“Then what kind of a relationship do you have with her?”
He sighed and paused the episode. “Your parents helped me through a difficult time in my life. I owe them for that.”
“So you have some kind of invisible tally system, and once you’ve hit the appropriate number of tick marks, you’ll vanish from Mom’s life?”
“You’re a lot like your father,” he said, though it didn’t sound like a compliment.
“In what way?” I pressed, eager for any connection to the man I missed.
“You never give up. Even when you should.”
“He never gave up on you,” I said softly. But I had. Not that I’d had a choice.
“Not many people have the unbridled, delusional optimism that Simon Walton brought to this world.”
I sighed against Lucian’s broad shoulder. I may have gotten my tenacity from my dad, but I had missed out on the delusional optimism gene. “He was one of a kind,” I agreed.
We were silent for a long moment, both staring straight ahead at the frozen faces on the TV screen.
“I can’t believe Ansel is dead,” I said finally.
Lucian stiffened next to me like I’d just pushed the button where all his walls came up and the gate to his castle rolled down.
I put my hand on his thigh and gripped. “Wait. Before we jump into Lucian versus Sloane Round two million, let’s call a temporary cease-fire and have some peace talks.”
He looked down at me, his expression halfway between amusement and annoyance. “Peace talks? Why do women feel the need to talk everything to death?”
“If you’ll shut up, I’ll explain. Now, I’m not admitting to having wondered for a long time what sex with you would be like.” His expression went wolfish, and I held up a finger. “No! We’re still recovering. If we attack each other now, you’ll sprain your penis or I’ll lose feeling below the waist.”
“I’m willing to take that chance.”
I rose up on my knees and faced him. “Keep it zipped, Sir Fucks a Lot. What I’m suggesting is since we’ve appeased our curiosity with our one-night-only sexual shenanigans, why don’t we apply the same consideration to all the questions we’ve always wanted answers to?”
“No.”
I pouted. “You didn’t even consider the offer. That’s not very peace talky of you.”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
Sensing impending victory, I deepened my pout, saddened my eyes, and straddled his lap. “Come on, big guy. We cleared the air sexually and survived. Why can’t we drop a couple of truth bombs consequence-free before we go back to normal and never speak again?”
His handsome face with its poetic cheekbones and stormy eyes gave nothing away, but his cock was making its feelings known beneath me.
“I’m not above holding a pillow over your face until you stop annoying me, Pix,” he warned.
“Yes, you are. Please?”
His hands came to my hips, and he dropped his head against the cushion. “If I say yes—” I wiggled victoriously in his lap, and his hands gripped me tighter as his teeth clenched, deepening the hollows of his face. “Behave. I have conditions.”
I slid my hands under his open shirt and rested them on the warm, firm flesh of his shoulders. “I’m all ears.”
“You’re never all ears. You’re all agendas,” he pointed out.
“Oh, come on. You’re not the least bit curious about anything?” I prompted.
His eyes were steely on mine as he presumably tried to figure out my motive.
“I’m just thinking, we cleared the air sexually, why not clear it all the way? We end today baggage-free. Like lancing a boil.”
“A very attractive metaphor,” Lucian said dryly.
“Come on,” I cajoled. “Admit it. It makes sense.”
I knew how to build up a rapport with a suspect thanks to Becoming Bulletproof by former Secret Service Special Agent Evy Poumpouras. About a year ago, I’d started a secret, unofficial book club for a few local high schoolers who were going through tough times as unpopular misfits. We read a lot of self-help and nonfiction about interpersonal relationships, and I didn’t mind deploying some psychological warfare when the scenario called for it.
“I don’t like this,” he said.
I bounced victoriously in his lap. “But you know I’m right. This could finally be our blank slate, big guy.”
“Blank slates are for new beginnings.”
“Ugh. Fine. This could be our ‘the end.’”
“If I agree,” he said, arresting my movements with his hands, “you have twenty minutes and then you’re shutting up and I’m taking your clothes off.”
I arched an eyebrow. “I thought we were done with each other.”
“Do you have something better to do this afternoon?”
I grinned. “Nope.”
“Twenty minutes,” he repeated.
I scrambled off his lap and planted myself against the arm of the couch, hugging a pillow to my chest. “I’ll go first. What kind of beard maintenance do you do? Or is it just rich guy magic where you wake up, look in the mirror, and command your facial hair to do what you want?”
His expression was priceless. “You can ask me anything and you want to know how I maintain my beard?”
I shrugged. “I’m warming you up before we get to the interesting stuff.”
“I already regret this.”
“Did you ever have feelings for Knox or Nash?”
Lucian’s question caught me by surprise. We’d mostly lobbed softballs back and forth, participating in a delicate dance around the minefields of our past.
“Uh, yeah,” I said emphatically.
“When?” he demanded, his grip on my feet in his lap tightening.
“Probably right around the time I hit fourteen and they suddenly got hot.”
“Do Naomi and Lina know you lust after their men?”
“Yep. They’re used to it. Anyone who enjoys looking at attractive men lusts after those two.” I laughed when he looked downright grumpy. “Oh, come on. You’re not left out of that equation. Women walk into glass doors trying to get a better look at you.”
He grunted.
“My turn. Why won’t you let me blow you?”
His laugh startled me.
“Do you find oral sex funny?” I demanded.
“On the contrary, I take it very seriously.”
My lady parts knew this intimately. I nudged him with my foot. “Elaborate, Lucifer.”
“I like being in control,” he said as if that answered everything.
“You can be in control during a blow job.”
His gaze slid to my mouth. “Not enough.”
“Clearly, you haven’t experienced the right kind of oral sex. I’ll be happy to demonstrate in…” I checked the clock on the mantel. “Seven minutes.”
“Pass.”
“Party pooper. Since that was a lame answer, I get another question. Did you tattoo over all your scars?”
Lucian stared at me for a long beat. I wondered if I’d pushed too far.
“Yes,” he said finally.
“Why?”
“Because I’d rather have marks on my body that I chose.”
I nodded. It made sense. The man was literally rewriting his past on his own skin. He surprised me and reached for my wrist. He rolled it over and examined the silvery scars left behind. “A plastic surgeon could probably do something with this.”
I smirked. “I dunno. I kinda think it makes me look like a badass. It reminds me of how brave I was once.”
He cleared his throat and released my wrist. “Have you met your future husband yet?” he asked, changing the subject.
I closed my eyes. “I officially had my best date since I started this quest.”
“And?” he prompted.
“Best doesn’t mean much when it’s stacked up against all the other catastrophes. Nice guy. Wants kids. Zero sparks. I almost fell asleep in my soup while he was talking about last season’s fantasy football league. But maybe that’s what marriage is? A sparkless partnership based on what you can accomplish together.”
“Is that what you think our friends have? Sparkless partnerships?” Lucian asked, his lips curving ever so slightly.
I sighed. “No. They tamed the unicorn.” At his blank expression, I continued. “You know, they found the smoldering, I-wasn’t-my-best-self-until-I-met-you, I-want-to-make-all-your-dreams-come-true kind of once-in-a-lifetime, I-still-watch-you-walk-out-of-the-room love.”