Resigned, she turned to face him. He wore a white t-shirt, well-worn jeans, and…no socks.
She stared at his bare feet. “Joel—” The man was crazy. She had a newfound foot fetish, but he was crazy.
“You came to me,” he said, sounding slightly winded, but she suspected it had nothing to do with his sprint. “Why?”
“Um.” She fidgeted with the strap of her bag, wondering if she should lie or tell the truth. She settled for somewhere in the middle. “I wanted to talk about last night, when you, well, told everyone we were engaged.”
Joel’s gaze didn’t waver. “Sorry about that.” He didn’t look sorry at all. He appeared hyper focused and intense, his sharp eyes tuned deeply to hers, like he was trying to figure out what she really wanted.
Funny, she was starting to wonder about that herself.
“You said you wanted to talk to your family yourself, but if you want me to, I can.”
“No.” Drawing a deep breath, she blurted, “I’m here because I was kind of hoping that maybe you’d be okay if we—” Crap, this was mortifying. She was never drinking grappa with her aunt ever again.
She cleared her throat and started from the top. “I was hoping we could continue with the engagement story a bit longer.”
Joel didn’t move, didn’t blink. This was probably what he was like in the boardroom while he brokered deals and negotiated with city planners. Focused and unyielding. Solid poker face. He’d never been like this with her. He’d always been so…open, trusting her with his rawest emotions and letting her see the pieces no one else got to see. And that was why, that night in Vegas, between highballs and five-dollar shafts, it had been so easy for them to say yes to each other.
But that part of him wasn’t for her anymore.
“Why?” His eyebrows drew together, but other than that, nothing.
Excellent question. And since she was here, she might as well lay it all on the line. It’s not like Joel didn’t know her dream.
“I’m hoping that if my family thinks I’m engaged to you, my father will talk seriously about me taking over Barone & Sons one day.”
There, she’d said it. And saying it out loud soundedridiculous.Shesounded ridiculous. Because the idea was ridiculous. What daughter had to get engaged for her father to take her seriously?
She did. That’s who.
When Joel stood there for several seconds, head inclined, sexy lips pressed together, expression immobile and unreadable, she tugged her hand out of his and started walking backward. “You know what? Forget it.”
He jerked forward, like he wanted to grab for her but tempered himself in the last second.
“Wait, Lucy.”
Their gazes collided. A big mistake.
His eyes, knowing and steady, held her captive. “Come up to the apartment and we can talk.”
A hysterical laugh bubbled from her throat. Up to his apartment? She’d come here to talk, so she wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but hearing his invitation out loud made the reality of being alone in a room with him laughable.
There was enough history between them to make a Netflix documentary. If you looked unfinished business up in a dictionary, you’d see their faces. The tension between them sizzled even now, on a public street, with people walking around them and gawking like they were a circus sideshow. Going upstairs, alone, into his apartment spelled…disaster?
Joel didn’t appear to think so. His focus remained razor-sharp and centered on her. He’d moved closer, or maybe it was her who’d moved closer to him, she hadn’t been paying attention, but his proximity caused goosebumps to pop up along her arms, little electrical currents of awareness sizzled under her skin. All of which made her feel even more certain they shouldn’t be alone together inside four walls.
“It’s okay, really. This was silly. I’m just going to, uh, go.” She spun again to walk away.
Warm fingers found her wrist this time, looping gently around her pulse and stopping her, and those little currents combusted into full blown sparks. “Luciana.”
Oh fuck.The way he used her full name, like other men used the term “good girl” or “sweetheart.” Like it was a term of endearment, a little dirty and special at the same time. Like she was both sexyandsacred to him. And when those syllables fell off his lips, she almost believed she still was.
He came up behind her. His chest to her back. His breath against her ear. So familiar, so comforting. “Come upstairs with me. I want you to.”
The rich, husky sound of his voice flooded her lower abdomen with heat. As if he was inviting her up to do more than just talk. As if a broken marriage, a lost pregnancy, and four years of next to no communication weren’t sitting between them like a creepy second cousin at a family wedding. How could her body so quickly forget the pain they’d inflicted on each other? How could it ignore the torment in her heart?
“Please.” He didn’t sound like he thought she was crazy, and he didn’t sound like he was laughing at her. His tone held no pity, just the subtle strength and confidence that allowed him to bend any audience to his will.
