He considers me.‘Only child.Dad was hard.Mum was harder.They weren’t cruel.Just … determined.’
‘Determined?’
‘Mum wanted to make sure I didn’t end up in the same situation as them.’He pushes his plate aside, fingers curled around his glass ofwater.‘She wanted me to leave.Get educated.Own something that wasn’t livestock or debt.Dad was the opposite.He wanted a legacy.’
I lean forward, arms folded on the table.‘And what do you want?’Luke shrugs.‘Degrees don’t matter much when your old man’s dying and the property’s bleeding out.’
There’s something heavy in the air now, and I don’t know how to breathe through it without breaking the moment.‘That can’t be easy.’
‘Mum’s breast cancer hit fast, took her faster.’He pauses, eyes flicking to the speaker.‘Dad took longer.Leukaemia.Two years to say goodbye.’
I chew the inside of my cheek.‘You miss them.’
‘Yeah.’His voice is softer now.‘I kind of said goodbye a while ago.The sickness drags it out.Gives you time to get used to the hole.Most people don’t get that.They lose someone and realise too late that they had things left to say.’
Silence settles between us, thick as honey.Stevie’s still singing, her voice further away now.
‘That was disgustingly human and deeply revealing,’ I say finally.
Luke smiles faintly.‘We can go back to insults if you’d prefer.’
I nod seriously.‘Considering you’ve got the emotional availability of someone who was raised by cattle and a copy ofThe Barefoot Investor, I’d say yes.’
Luke grins.‘Says the girl raised in a dysfunctional group chat.’
I chuckle.‘You’re not wrong.But wow.’
‘You’re shockingly good at pretending you’re above the drama – right up until you show up uninvited to a funeral,’ he says with a shrug.
My mouth drops open.‘You said it was fine.’
He smiles.‘Did I?’
I smile back.‘Do you want me to leave?’
‘Only if you feel like you’re in the wrong place.’
I pause.Then smirk.‘Maybe.At least the company’s decent.’
The tension is different now – diffused, tilted, sparking against the edges of something new.I stand up, pushing my chair back.Luke’s eyes track me.I move around the table at an excruciatingly slow pace, barefoot and a little breathless, until I’m standing between his knees.
Without asking, I climb onto his lap.
His hands rest on my thighs as I reach up and cup his face, my thumbs brushing over the stubble on his cheeks.‘I know you said I’m bad at lying, but you’re worse than me.’
His eyes darken.‘What makes you say that?’
‘You said I’m not your type.’
He opens his mouth to reply, but my lips crash into his and devour the answer.
TWENTY-FIVE
His hands slide into my hair, fingers threading through the strands, gripping tight enough to make me gasp.His mouth is on mine as if kissing me is second nature and I’m the only thing he’s ever craved.
I shift my hips forward and moan the second I feel it – him – hard and thick beneath me, pressing exactly where I need him most.The soft fabric of his shorts rubs against the thin cotton of my pyjama bottoms, and it’s not nearly enough.
‘Fuck,’ he groans into my mouth, like he didn’t expect this.Like he didn’t expect me.
