Luc (Rossi Brothers) Page 12

  She turned to look at him, her eyes scanning his face, and her stiff demeanor finally softened. “That worries you.”

  “Honestly? Yeah.” He set his hands on the counter behind her, caging her in, too afraid if he didn’t, she’d bolt again, and leaned over the temptation of her mouth. He had things he needed to tell her, and he wanted her undivided attention. “I like you. I haven’t made that a secret. I also haven’t made it a secret that I’m a permanent kind of guy. You can’t tell me you didn’t feel something. If you hadn’t, we’d be on our way to the grocery store by now. I’m standing here wondering if you’re about to ask me to leave.”

  The tension finally left her body. Her cheeks flushed, and she glanced down.

  He hooked a finger beneath her chin, tipping her face back to his. He made sure to keep his voice gentle, but he carefully enunciated the question for her again. He needed the answer. “Do. You. Regret it?”

  “No, but—”

  He put a finger to her lips, stopping the rest of the statement before it left her mouth. “No buts. Leave it at that. Don’t make a mess out of this by analyzing it to death. I told you, I’m not pushing you. I get where you’re at right now.”

  “Do you?”

  The need to hold her was too strong to deny anymore. He gave in, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against him. To his surprise, she didn’t push him away. “Yeah, I do. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. We talked about kids and dogs and the whole nine yards.”

  She dropped her gaze, her fingers stroking over his T-shirt. “Do you miss her?”

  He shrugged. “That’s hard to answer, because what I thought we had was all a lie, a fabrication she fed me. Mostly, I’m hurt and angry. I don’t like being lied to. You’re honest with me, even when you’re telling me something I don’t want to hear. It’s what I like about you. With you, what I see is what I get. It makes me feel safe, if you want the God’s honest truth.”

  Her gaze searched his face. “But how can you just … give in to this?”

  He smoothed her hair back, enjoying the silky feel against his palms. He couldn’t help himself. She was finally relenting, and he wanted to anchor her in the simplicity of the power between them. He needed to remind her he wasn’t the enemy.

  “Honestly? Because I can’t not give in. The thought of never seeing you again, never again feeling what I do right now, scares me a lot more than the thought that this might not work.” He hitched a shoulder. “I’m not allowing myself to think beyond that, because it doesn’t matter. What matters is right here, right now. I have to ask you again. Do you regret it?”

  “No.” Her voice came quietly in the space between them, so vulnerable he wanted to hug her tighter. “I’m just scared.”

  The knots in his gut finally eased. Scared he could work with.

  “Then let it be. We have cooking to do. I promised you I’d teach you, and I don’t break my promises.” He kissed her forehead, then forced himself to release her. He’d gotten somewhere with her, eased her fears and kept her from running. Now he had to let her take this at her pace, which meant pulling back a bit. So he latched onto the most obvious topic: teaching her to cook.

  He moved to the microwave, grabbed the notepad and pen he’d seen on the counter beside it earlier, and then returned to the center island and jotted down notes. “First, we need to make a trip to the grocery store. Your fridge is pretty empty. All you have in there are coffee creamer and margarine. What on earth do you survive on?”

  She peered over his shoulder as he scribbled down the items she’d need, the bare essentials. Having grown up in the restaurant, the task was second nature, and it kept him from focusing on the fact that they weren’t lying in bed, he wasn’t holding her, and they weren’t talking about all those things they needed to. But she wasn’t pushing him out of her life, and she was no longer shaking. It was a step in the right direction, at least.

  Her shoulder brushed his as she gave a halfhearted shrug. “Take-out mostly. The occasional frozen dinner. I can make coffee and my toast in the morning.”

  “Frozen dinners might be convenient, but they’re terrible. If you don’t mind cooking once a week, I can teach you to make and freeze stuff that’ll taste a ton better than that crap.” He shuddered, earning him a small grin that made her eyes glow and spawned a mix of triumph and warmth blooming like the sun inside of him. As long as she kept smiling at him like that, everything else would fall into place. He ripped the list from the pad and tucked it into his pocket, then pulled out his keys and held a hand out to her.

  “Come on. We’ve got shopping to do.”

  She hesitated, stared at his hand for a moment, and then smiled shyly and tucked her fingers in his.

  • • •

  “People are staring at us.”

  The back of her neck prickled, and her cheeks caught fire, as Liz followed Luc through the grocery store. The only one the town had was barely bigger than a small bedroom. They carried a little of everything but not much variety; she suspected Luc had come here for Mr. Sampson’s fresh produce, but she wished they’d gone to one of Oak Harbor’s larger chain stores.

  The minute he’d pulled into the small parking lot, she’d tried to stall. Taking her time getting out of the car. Making sure he had the list. Asking him inane questions, like what they’d come to get. The people in town would get a confirmation of what Luc had started at the Memorial Day celebration. Namely, that they were a couple. And she was right. As they moved through the store, people stopped and stared.

  Luc walked slightly ahead of her, a basket in one hand and her hand in the other, seemingly impervious to the gawkers. He tossed her a mischievous smile as he rounded a corner, heading for the produce section. “Smile and look happy, baby. Give them something to talk about.”

  The term of endearment set her nerves clanging together. She’d gotten far closer to him than she’d intended. This time when they’d made love, she’d allowed herself to need him. He made her feel alive, truly alive, for the first time in two years.

  She was still choking on the guilt. Instinct told her to push Luc out of the produce aisle, through the lobby, and right on out of her life, but she couldn’t. She had to move on. Even if it killed her.

  So here she was, following her heart and losing it in the process to a man who would have no part in her future. At some point, they’d outgrow their relationship. The wounds would heal, and they’d no longer need each other. She’d be left to figure out how to let him go as well.

  Rounding the corner and heading into the produce section, Liz caught the eye of a man who stopped to watch them walk by. He frowned in disapproval and turned away. Did they all know by now that she wrote erotic romance for a living?

  “Do you suppose people remember anything that man said at the festival last week?”

  Luc stopped in front of a bin full of garlic cloves and turned to study her. After a moment, he released her hand and hooked her around the waist, pulling her close. “You need to stop worrying so much. I don’t care what anybody thinks about you or us, and neither should you.”

  He pecked her lips and released her, turning to the garlic display. He picked up a bulb, weighed it in his palm, brought it to his nose and inhaled, and then placed it in the basket.

  “Now we need olive oil.” He took her hand again and walked off, leaving her to trail behind him like a lovesick puppy. “And when we’re done here, we’re visiting the bookstore in town.”

  Liz’s heart shot up into her throat, but Luc pulled her around the next aisle. “What do you mean we’re visiting the bookstore in town?”

  He paused in front of a shelf containing several brands of olive oil and turned to her. “Well, we don’t have to if you don’t really want to, but you should introduce yourself. You write for a living. What you write doesn’t matter for squat.”

  Liz emphatically shook her head. “I can’t do that.”

  Still holding her hand, he stroked his thumb acros
s her knuckles. His gaze softened. “You’re following a dream and making money doing it. You should be proud of that. Hold your head high, go into that shop, and set up a book signing or sign some stock. You can’t spend your life always looking over your shoulder, wondering whose going to be judging you.”

  She bit her bottom lip, gaze going hazy as she stared past him. He was right, of course. She’d used a pen name not because she was afraid of guys like Mr. Creepy, but out of fear of what people would say when they found out. And that was another step she wanted to take, another step into owning this part of her life.

  She refocused on Luc’s face. “You’ll go with me?”

  “You know I will.” He pressed a soft kiss to her lips then plucked a bottle of olive oil from the shelf and set it into the basket. He took her hand again and walked off. “Now come on. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can eat. I’m starved.”

  • • •

  Two hours later, Liz set the last couple of pasta pillows into the pot of boiling water on the stove and turned to survey the kitchen. She couldn’t stop the giggle that bubbled out of her. As it turned out, making gnocchi wasn’t quite as easy as Luc made it look. She’d found out the hard way that too heavy a hand with the flour made for chewy pasta.

  The pesto was simpler but hadn’t quite gone as planned. She’d forgotten to put the top on the blender and the ingredients rocketed out, splattering far and wide. There were even bits on the ceiling.

  “I’ve made quite the mess.”

  Wiping little green bits from the center island with a sponge, Luc let out a quiet laugh. “And then some. But you did it. You made yourself dinner.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” Granted, her kitchen was a mess, but she’d actually cooked something … and hadn’t burned it. She tipped her head back, peering at the ceiling, and couldn’t help another giggle. “I had no idea basil and olive oil could spread quite so far.”

  Luc let out a husky laugh, and she turned back to the stove. Using a slotted spoon, she pulled the floating balls of dough from the boiling water and set them in the bowl. The countertop now free of splattered pesto, Luc set the sponge in the sink and washed his hands before grabbing a spoon from the drawer. He dribbled the fresh sauce over the gnocchi, then picked up a large wedge of Parmesan cheese and grated it over the top.

  She pulled the last of the cooked pasta from the water, shut off the burner, and turned to watch him. She had to admit, if only to herself, she enjoyed watching him in his element more than actually cooking. She was awkward and clumsy. He made it look like an art form. “That looks nothing like the stuff in a can.”

  Luc shook his head, his lips pursing as he darted a glance at her. “It’s a good thing I found you. You need to learn to taste food all over again. Fresh is always better. Here. Try.” He chipped a hunk off the end of the triangular wedge of cheese and held it out to her. “You tell me the difference.”

  She took the bite from his fingers and chewed the piece slowly. “Buttery, salty, a little nutty. Mmm. Definitely a stronger flavor.” She flashed him a sheepish grin. “Okay, you got me. That’s delicious. Fresh is better.”

  He stabbed a bite of the pasta out of the bowl and lifted the fork to her mouth. “Now taste this. You made it.”

  As she chewed, her favorite flavors melted over her tongue. Herby, garlicy pesto. Soft, perfectly tender potato pasta. “Ohhh, that’s almost better than sex.”

  “I’ll take that as a challenge.”

  The heat in his gaze scorched her from the inside out. He stabbed another pillow of pasta and stepped closer, his belly brushing hers. This time, he set the bite in her mouth, then bent and licked the bit of pesto off her bottom lip. “Delicious.”

  He murmured the word between them, all the while watching with heavy-lidded eyes. By the time she swallowed her bite, her panties were damp. It was the look in his that caught her. The playfulness and warmth.

  Caught in his fathomless dark gaze, she settled a hand against his chest as she stared up at him. “I owe you a lot for today.”

  Going into Sharon’s New & Used Books, the little independent bookstore on Main Street, had been a nerve-wracking experience. Luc had insisted they drop by her house to pick up a copy of her last release before going down. Book in hand, she stopped at the checkout counter to speak with the owner, a woman in her mid-forties, to ask about getting some copies in the store. While there, two older ladies she recognized from church entered. Both had taken one look at her book on the counter and tossed looks of disgust and disapproval in her direction.

  “Garbage,” one woman had muttered to her companion.

  The other, a woman in her sixties in a shapeless, floral-printed dress buttoned clear up to her throat, nodded. “Utter blasphemy.”

  They’d stalked from the store, noses in the air, but Luc’s presence beside her had given her strength and courage. She’d pulled her shoulders back and owned it. Sharon had been only too happy to carry a couple of her books, filling her with pride and an unmatched sense of freedom. And he’d given that to her, simply by supporting her.

  “I’m not sure I could’ve gone into Sharon’s by myself. Now you’ve taught me to cook.” She shook her head, at a loss for words. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “I just like seeing you happy, but if you really feel the need, I have a few ideas …” He bent his head again, his lips grazing hers in a barely there kiss.

  “How’s that?” Liz closed her eyes, and a sigh escaped. She lifted onto her toes, needing the connection, and his mouth finally closed over hers. His other hand joined the first, sliding into her hair, pulling her closer and deepening the contact. His tongue stroked into her mouth, so damn tender every ounce of reserve left her.

  When she sagged into him, he let out an agonized groan and pulled his mouth from hers. His lips brushed her chin first, no longer tender but needy as he skimmed along her jawline to her earlobe. He nipped at the sensitive flesh, sending hot little shivers rocketing down her spine, then soothed the soft bite with a stroke of his tongue before moving to her throat. There, he kissed, licked, and nipped his way across her shoulder.

  “I’ll need to call my brother to be sure, but if I can get him to keep Alyssa tonight, I’m all yours.” He pulled back, his gaze searching hers.

  “You want to stay?”

  “If you’ll have me.” His hands fell to his sides.

  His heart was in his eyes. What must it mean for him to even admit he wanted to stay with her? This would be another step in a direction she wasn’t sure she ought to be going in.

  She gave a helpless shake of her head. “What are we doing, Luc?”

  “Getting lost.” He threaded their fingers, connecting them. “Forget the world. Forget the whys and why nots and let yourself have this. Get lost with me in something that makes absolutely no sense.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, to voice a question, but he covered her mouth with his, stopping the words before she had a chance to say them. This kiss was a whole lot more tender, a tangle of lips and tongues. By the time he finally pulled back, her fingers had fisted around his T-shirt.

  “I’m scared, too, but you’re a bright spot in what used to be a dark world, and I want to get lost in it, right or wrong, good or bad.” He nipped at her bottom lip, tugging on it, then settled his hands on her waist and pulled her closer. “Get lost with me, baby.”

  How could she resist that? Everything inside of her trembled. With nerves and worry. With excitement and arousal. She couldn’t deny, though, that she wanted the same thing.

  Letting go of every reason why she shouldn’t, she threw her arms around his neck. “Okay.”

  Chapter Twelve

  When the doorbell rang at eight that night, every part of her began trembling all at once. The words on her computer screen blurred. Luc was here. Her staccato heart beat filled her ears as she made her way down the hall to the front door. There, she stopped to draw a deep breath and pulled open the door.

&n
bsp; Luc leaned on the frame, a backpack slung over one shoulder and a small plastic container in his hands. His gaze danced over hers, and as he straightened, she didn’t miss the way the container he held trembled ever so slightly. “Hey.”

  That certain something illuminated between them, settling deep inside of her. The promise of the night. The tingly newness of their relationship. All of it echoing back at her from his eyes.

  “Hi.” Caught somewhere between nerves and the unbearable need to throw herself into his arms, that was the only word that would leave her mouth.

  He pushed away from the doorframe and crossed the threshold, shoving the door closed behind him, then hooked her around the waist and pulled her close. “Nervous?”

  “A little.” She rested her hands on his chest, enjoying his warmth and solidness, and leaned into him. “If I’m being honest, I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day.”

  Her imagination had gone crazy. The memories of making love to him had kept her mind going for hours, fueling her latest novel. She couldn’t stop remembering his body against hers, the warmth of his skin. Even now, a heated shiver ran the length of her spine, settling low.

  “Me, too.” Hunger flared in his eyes. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her mouth, then pulled back enough to hold the container out to her. “I come bearing gifts.”

  She took the container from him and pried the lid loose, held it up to her nose, and inhaled. The luscious aroma of fresh baked cookies and a hint of almond filled her nostrils. Her mouth watered. “They smell delicious. What are they?”

  “Amaretti and Zeppole. Amaretti are little almond cookies. Zeppole are kind of like donut holes.” He plucked out a round, cinnamon-sugar coated dough ball, and held it to her lips. “This is the Zeppole. Try one. These are filled with cannoli cream.”

  She accepted the bite and chewed. The sweet spiciness of the cinnamon sugar filled her mouth first. The dough was fried, with a crispy outside, but a tender center. The same sweet, creamy cheese mixture she remembered from the cannoli he made on that first night at Sam’s filled the center.