“Yeah, yeah.” She banged on the door. “Hello? We’re stuck in here. Can you open the door?”
They waited. Nothing. Lucas smiled, as if she’d just agreed to sign over her soul.
He stood in one graceful move. “This gives us a chance to talk.”
“We’re not going to talk.”
“I thought we needed to talk.”
“So talk to yourself, then! Talk away, Lucas! Jeesh! It’s too hot in here. It’s like one of those Swedish saunas where they kill people. Who can talk?”
It’s hard to believe you were once so good with men, because you are now officially a babbling idiot. She went to the window. Great, plenty of people down there, and a little cooler.
“Hello! Hi! We’re stuck up here! Hello!” Nope. Apparently, the band was too loud—“Let’s Spend the Night Together,” perfect—and not one person looked up. Connor, get your ass up here, she thought, hoping the psychic twin thing would work this time.
Twilight was falling softly over the party, the sky a beautiful shade of slate blue.
“Sit, Colleen,” Lucas said. He was already on the floor, his back against the wall, long legs crossed. Jeans. White shirt. That skin, that beautiful olive skin.
She sighed again and obeyed, crossing her arms grumpily. She sat kitty-corner from him. The better to see you, my dear.
A faint smile played on his mouth. He had a perfect mouth. Full and perfectly shaped and just a little sulky.
You really have it bad, Connor’s voice informed her.
“No kidding,” she muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“Where’d you get the bracelets?” she asked, nodding her chin at the little woven strands around his wrist.
“Tiffany made this one for me. Cara did this one. My nieces.”
“I remember.” Hard to believe those girls would be, what...thirteen? Fourteen?
Lucas had always been a sweet uncle. And now he wore his nieces’ friendship bracelets, the kind that would have to stay on until you cut them off, which Colleen knew he wouldn’t do.
Dangerously appealing.
“You seem happier,” she said unexpectedly, and while she honestly wouldn’t have wished him to be miserable, the acknowledgment stabbed her.
He shrugged.
“Are you still working for your father-in-law?” Hey. Google didn’t exist for nothing.
“Ex-father-in-law. And yes, though I won’t be doing that much longer.”
“Starting your own company?” she asked.
“Yes. How did you know?”
She tugged her skirt to cover her knees. “It just seems like a better fit for you. You’re a loner. Or you were.”
“And you, mía? Are you happy?”
“Don’t call me mía, okay? I might think all sorts of deliciously romantic things and start writing your name in my notebook.” She glanced out the window to the leaves of the big maple, which were rustling in the wind. “Yes, I’m happy.”
“You never...” His voice trailed off.
“Never what?” she asked a bit sharply.
“Never got married? Never came close?”
“Lucas, I’m insulted you never stalked me on Facebook.”
“No, I never did.”
And why would he? He had a life, a wife, a different time zone. He lived in the City of Big Shoulders, he was Frank Forbes’s son-in-law.
“You haven’t answered the question,” he said.
She pursed her lips. “I thought I came close once. With you. Otherwise, no.”
“But you’re happy?” he asked.
“Why? Trying to soothe your guilty conscience?”
“Because I always hoped you were.”
Well, shit. Her cynical heart gave a tug. He always had a way of cutting through her usual shtick with that wretchedly effective weapon—sincerity.
“I’m happy,” she said. “The bar is great.”
“The heart of the town, it seems.”
“Thanks.” She sure hoped it was. That was kind of the point. “I work at the nursing home a little.”
“I saw you there on Thursday.”
“You did?”
“I’m consulting on a new wing. You were with your grandfather. I didn’t want to intrude.”
Gramp had been having a bad day. Completely unresponsive, only accepting a sip of water if she held the glass to his lips, like a baby bird.
The noise from the party floated up to them, laughter and music, in little waves on the summer air.
She cleared her throat. “And your marriage? Was it good?” Crap. This talking stuff was very difficult.
His eyes were so dark. “For the most part, yes.”
p>
“Yeah, yeah.” She banged on the door. “Hello? We’re stuck in here. Can you open the door?”
They waited. Nothing. Lucas smiled, as if she’d just agreed to sign over her soul.
He stood in one graceful move. “This gives us a chance to talk.”
“We’re not going to talk.”
“I thought we needed to talk.”
“So talk to yourself, then! Talk away, Lucas! Jeesh! It’s too hot in here. It’s like one of those Swedish saunas where they kill people. Who can talk?”
It’s hard to believe you were once so good with men, because you are now officially a babbling idiot. She went to the window. Great, plenty of people down there, and a little cooler.
“Hello! Hi! We’re stuck up here! Hello!” Nope. Apparently, the band was too loud—“Let’s Spend the Night Together,” perfect—and not one person looked up. Connor, get your ass up here, she thought, hoping the psychic twin thing would work this time.
Twilight was falling softly over the party, the sky a beautiful shade of slate blue.
“Sit, Colleen,” Lucas said. He was already on the floor, his back against the wall, long legs crossed. Jeans. White shirt. That skin, that beautiful olive skin.
She sighed again and obeyed, crossing her arms grumpily. She sat kitty-corner from him. The better to see you, my dear.
A faint smile played on his mouth. He had a perfect mouth. Full and perfectly shaped and just a little sulky.
You really have it bad, Connor’s voice informed her.
“No kidding,” she muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“Where’d you get the bracelets?” she asked, nodding her chin at the little woven strands around his wrist.
“Tiffany made this one for me. Cara did this one. My nieces.”
“I remember.” Hard to believe those girls would be, what...thirteen? Fourteen?
Lucas had always been a sweet uncle. And now he wore his nieces’ friendship bracelets, the kind that would have to stay on until you cut them off, which Colleen knew he wouldn’t do.
Dangerously appealing.
“You seem happier,” she said unexpectedly, and while she honestly wouldn’t have wished him to be miserable, the acknowledgment stabbed her.
He shrugged.
“Are you still working for your father-in-law?” Hey. Google didn’t exist for nothing.
“Ex-father-in-law. And yes, though I won’t be doing that much longer.”
“Starting your own company?” she asked.
“Yes. How did you know?”
She tugged her skirt to cover her knees. “It just seems like a better fit for you. You’re a loner. Or you were.”
“And you, mía? Are you happy?”
“Don’t call me mía, okay? I might think all sorts of deliciously romantic things and start writing your name in my notebook.” She glanced out the window to the leaves of the big maple, which were rustling in the wind. “Yes, I’m happy.”
“You never...” His voice trailed off.
“Never what?” she asked a bit sharply.
“Never got married? Never came close?”
“Lucas, I’m insulted you never stalked me on Facebook.”
“No, I never did.”
And why would he? He had a life, a wife, a different time zone. He lived in the City of Big Shoulders, he was Frank Forbes’s son-in-law.
“You haven’t answered the question,” he said.
She pursed her lips. “I thought I came close once. With you. Otherwise, no.”
“But you’re happy?” he asked.
“Why? Trying to soothe your guilty conscience?”
“Because I always hoped you were.”
Well, shit. Her cynical heart gave a tug. He always had a way of cutting through her usual shtick with that wretchedly effective weapon—sincerity.
“I’m happy,” she said. “The bar is great.”
“The heart of the town, it seems.”
“Thanks.” She sure hoped it was. That was kind of the point. “I work at the nursing home a little.”
“I saw you there on Thursday.”
“You did?”
“I’m consulting on a new wing. You were with your grandfather. I didn’t want to intrude.”
Gramp had been having a bad day. Completely unresponsive, only accepting a sip of water if she held the glass to his lips, like a baby bird.
The noise from the party floated up to them, laughter and music, in little waves on the summer air.
She cleared her throat. “And your marriage? Was it good?” Crap. This talking stuff was very difficult.
His eyes were so dark. “For the most part, yes.”
Ah, shit. She was going to have to ask. It was the elephant in the attic, after all. “Lucas,” she said, and her voice shook a little, “why her and not me? You said you didn’t want to get married so young. Was it who she was? Her family? The money? I won’t judge you. I just want to know.”
He didn’t answer right away. “She was pregnant.”
The words seemed to suck the hot air out of the attic completely, leaving nothing to feed her lungs.
Maybe she’d always known. She’d asked him that that horrible day, and she still remembered the pause before he said no. For nine months, she waited to hear news of a baby, not proud of it, but waiting and waiting.
No birth announcement. Back then it had been a relief.
But now... “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
He nodded once and looked at the floor. “Thank you.”
For a few minutes, they didn’t say anything else. Colleen surreptitiously wiped her eyes.
Lucas was looking at her again, his face somber. “I came to see you,” he said. “After you broke up with me. I couldn’t stand it anymore.”
She already knew why he never followed through.
“You were with someone else,” he said, his voice quiet. “It seemed like you were serious about breaking up. I went back home, ran into Ellen a few weeks later, slept with her. One time. And that was that.”
“I asked you, though. When you came back, I asked if she was pregnant.”
He nodded again. “She didn’t want anyone to know, outside of her parents. I didn’t...I didn’t want to hurt you more than I already was. And I had to respect what Ellen wanted.” He paused. “She miscarried about a month after the wedding.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said again.
He gave her a small smile. “Me, too.”
Colleen swallowed.
Ellen Forbes had gotten pregnant, and Lucas married her. That was completely in keeping with his sense of honor and responsibility...and the fact that he was a family man.
And she knew without him speaking the words what the loss of that baby must’ve meant to him. Lucas, who would have made the best father. He never would have left Ellen, not after that kind of shared sorrow.
“Did you love her?” she asked.
“Yes. Of course.”
He never had said that to her—“I love you.” The thought came unbidden, and it filled her throat with tears. Lucas looked at her, his dark eyes liquid. He reached out and wiped her cheek because it seemed a tear had slipped out.
“Then why did you get a divorce?” she whispered.
He looked at the floor, then up at her. “Because I didn’t love her enough,” he said.
She kissed him then, of course she did, because those words, they broke her heart, sliced it in a sweet, hot cut. The kiss was soft and tender and almost shy, as if she was kissing him for the first time again. His heart had been broken, too, she realized, if not by her, then by that sad, helpless loss. And Lucas had lost so much in life.
Her hands slid through his hair, that gorgeous, thick, waving hair, and her mouth opened. He dragged her across his lap to hold her, one hand cupping her face. His arms were safe and strong, pulling her against his solid chest, and the kissing changed now, harder and less sweet and more wonderful, because it had always been like this between them, that raw heat that practically lifted her off the ground with its force. All she wanted was this, and she wondered how she’d lasted so long without him, without the hot, red force that made her heart shudder. The scrape of his cheek, the heat of his hands, the way they fit together, made her shake.
Slow down, slow down, slow down, her brain chanted.
She pulled back, her breath shaking out of her. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his breath coming hard, and he looked at her the way no other man had ever looked at her.
Mine.
“Not bad, Spaniard,” she said, and he laughed, that low, smoky sound. She always could make him smile.
“Oh, mía, what am I going to do with you?” he whispered, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Again with the mía. I’m not yours. I’m a rental.”
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
The words caused a sunburst in her chest. “I’m definitely writing your name in my notebook.”
He smiled, but his eyes held a note of worry. “I’ll be going back to Chicago soon,” he said.
That dampened the moment a bit. “Right. I know.”
“But I can’t seem to stay away from you, either.”
“No.”
There was a pause; her heart counted out the beats.
“Should I leave you alone, Colleen?” he asked.
He was giving her a chance to back out, or at least, to stall. And yes, she felt as na**d and vulnerable as a newborn kitten. She should ask him about the future. She should go slowly, make sure this time, not jump—
But last time, she’d had the whole future mapped out. The house, the kids, the plan. Maybe this time, she could just...be.
His black eyes were half-closed, and he looked more like a Spanish pirate than ever, about to claim his woman.
“No. Don’t leave me alone,” she said, and his mouth was on hers again, his hands sliding under her dress to her hips, pulling her closer, his tongue sliding against hers, and this was it. He was the one, and she knew it, no matter how scary it was, how big and deep and easy to get lost in, she was simply, undeniably his.
The door banged open, and there was Connor. “Coll, where have you— Oh, for the love of God.”
Colleen hurtled off Lucas’s lap and straightened her skirt.
“Great! This is just great,” he said, turning his back. “Paulie and Bryce are missing, and you two are up here, making out.” He gave them a second, then turned back with a disapproving look. “The Chicken King wants you to help find his little princess, Coll. Mind getting your ass in gear?”
* * *
THERE WAS LOGIC, Lucas thought as he followed the O’Rourke twins downstairs, and there was...this.
It didn’t make sense to get involved with Colleen. She wasn’t a quick, sweet summer romance. She was forever. And he’d be leaving in too short a time, back to his life in Chicago, where he’d worked so hard to build something. A life. Friends. A career in which he was respected. He had family there, Steph and the girls, Frank and Grace.
And Ellen was, arguably, his best friend.
Colleen was Manningsport. She was the heart of the town, and she wouldn’t leave, and he wouldn’t stay.
He didn’t want to hurt Colleen again; he hadn’t wanted to hurt her ever.
But they were adults now. They could talk about things better. They could make something work.
Until Lucas had met Colleen, everything had always been...tainted, somehow. Complicated. His father had been a good man, and yet he’d dealt drugs. Ask the mother of a meth addict how good a man Dan Campbell was. Lucas’s memories of his mother were that she was too sick, too fragile, and he always had to be careful and quiet. Steph...of course he loved Steph, but until the past five or six years, she’d been something of a screwup. Bryce was the good-hearted idiot, and Joe was the uncle who couldn’t quite stand up to Didi. Ellen was the woman he’d made a life with because of their circumstances, and try as he might, he hadn’t made that work.