“I know you didn’t.” His own voice surprised him. Too low. Too...intimate.
She almost smiled, her soft lips pursing just the slightest bit, so the dimple in her left cheek started to happen but then didn’t quite. He stared at the white flesh of her throat and wondered what it would feel like to kiss her there, to scrape that softness lightly with his teeth.
And that was when he knew he needed to get out. Now. He stood.
A tender little “Oh!” escaped her and she jumped up, as well. “You’re going already?”
“I really should.” Something was the matter with him. He seemed unable to master his own voice. First too low, now too stiff.
“But I...” She hesitated.
“What?” Now he sounded ridiculously hopeful. What was this? He hardly knew himself—his voice not his own, his heart pounding away in the cage of his chest as though hoping somehow to break free. You’d think he was twelve again, surviving his first crush.
She settled back onto the heels of those naughty satin shoes. “You’re right. I have to let you go.” Regretful. Resigned. And then she smiled, her gamine face lighting up from within. “I mean, you’ve been amazing and there’s always tomorrow.”
His shoes were moving, carrying him with them. Suddenly he was standing an inch away from her. She gazed up at him and he saw there were gold and green striations caught in the velvet brown of her eyes. “Yes,” he heard himself say, “tomorrow...”
And then he was doing what he had no intention of doing, lifting a hand, brushing a finger down the side of that white throat, bending close to her, capturing that soft, slightly parted mouth.
So good. Her breath tasted of apples, fresh. Sweet. He touched her lower lip with his tongue, testing the warmth and the wonderful softness.
She let out a throaty little sound.
And then she lifted her slim arms and wrapped them around his neck. He followed suit, sliding his hands over the dusky, soft lace in the curve of her waist, gathering her in, deepening the kiss that was not supposed to happen.
Her body fit against him, slim and warm and soft. Her breasts pressed into his chest.
So good. Too good.
He felt what he wasn’t ever going to feel with her: heat. Tightness. He was starting to grow hard.
That did it. Arousal woke him from the trance that had somehow settled over him. Slowly, gently, with great care, he clasped her slender waist again, lifted his mouth from hers and pushed back from her just enough that she wouldn’t feel him growing thicker and harder against her belly.
She gazed up at him, eyes dreamy, still smiling. “Um. Good night,” she whispered.
“Night, Luce.” Miraculously, he had regained command of his own voice. He sounded so calm, completely relaxed, in full command of himself, though he was none of those things at that moment.
He let her go and turned for the door, and he didn’t stop moving until he was on the other side of it and it was firmly shut behind him.
* * *
Alone in his apartment, Damien poured himself a last brandy.
His cell phone vibrated. He took it out of his pocket and saw it was V. He didn’t answer. There was no point in talking to her. She would only yammer at him as usual, saying all the things he’d heard a thousand times before. It was an endless loop with V, a train on a circular track going round and round. He refused to get back on that train. How clear could he make it? He was off the train and staying off.
But he did check his voice mail: three messages. All from V. He deleted each one before she got out more than a few annoyed, impatient words.
And then he set the phone on a side table and drank his brandy and told himself the weekend with Lucy needed to stop. He couldn’t afford to spend tomorrow and the next day with her. He would have to back out of the rest of their time together.
Somehow.
It had been a giant mistake, his clever plan to turn her down without hurting her tender feelings. It had become a trap for him, a trap of his own making. It was the problem of the bell that couldn’t be unrung, the cat out of the bag, the milk spilled on the ground.
She had started it, started the change in the way he thought of her. She’d done it when she’d asked him to make love to her. She’d put that impossible idea into his head and before he knew it, he was starting to see her in a whole different light. And now he couldn’t stop thinking of doing exactly what she’d asked him to do.
Now all of the things he liked best about her—the easy charm, the pleasure she took in every smallest thing, the complete lack of drama, her authenticity and straightforwardness, her kindness to old Dietrich—all those things worked as a snare for him.
She enchanted him.
Thoroughly.
He hadn’t missed the cold glances Noah kept giving him during dinner—and afterward. Noah did not approve of Damien spending so much time with his sweet baby sister.
Damien got that. And now that he’d started to see Lucy as a potential lover, he didn’t much approve of it, either. It wasn’t a good idea. If Dami and Lucy did end up in bed together, well, what then? Would a sweet, naive girl like Luce really be ready to simply enjoy the experience and then move on?
No. He couldn’t see it. And that meant that he had no right to keep on with this.
Somehow, tomorrow he had to find a way to let her know that their long weekend together was over after just one day.
* * *
Something wasn’t right with Damien, Lucy kept thinking after he left her room.
He’d acted so strangely. Jumping to his feet out of nowhere, telling her he had to go—and then stepping right up close and kissing her, a beautiful, sexy, romantic kiss. And then racing off as though he couldn’t get away from her fast enough.
Talk about mixed signals. Just when he started acting as if maybe he could see her in a man/woman way after all, he’d yanked open the door and left her standing there with her lips all tingly from his kiss and her yearning arms empty. Something had definitely spooked him.
And come on, wasn’t it obvious what?
Noah.
Had to be. Those dark looks Noah had been sending her? No doubt he’d been sending them to Dami, too. Those looks must have gotten to Dami.
It wasn’t right. And Lucy was not putting up with it. She needed to fix the problem. And the more she considered the situation, the more it seemed clear that she needed to fix it tonight.
So she changed into jeans, a slouchy sweater and her favorite Chuck Taylor high-tops, and off she went, along one corridor and then another, down a couple of flights of stairs and yet another hallway to a side entrance where a uniformed guard took her name and entered it into his handheld device. Then, with a brisk bow, he opened the door for her and out she went into the middle of the Montedoran night.
It wasn’t that far of a walk to Alice’s villa in the adjacent ward of Monagalla. And she was moving fast, wanting to get there and get the confrontation over with. It wasn’t fun having it out with Noah. He was a great guy, but he had that little problem of being so sure he knew it all—including what was good for Lucy—even when he didn’t. There could be shouting.
Too bad. She’d fought long and hard for her independence and her big brother could not take it back from her now.
She found Alice’s villa easily enough. Her high-tops made no noise on the cobbled street. Lucy ran up the stone steps and stood in the glow from the iron fixture above the door, ringing the bell.
Nobody answered