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, hesitant, 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, the one who's never been at a loss for words. "I – I'm sorry."
The corners of Luke's mouth turn up. "I'm not."
I need some distance between us. I need space. Being near him, touching him, breathing in his scent, looking into his eyes… it all has the effect of making me dizzy, unable to think clearly. I need to be levelheaded. 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."
"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–"
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'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 and that 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.
If there's one thing in my life I've always been, it's appropriate. I studied hard, got good grades, and went to the right schools. I married the right man, the one who looked good on paper, the one I thought would be an asset to my father's company. So what if the chemistry was non-existent? I told myself. It was something that would develop over time.
Except that I got absolutely everything wrong with Edward. He was the wrong man in every way.
"Why are you running, Red?" Luke asks. His voice rumbles low under his breath.
I don't turn around. Instead, I lie. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm going into my house because I have work to do. No one's running anywhere."
When he steps closer to me, the air changes between us, causing goose bumps to flit over my skin, up my arms and shoulders, across my back. "Why are you lying, Red? Are you really going to tell me you felt nothing back there?"
"It was just a kiss, Luke," I whisper. "One that shouldn't have happened at all."
"Just a kiss," he says softly. His breath wafts over the back of my neck, and I close my eyes. I want him to touch me. I want to feel the weight of his hands on my shoulders, sliding down my arms, over my breasts, to my waist. And lower.
"Yes." The word comes out like a gasp. "It was just a kiss. That's all."
"That's why you can't turn around and look at me right now, Red. Because that kiss was no big deal."
My hand is on the doorknob, and I stare at it, trying desperately to communicate the message to my muscles that my brain seems intent on not sending. Open the damn door, let yourself into the house, and shut him out. Go back to burying yourself in work, to being a mother and nothing more.
But my hand doesn't move. Instead, Luke's hand covers mine, his lips on my ear. "That's why you're standing here with your hand on the door, not moving," he whispers. "Because you didn't feel a damn thing when I kissed you."
"Luke," I begin to protest, but the sensation of his breath on my neck makes me practically writhe with anticipation. Heat pools between my legs and I want to give in. I want to do something wild and reckless and uncharacteristically out of control.
"Where's Olivia?" Luke asks softly.