With a long-suffering sigh and the promise of a reward when we were done, Luke arranged all the papers and forms I needed on his dining room table, and I settled in to work. For the next couple of hours, we pored over the papers and drew out designs.
When the morning became the afternoon, Luke disappeared into the kitchen to make us sandwiches, leaving me alone to take a break. I found myself glancing around his house, still sort of pinching myself that I was there.
It really was a sweet little place—bright and cheery with all the homey touches I would never have expected in a bachelor pad. It was a house built for a family, and as I stared around the table, I pictured tiny little Lukes sitting in those empty chairs, all joining hands and saying grace before their Sunday meal.
It was like a fantasy family life, certainly not anything I’d grown up with, and for the first time I felt a little envious of Luke. His parents were gone but he still had Duke and Molly, and the legacy of that early family life would always be with them. They could all still sit around this table, and if he went missing . . .
Well, there was no doubt that one of his loved ones would at least ask where he was.
My heart gave a squeeze and I gnawed on my lower lip, trying to push the thoughts of my family from my mind. Luckily, Luke reappeared a few seconds later and sat a turkey sandwich in front of me, the crusts cut off and the sandwich itself cut into four perfect triangles.
I laughed, my melancholy evaporating under the warmth of his boyish grin. “Wow, gourmet.”
“Only the best for you, city girl.”
There was no malice in his words, though, and I picked up the sandwich and bit in. It had been years since someone had made me a sandwich like this, but there was no denying the simple goodness.
He took a seat across from me and dug in as we talked. He told stories about his friends and the business, and about Duke and Molly. Suddenly, the image of all of us sitting around the table became even clearer in my mind, and I got so wrapped up in the flow of conversation that I found myself speaking before I stopped to think.
“What do you think the odds are of your wife having twins like you and Duke?” I asked, taking a hasty bite of my sandwich to distract from my reddening face.
Oh Lord, I’d really done it now. He was going to think I was some sort of loony stalker, naming our twins after what amounted to nothing more than a little fling.
He shot me a quizzical glance. “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”
“No reason at all,” I said brightly, shaking my head. “I just feel bad for her and her vag and all. Probably rough on the old girl, squeezing out doubles, you know?”
Luke laughed and then groaned. “Oh my God, that was funny until I had to think of it in terms of my own mom, so thanks for that.”
It was better than the alternative, so I swept my arm out and executed a little half bow. “You’re quite welcome. And there’s plenty more where that came from. I’ll be here all weekend.”
Taking advantage of the reprieve from pure humiliation, I quickly shifted gears, steering the conversation back toward the safety of work again.
But then, as we worked and talked, Luke’s chair seemed to inch closer and closer to mine. As afternoon turned into evening, the sun that had shone through the wide windows was replaced with twinkling stars, and I lost focus of everything.
Everything . . . except exactly how close he was sitting. How it would take nothing at all for him to close the space between us, slide our papers to the floor, and splay me out on the dining room table right then and there.
My cheeks heated as I imagined him spreading my legs open, his tongue laving me the way he had in the field that first night. Warmth spread through my body at the thought alone, and I squeezed my thighs together, not wanting to give in to the swell of need and longing. Not yet, anyway.
“Don’t you think?” Luke asked.
I forced myself back to the present and nodded my head vigorously. “Oh, um, yeah. Yes. Definitely.”
He leaned across me to write something on the file in front of me. His earthy, manly smell wafted up as he moved and I breathed in deeply, remembering the way that scent had tasted on his skin. With his sun-kissed hair in front of me, it was all I could do not to reach out and run my fingers through his locks, but again I refrained.
We’re talking business. Tonight is about business.
My stomach rumbled, and I glanced at him from the corner of my eye.
“Hungry?” he asked, and I nodded. “What are you in the mood for?”
When he smiled at me, I wanted to blurt out the answer, the real answer—him. Maple syrup. Whipped cream. Whatever he would let me do, just so long as I could feel his body on mine again.
He was just so damn close.
“I don’t know,” I murmured, and he shrugged.
“Think it over.”
I nodded again and he scooted his chair even closer, his knee brushing against mine as he moved. Another shot of pure electricity jolted through me at his touch.
What was it with him? It wasn’t like I’d never been with men before, but now every time I thought about his fingers on my body, I found myself panting and needy like never before.
I had to get it together—and fast. Not just because I was sure he could see the way my eyes dilated and fixed on his lips every time he spoke, but because . . . well, tomorrow was Sunday. We only had one more day together, and if I got used to feeling like this every time I was around him, what would I do when I was gone? When I finally had to leave?
“So, I was thinking about this for the logo,” he said as he sketched something on the paper in front of me.
Focus, I told myself. Focus. You promised you would help him.
But I couldn’t. All I could think about was the way the table would thunk against the hardwood while he held my hips and turned me over, ready to take me from behind.
Panic filled me at the realization that this might be the last time we were together. I wanted to make it special and—
“So, what do you think?” he asked.
I looked down at the paper to see a little stick-figure man and woman in a compromising position. I let out a short laugh, my cheeks flushing.
“Am I that obvious?”
His mouth quirked to the side. “Something like that. But luckily, great minds think alike.”
His hand stroked my thigh, working its way to the inside of my leg, just above where I could already feel my panties getting wet.
“I actually have a better idea.”
I plucked the pencil from his other hand and scribbled on the paper, just beneath his drawing. When I pulled my hand back, his gaze fell on the image of a stick-figure woman on her knees in front of a very happy-looking stick-figure man.
“Far be it for me to argue,” he said and cupped the space between my thighs, rubbing gently before continuing. “Just know that I still want to fuck you after.”
I knew Duke and Molly would be gone all day to lend a hand to a neighbor, leaving us truly and completely alone. That feeling made me bold, a little reckless.