“Best Valentine’s,” I murmured against her heart, voice thick, “is right here.”
12
NATASHA
Valentine’s Day
The chilly Februaryair held a bite, though not a match to the warmth blooming in my chest. Lachlan had given me the key to his apartment—his actual apartment—yesterday afternoon, before Simona and I headed to dinner. The act stuttered my heart.
As it did now in a red low-plunge, bodycon pantsuit that clung to my skin. I slipped the key into the lock and stepped into his spacious, modern open-plan living area. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, catching the polished surfaces and casting a golden glow across the massive, deep lounger sofa. The same one we tried to watch movies on, emphasis ontried.
Spotless countertops, state-of-the-art appliances. Curiosity tugged me past it. I’d visited many times before, but tonight felt different. So, maybe I peeked into every room I stumbled upon. And maybe, I stopped inside his bedroom.
It was all him. Masculine, large yet minimal. A dark, plush comforter sprawled across a Cal-King bed. A framed photo sat on the nightstand. Young Lach beamed, little league trophyin hand. I picked it up, a laugh escaping me as I traced his confident smile. The sight of our babies flashed in my mind. My dimples. His eyes.
Buzz.
LACH: Almost there. Traffic’s a nightmare. I put away an Instacart earlier. Did I miss any ingredients?
ME: All good. Chopping veggies
Total lie.Just then, I discovered his en suite. Sleek tile. Glass walls. A double vanity, in which one side needed more love, and his … cologne. The scent reached me before I touched the bottle—cedar, mint, heat. Yeah, I’d memorized the scent of him.
I sprayed just a little on my wrist and let the scent bloom.
Legs, officially useless, I searched the gilded bottle for a name and let the Greek brand imprint on my mind. I was definitely buying a bottle. A spritz before sleep might chase the nightmares away.
Another text chimed in my pantsuit pocket. I reached into the tight, stretch material and fished it out.
LACH: Don’t work too hard, babe. This is a joint effort.
I tappedon a smiley face when a deep voice startled me.
“For someone just chopping veggies, you’re nowhere near the kitchen, Tash.”
Bottle tight in my hand, I spun.
Lachlan stood at the doorway, a lazy grin on his face. The brim of his Dodgers cap brought attention to those warm, turquoise pools. Those eyes. He gripped his leather jacket. That sexy smile didn’t help my heartbeat situation.
I blushed. “You got me.”
He pushed off the doorframe, stepped forward, took the cologne from my fingers, and placed it on the counter. He brushed a soft kiss against my forehead. Hunger rang loud in his whisper. “I can’t wait to really have you.”
My lungs forgot their job, and my chest felt scandalously exposed—which, to be fair, it was. But I blamed him and not this chandelier pantsuit.
His expression changed with a deeper, intense heat. Protective. Tender. “Until then … this room should stay off-limits, Natasha. Don’t you think?”
I nodded, breathless. “Mm-hmm.”
Half an hour later, we laughed over pizza dough, fingers dusted in flour. The crooked-heart-shaped dough covered in cheese. Surprisingly, we liked the same toppings. Lachlan had thought of it all. Even icky anchovies. A hard pass for us both.
I slid the pizza into an oven large enough for a grammy to do damage. When I turned around to clean the island, I felt him behind me. Hot. Close. His arms bracketed me against the island, and his hand brushed the wavy hair at the nape of my neck. He leaned in more solid than ever, pressing against me.
Trouble. My brain flashed the word like an emergency flare while kisses adorned my shoulder and neck, sparking fireworks everywhere his mouth stopped.
Breathless, I turned, and his simmering eyes captivated me. That sculpted jaw. The stretch of his V-neck over his chest. The way he watched me like I was his. Another flare broke off. Two this time. This was double the trouble. Just watching him, watch me.
“Natasha,” he murmured, “you look good in my house.”
