“It was two years, Ana. I hate the idea of you with him or anyone else, but I know I left. I know—”
I turn to face him and try to cover my breasts with my free arm. “I didn’t sleep with Darius. I didn’t sleep with anyone, okay? Are you happy?”
“No one?”
“No one,” I breathe out, embarrassed and I’m not sure why. I could have. I just didn’t want to. “I just—I didn’t.”
He folds me into him and cups my face. “Because you’re mine,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t give me the chance to confirm or deny that statement.
His mouth closes down on my mouth, and warmth seeps through my body. I moan with the taste of him, melt into the hard lines of his body and submit to all that I feel for Luke. And how can I not? This kiss is like none of the others we’ve shared since we’ve found each other again. That hunger is still there, but there is so many ways the kiss speaks what we have not said. There is love in this kiss, there is tenderness, there is the deep, rich wonderful history we have shared together. But deep in the depths of all that is wonderful, I remind myself that there is still pain, torment, and betrayal. We can’t erase some parts of ourselves and keep only the parts we want to hold onto. Life just doesn’t work that way.
When Luke parts our lips, he strokes a lock of hair behind my ear, a shiver running down my spine with that simple little touch. My reaction pretty much sums up why I wasn’t with anyone else. Who would compare to Luke? Who could make me feel so good so easily? The answer is no one.
“Undress for me,” he orders softly.
I laugh a bit shyly, which is silly. This is Luke. And Luke has always liked to watch me undress. “I’m pretty close to naked already.”
“Half-naked. Undress for me,” he repeats, his hands falling away from me as he sits down on the bed.
I know then, of course, that he wants to feel like us again, but it runs deeper than that, I think. He wants me to show him that I trust him. And I do. I trusted him so much that when I felt betrayed, my reaction was over the top. Maybe he shouldn’t want my trust. Maybe my trust is dangerous.
But I’m not denying him what he’s asking for. I’m not denying him anything, not tonight.
Chapter Thirty-Six
LUCIFER
The past…
I sit across from Ana on our first date at a popular upscale Italian restaurant, lit up inside and out by her soft voice, her beautiful smile, her luminous blue eyes. She is a deadly angel. A woman with the skills to kill you, and the sense not to if she can find another way. I have no idea why this appeals to me so much, aside from the obvious. She’s a fucking beautiful badass and while some might be intimidated by her or the man she calls father, I am not.
I want her.
Should I walk away? Probably. Am I good enough for her? Probably not.
But then, I have never pretended to be the angel I believe her to be. Not with her or anyone. I am what I am. She can take me or leave me—it might be better for her own good if she left me—but I’m damn sure going to make certain she feels good in the process.
“Wine?”
“Yes, please. That sounds good.”
“What do you prefer?”
“Red like roses, white is almost like water,” she jokes. “I vote red.”
“Any preferences?”
“Not too dry.”
I glance at the menu and when the waiter stops by, I order an expensive bottle, riding the bonus lining my pocket for an independent contractor job that starts next week.
“You seem to really know your wine.”
“I spent about two years in Italy and another two in France.”
“Are you glad to be back here?”
“Now I am,” I say, making it clear that I’m talking about her. And it’s true. I’m fucking elated to be right here at this table with her. There is something about Ana that outshines every woman before her, and I’ve had my share as a young rowdy pilot, who perhaps had more of a God complex than the Lucifer title I earned. Now, I save the Lucifer comparison for reasons no one would understand.
“Do you have family, Luke?” she asks, really the only person other than Kurt who calls me Luke rather than Lucifer.
“My father was a pilot, which is why I became a pilot. He died in a combat situation. My mother died in a car accident a year later, just before I enlisted.”
When others would apologize as if they were responsible for my parents’ deaths, Ana studies me intensely, just studies me as if I’m a science project. The waiter arrives with our bottle of wine. When finally, our glasses are filled and Ana has approved of the wine, I say, “What are you thinking, Ana?”