Finally?
Yep. I’d said finally.
Lucas’s brows drew together, and I felt the tips of my ears grow even warmer. My face was probably flashing red, too.
“You’re definitely not a burglar!” I blurted out to veer the conversation away from that stupid, stupidfinally. “And I’m also so, so very sorry I assumed you were. I’m sure this was not how you imagined arriving in New York. Or Lina’s apartment for that matter. Anyway, can I please help you up?”
But Lucas remained on his back, brandishing that grin that had taken shape minutes ago. As if all of this was okay.Normal. Which wasn’t. It really wasn’t. Because Lucas Martín was here. On mydoorstep—or, well, Lina’s doorstep. And I was making the worst first impression ever.
“Yeah, I didn’t exactly see this coming,” he said as he stretched his arm up, letting his hand hover above him, right at the height of my stomach. “But either way, it’s really nice to meet you, Rosalyn Graham.”
I stared at that hand, taking in the long fingers attached to it. Then, my eyes jumped to the tan skin of his wrist, which was swathed by a worn leather cord bracelet.
A small part of me wondered how his skin would feel against my fingers, but both my arms remained glued to my sides.
“How do you… know my name?” I asked.
Because Lucas had said my full name.
His hand remained in the air, waiting. Just like his smile.
“I heard it earlier,” he answered casually. “You know, when you told the emergency dispatcher. Right after you called me deranged.”
I winced. “Oh God, I guess I did that, didn’t I?” I blew a breath out of my nose. “I’m so sorry about that, too.” I blinked some more. My eyes now fixated on the section of skin on his forearm that had been gradually revealed as the sleeve of his sweatshirt slid down. But I still didn’t reach for his hand and he let it drop down to his side. “I swear I had no idea you were arriving tonight. Lina never said anything. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have called the cops. Heck, I wouldn’t even be here if I had known you were coming.”
Lucas tilted his head with what I assumed was curiosity. Probably wanting to ask why.Why the hell are you here, then?
“But you can call me Rosie,” I continued. “Everyone does. You can, too. If you want, of course. But Rosalyn is also fine.”
A soft chuckle escaped through his permanent grin, followed by a simple, “Rosie.”
As if he was testing the name on his tongue.
And God, the way he pronounced it, coated in that strong Spanish accent that rolled hisRs as if his whole body was pitching the sound and not just his tongue and vocal chords. It was so…different from every other way my name had been pronounced. Interesting. Distracting.
“Rosie,” he repeated after a couple of seconds.“Qué dulce,”he added in what I knew was his mother tongue, Spanish, but wasn’t sure what it meant. “I like it. It suits you.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, my whole body feeling increasingly warm. I shifted in my feet. “You have a good name, too, Lucas. It’s very… groovy.”
Groovy.
Oh God. Oh Lord.
Did I just say that his name isgroovy? Like a… a… disco ball? Or a seventies themed party?
“Thanks, I guess.” Lucas let out a chuckle. “All right, as comfortable as I am on the floor, I’m tired of looking at your face upside down, Rosie.”
And before I could process his words, Lucas got up on his feet in a quick maneuver I wasn’t expecting. Distracted by the motion, the size of him, that alluring roll of theRthat was still echoing in my head, and ultimately, the effect of having Lucas Martín—in the flesh—in front of me, I almost missed it when he winced and doubled over.
“Watch out!” I said as I lunged myself forward and grasped his forearms a couple of seconds too late. His head was down, and I couldn’t see his face. “Are you okay?”
“Estoy bien,”he breathed out, as if the words in his mother tongue had unconsciously slipped out. He shook his head. “I’m okay. All under control.”
Slowly, he glanced at me from under his lashes, meeting my gaze and making all the blood in my body return to my face. Just before returning his eyes down, as if something had caught his attention.
I mirrored the motion.
My hands. They were around his upper arms in a death grip. Around what I now realized were very firm upper arms. Lined with muscles. Hard ones. Flexed ones.