Jack runs a hand through his now-thick hair, shaking his head. “Still feels weird.” He glances at me. “I mean, I was such a screw-up.”
“Youwere,” I reply sweetly, “but now you’re just our favorite live-in uncle.”
Jack snorts. “Yeah, well, the kids like me because I let them eat cereal for dinner.”
“You let them eat candy forbreakfast,” Luca points out.
“Semantics.”
The hallway echoes with footsteps as Luca’s security team loads the last of our bags. I take one last look at the house. Our home. It’s bigger than anything I ever imagined living in, filled with white marble, glass, bookshelves, and the constant sound of little feet running wild. And love. So much love.
The ride to the private airstrip is surprisingly quiet, mostly because two out of three kids are asleep, and the third is transfixed by her favorite show on her iPad. Jack is sprawled across the back seat, half-napping.
By the time we board the plane, I’m dragging.
Luca’s plane is more luxury hotel than aircraft. Cream leather seats, walnut paneling, a fully stocked bar, and in the back? A private suite with a door. Adoor. The kids have their own play area with toys, books, even a mini theater.
Jack flops down with them and shoots us a grin. “Go. Enjoy yourselves. I’ve got the munchkins.”
Luca raises a brow. “Are you sure?”
Jack’s expression turns uncharacteristically serious. “You two gave me my life back. Erin... you never gave up on me. And Luca? You didn’t kill me when I probably deserved it. This? Watching your kids while you take a nap or whatever?” He smirks. “Least I can do.”
Luca clasps his shoulder. “Thank you.”
Jack nods.
Once we step into the private room and close the door behind us, I turn to Luca and stretch.
“Finally,” I murmur.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches me. Then he leans back against the wall, arms crossed, that wicked gleam in his eyes.
“What?” I ask.
“When have you last punched in your card to the mile high club, signora Lucchese?”
I blink. Then I laugh. “Seriously?”
He shrugs. “We’ve got at least six hours. A bed. No interruptions.”
I cross my arms. “Our kids are right outside.”
He smirks. “Soundproofed walls. Jack’s holding down the fort. And you’ve been walking around all morning in that little sundress with no clue how much you’ve been tempting me.”
My breath hitches. We haven’t gotten frisky on his jet since we’ve started taking the kids with us, but today, I guess things are a little different. Uncle Jack’s with them.
And I really, really want what my husband is promising me. “Luca,” I gasp.
“Say the word,angioletto,” he murmurs, stepping close. “I’ve been very good. Very patient.”
My hands slide up his chest before I even realize I’m moving. “Lock the door.”
He kisses me, hard and deep, with five years of passion still burning like it was day one.
I tug his shirt over his head, fingers greedy, eager. He pulls the neckline of my sundress down in return, his touch reverent but heated, as if he's undressing something sacred. The secondour skin meets, everything else falls away—the hum of the engine, the low chatter outside the door, even time.
He lays back against the pillows, dragging me with him until I'm straddling his hips, knees on either side, my dress hiked up around my waist. His eyes rake over me like he hasn’t seen me in years, even though I’ve been his for half a decade. His hands settle on my thighs, squeezing gently.
