“Is yours?”
I clear my throat. My heart pounds in my chest so loudly. “Is my affection fleeting?”
“That’s what I asked,” he says, running a finger down my arm, the movement so subtle it would be barely perceptible to anyone else. But when he touches me, it's like electricity floods my body, sending shockwaves of arousal through me. When he touches me, I picture his hands caressing me, his mouth on mine.
With one touch, one brush of his finger against my skin, I can feel him inside me.
I want him inside me.
The feeling is stronger than anything I’ve ever known.
“Well?”
“No,” I say, my voice wavering, drenched with arousal.
“Good,” he whispers, leaning closer. “I’d hate to think you’d forgotten me so quickly.”
As if I could forget. The memory of his touch is imprinted on my skin.
“Wait, you think I’m the paranoid type?” I ask, deliberately changing the subject. The last thing I need is to be a puddle of goo, a bundle of need and want, right out here in the yard when my employees show up for work. The nanny should be here soon, and I know she already suspects something by the way I look at Luke. I can only imagine how the old ladies in town would gossip about a scandal involving Luke Saint and I.
Luke shrugs. “If the shoe fits. I didn’t mean it as an insult, though. You should be paranoid when it comes to your kid. I respect you for it.”
“Oh, you respect me?” I ask, laughing. “Somehow I get the impression that Luke Saint doesn’t respect anyone.”
A strange look crosses his face, and I think for a second that I’ve hurt him again. “I might be flippant about a lot of things, but there are some things – some people – I do respect.” He looks at me meaningfully, and I swallow hard.
Suddenly, I think that maybe I’ve been wrong about him, that I’ve written him off as a stereotypical younger guy – immature, thrill-seeking, whoring around – but that there’s more to Luke Saint than I’d thought.
Then I catch where his gaze lingers. “Eyes up,” I say, rolling mine.
Luke grins. “I can’t help it,” he says.
Yep, totally underestimated his maturity.
“And you were saying something about respecting me?” I ask as we follow Olivia and Lucy toward the house.
“I respect you. I also happen to want to throw you over my shoulder, carry you into your house, and rip those damn clothes off.” I’m walking in front of him, but he grabs my hand and pulls me back against him, his mouth near my ear. “In fact, feeling you come on me is one of the only things I can think about.”
I shake his hand off, trying to step away from him, but he holds me tighter. “People are going to be here any minute,” I protest. “Greta will get here in a second. Mary will be here to open the cidery.”
“Tell me you haven’t been thinking about my mouth between your legs,” he whispers.
A thrill rushes through me as the image of Luke in the hallway, kneeling at my feet with his tongue buried inside me, flashes in my mind.
Of course I’ve been thinking about it, I want to say. I’ve touched myself thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about it, to an unhealthy degree.
But the sound of tires along the road makes me jump, and Luke lets go of me. “And that’s the nanny,” I announce, walking toward the driveway and following Olivia as she meanders up to the wraparound front porch, crawling up the stairs instead of walking, the way she always does.
“I want to see you again,” Luke says.
I laugh. “You’re seeing me right now.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Sure, I know.”
I know exactly what he means. It means sweaty limbs entwined together, the taste of Luke on my tongue… his cock inside me, bringing me to the brink, hands interlaced with mine, until I can’t hold out any longer.
But he doesn’t say that. He doesn’t say what I expect, innuendo and promises of ecstasy.
“A date,” he clarifies anyway.
“Excuse me? Olivia, don’t pull on Lucy’s ears.” Olivia looks up at me, her hand paused mid-stretch near Lucy’s head. Lucy licks her hand and runs away.
“You heard me,” he says.
“Isn’t dating… not really your thing?”
“It hasn’t been,” he agrees. “But I’ve changed my mind.”
“I – don’t know what to say to that.” My eyes are on Greta as she gets out of the car. I wave, stepping away from Luke, consciously trying to put some distance between us.
Both literally and figuratively.
“Well, since your nanny is about to walk up here, you should probably say yes,” Luke suggests. “That way, I don’t have to do something dramatic, like get down on my knees and serenade you.”
“That would be dramatic.”
“Well, shoot, if you want me to sing, I'll do it right here,” Luke warns, starting to kneel. “I’ve been told I have a voice that sounds a lot like a cat in heat.”
“Stop, stop.” I can’t help but laugh. “Before she sees you.”