"She ran out of here quickly," Luke says, the sides of his mouth curled up in a knowing smile.
"I don't know why," I say, my tone imperious. But my voice falters, and I tell myself to stop acting like a silly schoolgirl with a stupid little crush. The sight of a cute guy should not be enough to make me lose my mind. It's never been a problem with a guy before, and there's no reason for it to be now. "She should have stayed to listen to the story you were telling her."
Now I sound like a jealous girlfriend.
But Luke just saunters toward me with the kind of cocky confidence that guys like him always have, their egos propped up by women hanging on every word they say because they're that kind of gorgeous. I tell myself I'm not one of those girls. Yet, when he reaches me, I find myself closing my eyes, inhaling deeply, some kind of reflex, I can't quite control.
God, he smells good.
"I was looking for you," he says.
"Well, I'm glad you found someone to amuse you in the meantime," I say. Damn it. I don't even think before I open my mouth, and I sound possessive, filled with pettiness.
"Jealous, Red?" Luke asks.
"Not in the least," I lie.
"It's kind of cute," he says, suddenly closer than he was a minute ago, his proximity so intimate that it takes my breath away.
"Cute," I repeat stupidly. It's like my brain can't process what he's saying, because I'm too focused on watching his lips move as he speaks. Except him speaking isn't exactly what I'm thinking about when I look at those lips.
I picture those lips against my skin, moving down my abdomen, and farther…
"Adorable, actually," he says, looking down at me, his voice low.
"Adorable. Like a puppy." People don’t see me as cute. Men don't see me as cute. Or adorable, which seems exponentially cuter than cute. Competent. Capable. Bitchy, even. That's how men see me.
"That's not exactly what I was thinking," he says, his voice soft.
"Oh?" I ask, barely choking out the word. "What were you thinking?" My voice cracks mid-syllable, and I swallow hard. My body feels wired, goose bumps dotting my skin even though Luke hasn't even touched me, every inch of me tingling with the anticipation of his touch.
And then he does it. He touches me.
He reaches out and slides his hand to the nape of my neck, pulling me against him in one swift movement, before I can even react. A small moan escapes my lips before he covers my mouth with his, and I can't do anything except melt into him. He kisses me, full and hard, his tongue finding mine like a long-lost lover.
Most first kisses are awkward, at least the ones I've had. They're tentative, hesitating, two people who don't know each other, finding each other.
Not this kiss. This kiss isn't the least little bit awkward. It's familiar, as if Luke's lips were always meant to be pressed against mine.
That thought shakes me to my core. I pull away from Luke, touching my fingers to my lips, the lips he just kissed. "I – " I struggle to get the word out, me who's never been at a loss for words. "I – I'm sorry."
The corners of Luke's mouth turn up. "I'm not," he says.
I need some distance between us. I need space. Being near him, touching him, breaking in his scent, looking into his eyes… it all has the effect of making me dizzy, unable to think clearly. I need to be level-headed. Mature. I'm not someone who loses herself in a kiss, a look, a touch. I'm a businesswoman. A mother. "I – that – shouldn't have happened," I say.
"You're so full of shit," he says, and the language catches me off guard.
"What?" I bristle at his tone. "I'm your boss. I'm ol –"
The door opens, and Mary walks back inside, looking hesitatingly back and forth between us. "I just needed – "
I clear my throat again. "No worries, Mary," I say. "I'm actually on my way back up to the house." I don't hesitate before turning around and walking back to the house, my lips still throbbing from Luke's kiss.
Luke is behind me on the way back to the house. I know he is, but I walk faster, as if by ignoring him he will disappear. I don't know what to say to him. I'm mortified that I lost control, embarrassed that I let myself kiss him. I should have remained professional. I shouldn't be fantasizing about how his hands would feel roaming my body.
There are a lot of shouldn'ts with Luke. Everything about him is one giant should not.
I pause, my hand on the doorknob, while Luke stands behind me, not daring to turn around and look at him. If I do, if I see the way he looks at me, the hunger in his eyes, my resolve will be completely and utterly washed away.
So I don't turn around.
I stand there, with my hand on the doorknob, not turning it because I'm torn between desire and being appropriate.