She still has her watchful eyes on me as I walk out of the room. I take care of business in the bathroom, then leave. A quick look inside my bedroom as I walk by shows her still in bed. I want to go back and join her, but I barely held on to my control a few moments ago. I don’t want to test my restraint.
I put on a pot of coffee, then grab out the ingredients to make omelets. I’m at the stove, flipping the eggs, when I feel her enter the room. I set the spatula down and turn around. She’s standing just inside the doorway, her expression uncertain, but no less beautiful. She’s changed into a pair of skinny jeans and a turquoise shirt. Her hair is falling down loose around her shoulders. Her feet are bare, and they look sexy as fuck with their pale blue polish. Aria told me the other day they did their own manicures and pedicures.
I tip my chin to the bar. “Take a seat. These are almost finished.”
As she sits, I pour some coffee in a mug, doctor it the way she likes, then carry it to her. My hands itch to grab her up and kiss the shit out of her, but I don’t want to freak her out. She’s been okay with our touching up until this point, but I don’t know what my limit is. I need to be careful with her.
As I stand there and watch her take a sip of coffee, I realize my thoughts refer to when I touch her, and not the adamancy of refraining from touching her. She’s always been off-limits to me for multiple reasons, but those reasons are becoming unimportant. In my mind, she’s not Theo’s anymore. She’s now mine.
“You must have remembered how I take my coffee. It’s just how I like it,” she comments after her first sip.
Her smile is sweet, and it really fucking tempts my determination to keep my hands off her.
I lean toward her and lower my voice. “There’s nothing I could forget about you.”
I realize as soon as the words leave my mouth that it’s a stupid statement to make, because I have forgotten about her. Although she’s invaded my dreams for years, and in a sense, I feel like I know her, and we technically met more than seven years ago, I still feel like we’ve only known each other for weeks.
I walk back to the stove and finish the omelets. I plate one for her then one for myself. We sit side-by-side and eat, and I once again get the feeling that this is somehow right. Like this is exactly where we’re both supposed to be.
Once we’re finished, I bring up a subject that I’ve been avoiding.
“Thanksgiving is in a couple of days.”
Wary amber eyes turn my way, and I hate that I put the look there. As much as I loathe to bring this up, it’s unavoidable. She needs to be prepared. With Mom not knowing what Theo did to Jules, there’s no way she would go for him not being at the family dinner. If it were up to me, I’d tell everyone. Theo’s royally fucked my loyalty to him, so I feel no qualms to protect his character in our parents’ eyes. But I know Jules doesn’t want them to know. It can’t be kept a secret forever though. The rest of the family needs to know what he did.
“Okay,” she says cautiously.
I turn in my seat to face her. “Theo’s going to be there.” My voice is even, despite the bad taste in my mouth at saying those words.
Fear flashes in her eyes, and I grit my teeth. I vow to myself to make sure she never has anything to fear ever again.
Grabbing her hand from her lap, I pry her fisted fingers loose from their tight grip. My eyes drop to the indents left in her palms by her fingernails. I smooth my fingers over the marks then look back at her.
“Nothing will happen. He’s smart enough to know not to pull any shit while everyone is there.”
Something akin to pride fills my chest when I see her straighten her spine and her expression turns from leery to determined. She shouldn’t have to worry about Theo, but it fucking pleases the shit out of me that she’s strong enough to take on the task.
“I’ll be fine,” she says, her voice firm.
She may feel that way, but I still want her to know I’ll protect her if necessary.
I lace my fingers with hers and squeeze them. “You won’t be left alone with him.”
“Okay.”
When she licks her lips, my eyes zone in on the wet sheen left behind. I rest our interlaced hands on her lap and lean forward, my other hand going to the back of her stool. Her eyes close as my head dips toward hers. As soon as my lips make contact, she lets out a little sigh. That small sound goes straight to my cock.
Without breaking our kiss, I stand and close the gap between us. My abs bump her knees. I don’t expect her to open them for me, but when she does, I step between them. Our position reminds me of the day in the shop, of what I desperately wanted to do to her, and how fucking hard it was to pull away.
I palm her cheek, my fingers sliding through her hair to cup the back of her head. I move our fingers to her lower back and her free hand presses against my side. A tortured groan escapes me.
Using both of our hands at her back, I pull her toward me until her ass is on the edge of the seat. The heat from her center sears me to the fucking core. Our tongues mesh together, and I can’t get enough of her taste. When her hand makes its way underneath my shirt, I about jump out of my goddamn skin. Unable to hold back the need, I grind my cock against her, nearly fucking exploding in my sweats from the pleasure. When she moans prettily against my mouth and her nails scrape across my flesh, I know I’m in big trouble.
I rip my mouth away from hers before this goes too damn far. My hair falls forward as I hang my head and take in several deep breaths, trying like fuck to get my bearings back.
“Luca,” she whispers. Her hands move to my hair, pushing the strands back. I close my eyes for a moment and relish her fingers playing with my hair and my name coming off her lips in such a soft way.
When I open them again, she’s watching me, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from my kisses. I rest my forehead against hers.
“You’re too goddamn beautiful and sweet,” I inform her huskily.
Her brows wrinkle and she nibbles on her bottom lip before muttering, “Umm… I’m sorry?”
A chuckle rumbles from my chest at her baffled response, but then it fades. “It’s me that should be sorry, baby. Not you.”
“But why?” she asks, her frown deepening.
I lift my forehead from hers but keep my face close as my thumb rubs along her cheek. “Because I shouldn’t be doing this with you. I should keep my hands to myself.” My jaw tightens. “All those years ago, I hurt you. I did”—I’m a damn pussy because I can’t force myself to say it—“those things to you. I’m a fucking bastard for touching you now.”
“Luca, no.” Her eyes, so heartbreakingly sad, turn pleading. “If it makes you a bastard for wanting me, what does it make me for wanting you just as much?” Her head drops a couple of inches and her eyes move to my chin. I lift her head back up with my thumb and open my mouth to talk, but she beats me to it. “I know it may be wrong of us to want… whatever it is that’s happening between us. I know I should be afraid of you, should want nothing to do with you, but I’m not, and I do. You make me feel safe in a world I don’t know anymore. If it’s wrong, I don’t care. I’d rather it be wrong with you than right with anyone else.”
Tears glisten in her eyes, and I can’t take that damn look from her. That look and her words completely fucking destroy me. My heart that’s been fractured down the middle since all of this started, one half hers, the other half mine, starts weaving its way back together.
I squeeze my eyes shut and let my forehead fall back to hers. “I’ve tried so fucking hard to stay away from you, to keep my hands to myself and my feelings in check, but you make it impossible, Jules.”
“Then don’t.”
I open my eyes to see her beautiful golden ones staring at me, asking for things I want to give her so damn badly.
As I gaze back at her, I know one thing for absolute certain. When it comes to this woman, I’m completely and truly fucked.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Jules