Page 8 of Lucas & Melissa Falling in Love
“No. I don’t know.”
He raised a hand to my cheek again and gave me a caressing smile, a comforting smile.
“It’ll be all right. We’ll talk later. You’ll be fine—better than ever.”
I nodded. “It’s a lot of change to digest.”
“I know. But I’m convinced it’ll all be to the good.”
I laughed at the absurdity of this stranger—Lucas whose last name I didn’t even know—speaking to me as if he were my lifelong friend and knew everything there was to know about me, knew what I was going through and understood how I felt. Most of it was astonishing, too crazy to be believed—except the part about him understanding how I felt. That I believed. I felt it.
And maybe that was the most important part of being a good friend, which is maybe what I needed.
“It’ll be fine as long as I never see a lawyer again.” I hinted at the source of my defeat, trying to be light, but I couldn’t force a smile.
“Lucky thing I’m not a lawyer then,” he said. No smile.
The relief on his face, not even mock relief, melted my heart. I wondered if he was normal. But I felt the wave of warm energy and comfort andtsked myself for thinking like a cynic.
I put my hand over his. It was warm on my face in spite of the cold weather and his lack of gloves or proper clothes. Then I slid his palm to my lips and kissed it. Without thinking, of course, because my mind was gone, replaced by this unbridled passion person.
Yoo hoo, Melissa, where the hell are you? Who are you?
“Can I ask you a favor?” he said.
I nodded and let go of his hand. He put both his hands on my arms then. It felt right. It felt good, like he was giving me strength with that mystical energy of his. Maybe it was the season getting to me. Christmas always had an effect on me, turned me sappier than usual. Usual for me was no sap at all, steel in my veins.
“Can we pretend this was our first date and . . . let me give you one of those end-of-the-first-date kisses?”
Nerves sizzled and I wouldn’t be surprised if steam came out of me. I felt the shot of heat run to my center, sending a fresh shot of cream to my panties. I did the only thing I could in my pathetic needy state, I nodded. Again.
His expression wasn’t exactly a smile. There was too much wonder, as if I’d granted a dying man his last wish. He tightened his hands on my arms and pulled us closer though I didn’t move, not a muscle—unless you counted the clenching of those lady-part muscles. His face got closer, more vivid so that I could see the specks of gold in the blue of his irises, making those intense eyes exciting instead of scary.
I could feel the heat and energy of him surrounding me as he lowered his head, moving his mouth a breath away from mine. Those ridiculously kissable lips were within my reach and if I wasn’t so paralyzed and mesmerized by him, I would have jumped forward and devoured them.
As it was, he paused there as if hesitating, but I knew it wasn’t hesitation. It was appreciation. He stared at my eyes, studying them, studying me as if I was fascinating, or a puzzle or something that needed figuring out. I would ask him later what he was looking at or looking for. But now, for God’s sake, I needed him to take my mouth with his, to feel his lips on mine.
He brought our bodies together first. The shock of his chest hitting mine felt like a wall of molten comfort, dizzying and inviting. I didn’t close my eyes, but watched his mouth until it disappeared as it touched mine, cold and hot, soft and cushiony and firm all at once. The sensation of his lips on mine sent a shudder of desire through me and I found myself leaning my hips into his, reaching my hands up, running my fingers through his hair, pressing his face to mine.
When I should have been embarrassed by my boldness, I felt nothing but the rule of passion. We kissed and held each other and I explored his lips and he tasted mine. He held me tight and my heart beat faster and faster. Then when I would have deepened the kiss, he ended it.
The sound of his heavy breathing as his mouth separated from mine satisfied my ego and prevented disappointment from shaming me. My own chest heaved, sucking gulps of cold air to calm me enough for civilized company.
“Wow.” His voice sounded rough, spent. “I need a cigarette.” He lowered his hands from my arms and stepped back.
I felt the instant freeze of winter air and desertion. My hand went to his chest automatically as if he were a magnet. He put his hand over it.
“I can’t wait for our second date,” I managed to say, glad not all of my poise had disappeared, even if this was a new, brazen version.
“I know how you feel. I’ll be back in an hour.” He let go of my hand and turned, walking back to his car which was still running at the curb. I realized the doorman had been waiting with my bags and watching. He knew me, but I knew him too and I knew he was discreet. The best of the best when it came to doormen—second only to my man Roy.
I stood there and watched Lucas go. He looked back once and gave me a smile. I sighed as if I were one of those ingénues in a rom-com movie. Once he got in his car, I went inside the building. I wanted to hang onto that romantic feeling, but the niggling fact that Lucas could be Jack the Ripper for all I knew, dug its way into my consciousness. Reassuring myself that we’d be at a party with lots of people for protection should I need it, I felt there was hope that I hadn’t completely lost my mind.
“Penthouse, Miss Cooper?” the doorman asked.
“Yes please.” I opened my Hermès bag—the only designer handbag I’d hung onto even though it didn’t match my luggage because it had been my first—and took out my wallet. I had a piddling amount of money inside, but I went on instinct, uninhibited instinct, and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill.
“Merry Christmas, Henry.” I handed the bill to the astonished doorman.
