Luca pulled out his phone and texted his driver.
I stood there with my arms crossed over my chest and tried to stay warm. It was overcast with a forecast of rain. I was in a dress and heels because of my job interview, looking cute but cold as hell.
Luca moved closer to me and pulled me into his chest, like he knew I was cold and gave me his body for heat. If he were wearing a jacket, I knew he would have given it to me. But Luca’s body was warm like a blanket in front of the fire.
His big arms locked around me, and he held me close, making me feel like I was in a warm bed. He said nothing, just stood there and waited for his driver to pull up. The car came a moment later, pulling up to the curb with the blacked-out windows. Luca opened the door and helped me inside, and we headed to my apartment across town.
He cranked up the heater inside and pointed the vents at me.
Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at my apartment, and Luca walked me all the way inside and up the stairs to my front door.
“You’re welcome to come in, but I’m sure you’re tired after your long night.”
He didn’t seem like he intended to stay because he never crossed the threshold. His thick arms were at his sides. “Pack a bag. My driver will pick you up at seven.”
I blinked because he’d never invited me to sleep over before. I hadn’t been to his house since the night I’d said goodbye and never expected to see him again. Anytime I’d been in his bed, I got out the second the fun was over and never let myself get comfortable. But now, he wanted me to bring my things like he wanted me to stay. He didn’t ask, but I liked that he didn’t. “Okay.”
He hesitated before he left. He stepped toward me, came close, his dark eyes looking into mine, and then he kissed me. A quick kiss on the lips the way couples said goodbye, as if he was making an effort to treat me like we were a set. “Bye.”
It wasn’t much, but from Luca, it was the world. “Bye.”
18
ALIÉNOR
The driver drove me past the gate, and one of the guys opened my door. The other took my bag even though it didn’t weigh much, and I was escorted to the elevator like I was a real guest in a hotel.
I went up the rest of the way on my own, as if the help wasn’t allowed beyond the entryway. When the doors opened, I was in the wide hallway where my bedroom had been situated on the right. His was at the end of the hallway, the walls covered in wallpaper, mirrors and artwork mounted along the way.
When I reached his door, I knocked.
“It’s open.”
I let myself inside, finding him standing in the living room where I’d given him head for the first time, talking on the phone to someone with a cigar between his lips. He stood in only his gray sweatpants low on his hips, his back to me, all his thick muscles hugging his spine in the center. “I counted it three times, Carvel. I’ve never been wrong before, and I’m not wrong now. We’re done here.” He hung up and returned the phone to his pocket.He bent over the coffee table and put out his cigar, the cloud of smoke hovering above him and drifting toward the twenty-foot-high ceiling. He was clearly in an irritated mood, but it improved the moment he looked at me.
He crossed the room to me and kissed me the way he’d kissed me when he saw me at Holybelly, like he’d missed me in the hours we’d been apart, time he’d probably spent sleeping. He took the strap off my shoulder and set the bag on the armchair. “You want a drink?”
“Sure. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
When he looked at me again, there was amusement in his eyes. “I’ll get you some wine.” He walked to his private wet bar, uncorked a bottle of wine, and poured me a glass of red before he came back to me.
“Thank you.” I took a drink as I continued to look at him. “You think I can’t drink like you?”
“You’d be dead if you tried.” He pulled out his phone and fired off a text. “Dinner will be here soon.”
“Ah, room service. I miss that.”
He moved to the six-seater dining table near the windows that showed the city and the lights from the buildings across the Seine. He sat down, his scotch on the rocks already there, and he relaxed in the chair, sexy in the way he slouched, like the weight of his muscles was the equivalent of walking around with a stacked barbell across his shoulders.
“How’d you sleep?”
“Like always—a rock.”
“Did you work out? Your arms look…plump.”
A gentle smirk came on to his lips, only a small portion of a smile but enough to be noticeable. “I work out after I wake up.”
“Yeah, I remember.” I looked at his arms again, one of his sexiest features. One of many. “What do you do?”
