Page 6 of Lucas

Rather than answer my question, Lucas grabs two champagne flutes from the top cupboard of the outdoor bar, and then rummages around the small fridge for a bottle of rose-tinted Dom Perignon. I sit on the edge of the hot tub and swirl my fingers through the bubbling water, a futile attempt to calm my nerves.

I skim my surroundings, entranced by each romantic detail—tiny lights thread through the shrubs, flowers pruned, privacy screens to block the wind. This place is magical and I am at once under its spell.

Lucas’s spell, I realize, with a start.

He pops the cork on the champagne and pours two glasses, then hands me one with a sexy wink that makes my pulse practically leap from my skin. “Just don’t overthink it,” he says, and for a second I don’t understand what he’s talking about. “The Jacuzzi,” he clarifies.

As if to prove it, he sets down his glass and takes off his shirt, exposing his smooth, tanned skin with one swift motion. My eyes skip across each tattoo, sliding from his muscular chest, to the sharp “V” beneath his rippling six-pack. A tingling sensation flutters between my thighs.

His slacks come next. It’s almost hypnotic, the way he slowly unhooks his belt and pulls it from around his waist. He unbuttons his pants and eases the zipper down inch by inch, showing off more of that mouthwatering man “V” and the thick black band of his tight briefs. He hooks his fingers under the elastic and pulls down, slipping out of his pants and underwear in one swift, breathtaking motion.

My gaze narrows in on his groin, his arousal now prominently on display. I suck in a sharp gasp. Fuck me, he’s massive. And hard—good Lord he’s stiff.

And like a peacock strutting its majestic feathers, Lucas saunters toward me before taking a cruel detour into the hot tub, slowly submerging his lower body under the water. He leans back and crooks his neck to look up at me. “Like I said, safe.”

I cross my legs, unable to still the frantic tingling in my crotch. “Okay,” I whisper.

“Care to join me?”

Lucas stares at my heaving chest, where I know my erect nipples poke up from beneath my thin bra. They’re so hard they chafe against the lace, which is almost reason enough to remove it. Still, I hesitate.

“Eden?” he says.

My body tenses.

His lips twitch. “Take off your clothes.”

It’s playful. A teasing invitation. But there is a commanding authority behind his words, too. Soft, gentle, yet it comes to me as an order. His voice is so persuasive it’s almost physical.

I slide out of the skirt first, skimming the material over my hips and down my thighs. It pools at my feet, leaving me naked but for my mismatched undergarments. Thank God they’re at least clean.

Lucas crooks a finger, inviting me to come closer while he turns around to face me, shifting up on to his knees. Water glistens off his tanned chest. I take tentative steps until my pelvis is level to his face. He presses his mouth up against my groin and inhales deep, breathes out.

“You smell like candy.”

Fuck me. I go instantly wet.

Lucas lifts out from the water, his muscular physique tanned and slick, and motions for me to turn around. I lick my lips, and obey. His fingers deftly unhook my bra. He pulls the strap away from my skin and softly kisses my back. A shiver of pleasure judders through me. I cup my hands to my breasts, holding on as he gently turns me back to face him. With a shallow breath, I let the bra fall to the ground.

Pin pricks of nervousness bite into my flesh.

“Beautiful,” he whispers again, and my stomach flips end over end.

He hooks his fingers on the band at either side of my waist, and slides my underwear over my hips, down my thighs, along my calves. I step over them and follow Lucas into the Jacuzzi. The unexpected heat singes my skin, cooled from the night air. My breath comes out in a sharp hiss. I try not to think about the sidewalk traffic below, and focus on just—

This.

Him.

My heartbeat quickens.

“Is that helping with the tension?” he says, positioning himself on the edge of the hot tub behind me. My pulse ratchets up when he begins to massage my shoulders, kneading his strong, able hands into my aching muscles. I can almost feel the knots unraveling, the stress drifting into the crisp air like smoke.

My response is a throaty purr.

As my body continues to go pliant under his touch, I lean into the massage, allowing him to work me like a rag doll.

“Your hands are magical,” I say.