Page 94 of Lucas & Melissa Falling in Love
“Sei il mio incantesimo. Sono pazzo di te.”
“Oh my God, Lucas.” Panting like I’m in labor, I hold him close as if he’s holding me together.
He moves his face above mine and feathers kisses—hot, moist, loving kisses—all over my mouth, cheeks, nose, eyes, as if he can’t get enough of me, as if he’s memorizing my face with each brush of his lips. As my panting slows to real breathing, though still like an out-of-shape Sunday jogger—exactly like I’d be if I’d tried jogging more than a block, I feel the euphoria settle over the frantic thrill, the happiness bubble up from the heart-hammering excitement.
I think I love him. Imustlove him.
I can’t tell him.
Instead, with shaky fingers I stroke his face, wipe his sweaty hair from his eyes, off his forehead, to look into his eyes, those deep pools of beauty.
Lowering his mouth to mine, he opens it and gives me one of those deeper-than-the-universe kisses to last a lifetime, long and slow and lingering and thorough. I’m breathless again, but content in a nerve-tingling way, if there is such a thing.
He lifts his mouth, lets his eyes linger on mine. Our breaths mingle with the scents of his aftershave and our bodies, so intoxicating. Almost ready to weep with the sense of well-being I need to say something, something neutral to break the spell.Before it breaks me.
“Maybe I should show you the bathroom now.”
He chuckles and lifts himself in a smooth slow move. It’s almost like he’s always dancing, gliding through life without any of the awkward movement that the rest of us are prone to now and then. He stands and reaches a hand down to me as I sit upright in my usual herky-jerky way of moving. But he doesn’t notice since his eyes are riveted to mine.
“I think I’m in love with your apartment,” he says. I almost have a heart attack before he finishes his sentence, thinking he’s going to tell me he’s in love with me.Again. Having to come up with some way not to say it back because I can’t, unnerves me because I don’t want to mess things up between us.
Relief and disappointment twist me as I turn away, feeling a need to say something flip.
“You have to take it now that we’ve . . . uh . . . christened the bedroom.”
He follows me into the en suite bathroom. I use one of the two sinks to wash as he uses the other. The married couple feel of it makes my stomach bubble like it’s been filled with champagne. But I too late realize there are no towels and end up shaking my hands. Until he gives me his handkerchief.
“What about you?” I ask.
He answers with that elegant lift of his shoulder and I find myself searching for something else to ask him so I can elicit that response again and again. He’s buckling his belt now and I’m straightening my tights, half wishing that I could have some privacy.
“I’ll wait outside while you finish up,” he says. Shaking my head in disbelief I blow him a kiss.
“What planet are you from? The World of Mind-Reading Gods?”
He laughs and closes the door behind him.
On the elevator down, we stand arm in arm, closer together than we did on the way up, and a thought occurs to me.
“Does our relationship seem like it’s too much about sex to you?” Our physical attraction seems to surmount everything else, including the fact that we have almost nothing in common.
“If that’s a roundabout way of saying how much you appreciate our monumental lovemaking—”
“I’m serious. What if . . . what we have between us is more lust than . . .”
He pulls my cowardly chin up to face him. “Say it.”
“Lust more than love.” I say it. I am no coward after all. I may be unsure of myself, I may be a waffling mess and homeless and almost penniless, but I will be brave. I will not shrink from facing whatever I have to face. All the demons.
My birth parents aren’t the only ones I have to face. I have to face my crazy lust for Lucas.
We stare into each other’s eyes and, even with the earthy scent of our lovemaking floating up to blur my senses, my eyes don’t waver.
“Don’t you think the spectacularness of the lust isbecauseof the love?” he whispers. He is so Italian. It is exactly what the proverbial Latin lover would say. But my lips curve up in spite of my circumspection. Then my heart taps faster in my chest. Because he could be right, couldn’t he?
“I’ve never been in love before.” It’s my only excuse, but it’s real and true. I’d been in lust before, minor skirmishes compared to what I have with Lucas. I should tell him this, reassure him, but my old aversion for vulnerability rises up to defend my heart.
He smiles. His perfect mouth comes down on mine, plush and juicy and ravaging in its possession.
The elevator doors slide open and he lets the kiss linger a beat longer. Managing to put an arm out to catch the door before it closes, he escorts me off the elevator, through the lobby, past our favorite doorman in all of New York City and through the doors.
All the while I know I’m sporting a goofy lovesick grin and for the moment, I don’t care. I’ll have plenty of time later to be ashamed of my total lack of poise.
