through me. My body is warm, and strung so tight I don’t trust myself to breathe. I want him to kiss me. I want him to protect me. And I know I should leave, but I can’t.

“Luke, I—”

And then his hands are gripping my shoulders and he’s pulling me into him. And his mouth is on mine, so warm and sweet that my mind goes blank and my body is shaking with anticipation. I kiss him back, hard. In this moment, there is nothing standing between us: not my past, not my lies, not my deceit. There’s only Luke and me. His eyes, my mouth, his hands, my hips.

Luke’s tongue searches my mouth. Gentle but strong, exactly like him. I run my hands through his thick, dark hair, almost clawing at him. I want him so badly it aches. I lean back, let my head rest on the arm of the couch, trying to get my bearings as he explores me with his mouth: my neck, the hollow at the base of my throat, then the outline of my ear.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the second I saw you,” he whispers, his words soft on my neck.

I say nothing, just gasp as he bites my lip. Tracing my collarbone with his fingers, he stops, teasingly, just short of my breasts, but my nipples harden beneath the silk of my dress anyway. He notices and smiles.

I want to devour him. No. I want to give in to him, to let him take control.

His lips find mine again, and just as quickly, I feel the chill of air-conditioning where his warmth has been. My eyes snap open. He’s pulled away.

“Everything okay?” I sit up. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer, just watches me for a few seconds. My heart is still pounding in my ears.

“Yeah. Fine. Stay right there,” he instructs me, bounding off the couch. “Don’t move! I’ll be right back.” He cuts across the chapel and throws open one of the doors close to the entrance. A bathroom, I think. “Seriously! Don’t move!”

“Clearly, it was as good for you as it was for me,” I mutter under my breath, straightening my dress. It’s been a while since I’ve made out like that—okay, made out at all—but am I seriously rusty enough to send a guy running to the bathroom?

“Okay. I’m back. Just stay… right there. God, you’re beautiful.” Luke emerges holding a cylindrical oatmeal container wrapped in black duct tape.

“What the hell is that?”

“Pinhole camera, from my darkroom. I made it myself—takes awesome pictures.