I shrug, awash with jealousy at the thought of the two of them together. This isn’t a feeling I’m familiar with and it’s very unpleasant.
Luke sighs, dragging his nose up my neck to my ear. “There’s just you, Harriet.”
Just you.
I soften into him, letting his words soothe me. “So, what do you mean when you say you have a financial arrangement?”
“She wanted the Mercedes in the divorce settlement and I agreed, as long as she went along with this.”
“It really meansthatmuch to you that she’s at the wedding?”
“Well, I never liked that damn car. She chose it. But it wasn’t just that.” Luke’s gaze drops to his hands. “I didn’t want Mike’s wedding ruined because I was arguing with Dad, and I knew they’d all wonder why she wasn’t there. I thought it was pretty harmless—she knows my family and it will keep everyone happy and allow them to enjoy the wedding, rather than getting caught up in my drama. It seemed like the perfect solution.” He rakes a hand through his hair, his eyes returning to me. “But then I met you.”
My lips tug into a tentative smile. I’m brimming with questions, like how soon after the wedding he’s planning to tell them, if he’s considered telling them sooner now that he’s met me, if, after the wedding and he’s told everyone, if I did consider moving here and opening my cafe, would he… could he and I be together?
Because as I lie here, nestled into the warmth of Luke’s side, listening to him talk about the things that have hurt him, I’m forced to confront just how much I care for this man. I care that he’s been hurt, that he’s still hurting. I care that he feels trapped, that he feels like he can’t tell his family the truth. I want nothing more than to kiss him and take his hurt away, but I know it’s not my place. And worse than that, I’m not sure if he wants me to. I’m not sure if he’s feeling what I’m feeling.
“Anyway,” Luke says with a strained laugh. “Let’s talk about something else.”
I wriggle onto my side to look at him properly. There’s one thing Icando right now to distract him from all of this. I lean in and graze my lips over the shell of his ear. “Or we coulddosomething else.”
His gorgeous mouth tips into a grin. He grabs my waist and flips me onto my back, diving down to take my nipple into his mouth. And for a few hours, we both forget the things that have hurt us.
31
I’m in big trouble. I knew there was another reason I didn’t spend the night with Luke, but I let myself forget it.
He’s a really cuddly sleeper, and we spent the whole night in each other’s arms. I never thoughtI’dbe a cuddly sleeper, if I’m honest. It just seemed impractical, and a little suffocating. But snuggled close with Luke, I slept better than I have in a very long time.
And now, as I roll over in bed and see him dozing beside me, I realize what a mistake I’ve made. I’ll never be able to wake up alone again without feeling like something—someone—is missing.
I run my eyes over him: the scruff that has now grown into a short beard, dark and coarse against the smooth creaminess of his cheek; the tiny round scar below his eye; his lush lashes and his full, soft lips. He is truly the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on and I still can’t believe he kissesme, he wantsme.
With a yawn and a stretch, he blinks awake. “What a beautiful sight to wake up to,” he murmurs, his sleepy, smiling eyes moving over my face. They flicker with interest. “You know, I’ve never seen you without your red lipstick.”
Shit.
My hand flies to my mouth, self-consciously touching my lips. I haven’t applied it since we left the city and, well, I used my mouth alotlast night. All that friction must have rubbed it off.
He gives a little chuckle as he reaches out to stroke a thumb over my cheek. “I’m not complaining. It’s nice to see the real you.”
The real you.
He has seen the real me—more than anyone has—and he’s still here. The things I’ve shared with him haven’t sent him running. If anything, they’ve brought us closer. And while I’m feeling brave for sharing those things, there are still some things I can’t bring myself to say—like the fact that the past two weeks have been the best two weeks of my life, that I’m feeling things for him I’ve never felt for anyone, and now I’m scared that once I go home, I’ll never feel like this again.
But all those thoughts die away as he tenderly trails his hand over me. He brushes past my nipple, setting off fireworks across my skin, then tucks his hand around my back and pulls me against him. I nuzzle into the warmth of his chest, closing my eyes and breathing in his spicy, woody smell. I don’t want to think about any of that. I just want to enjoy the time we have together.
I feel something hard digging into my hip, and reach down eagerly, grasping him and taking him by surprise. He gives a sharp, delighted grunt, pressing himself against my hand, and I begin to move in slow, gentle strokes.
“I just cannot get enough of you,” he murmurs into my hair, his fingers tightening on my back. “It doesn’t matter how many times we have sex. It’s never enough.”
A thrill runs through me and I nuzzle further into his chest so he can’t see how delirious I am.
“It’s not really about sex, though. Just being with you, Harri, talking with you…” he trails off, his eyes fluttering closed as my hand continues to work. And then he says something I’m sure he doesn’t mean to say, something that probably just tumbles out because of the way I’m touching him: “I wish I could wake up to you like this every morning.”
I swallow hard, my breathing going all funny. Because, God, I’m wishing that so much right now.
I don’t know what to say. But I do know what I’m feeling, because it makes me do something I’ve never done: I kick my underwear off, roll on top of him and go to slide him inside me without a condom. I pause at the last second. “I’m on the pill,” I say in a rush. I’ve been on it for years to help regulate my periods, but I’ve never used it for, well,thispurpose.
