First Love: A Superbundle Boxed Set of Seven New Adult Romances (42 page)

“You’re kidding,” I say, taking the flowers.

“Read the note.”

He comes inside and glances around quickly before turning his beautiful blue eyes back on me.

Blushing, I find the envelope and pull out one of the standard cards from the shop.

The card reads:

SORRY I’M A JERK. - LUCA

I look up, confused. He’s grinning like crazy.

“I don’t get it,” I say.

He shrugs. “I’m sure I’ll do something hideous tonight. For example, I might look around your place and ask to see the rest of it. Then you’ll tell me it’s a renovated garage, and we’re standing in all of it.”

“Oh, I have five more rooms here. They’re behind that door. Go have a look.” I point my thumb at the coat closet.

“Maybe later.” He takes the flowers and note from my hand and sets them in the middle of the table. Then he wraps his arms around me and pulls me in for a kiss.

We kiss until I get dizzy and stumble back, almost tipping us over.

He licks his lips, his gaze on my mouth. “Are you going to offer me some of that wine you’re drinking?”

“I’m afraid that particular wine is all gone. It went into the, um, sauce. But I have another bottle I can open.”

He picks up a bag from just inside the door and hands me an unopened bottle. “Let’s try this.”

“The bottle’s dusty.”

He chuckles. “It’s from my wine cellar.”

I point to the closet door. “I have a wine cellar, too. It’s right through that door.”

“Sure you do.” He grabs me and kisses me again, then nuzzles his cheek against my neck. His cheek is smooth, like he shaved minutes before coming over. The feeling of his skin against my neck, along with his hot breath, makes my knees weak.

“You smell good,” he murmurs. “You smell like roast beef, which is one of my favorite smells.”

I squeal and pull away. “That’s your dinner.”

He points his finger in the air, like he’s just remembered something. “Right, dinner. I should confess. I actually ate dinner before I came over, because I knew it was just an excuse for you to get me into your lair.”

My mouth drops open in disbelief. “Did you really eat before you came over?”

He laughs. “No. I’m famished.” He plucks the notecard from the table and points to the inscription. “Now you see why I needed this. Classic jerk move, making you worry like that.”

I hand him the wine opener, and he gets to work opening the bottle.

I pull the enormous roast from the oven and leave it on the stovetop to rest before slicing. Rory left me specific instructions for the final preparations, and I do my best to follow them.

Luca hands me a glass of wine and offers to help. He and his large frame barely fit inside the micro kitchen, let alone both of us. I shoo him out and tell him to snoop around.

He looks around my place with interest, first at the finishing details of the garage conversion, and then at my collection of framed photos on the mantle above the electric fireplace.

“I didn’t know you were married,” he says.

My throat tightens, and I regret not going through my photos before Luca came over. He holds my prom photo in his hand, studying it with a frown on his face.

“That’s not a bridal gown,” I tell him. “My prom dress was pale blue, but everyone else was in much brighter colors, so I look washed out.”

“You’re beautiful.”

I grab a hot tray without an oven mitt and burn my fingers. I curse under my breath and quickly dunk my hand in cold water.

“Who’s the guy?” he asks.

“My prom date.” I pull my hand out of the cold water, dry it off, and immediately grab the hot tray again.

The burn sends a shock through me, and I drop the tray with a clang. I swear again, shaking my hand, and turn on the tap, full blast.

The pain strips away my defenses.

Everything hits me at once, memories flooding back. My hand throbs from the burn. I collapse forward against the sink, and the tears come.

I feel a hand on my back. Sobbing, I tell him to leave me alone. I need a minute. By myself.

He pulls me into him. I crush my face against his chest to avoid meeting his eyes. He wraps his arms around my back and holds me.

The sobs slow down, and soon I’m breathing calmly again. And feeling very foolish.

I pull away and look at my fingertips.

“That’s not too bad,” I say. “Just a little red. Probably won’t even blister.” I point to the offending pan and explain that I stupidly grabbed it without an oven mitt.

“Is that the only thing you’re upset about?” he asks.

I wipe my eyes with a paper towel and put on a cheerful face.

“I’m fine.”

“Tina, what’s wrong?”

I sigh and grin up at him. There’s so much worry in his blue eyes that it rips my heart into even more pieces.

“Nothing,” I say. “Except for the obvious—I’m a cheap drunk, and an emotional one.”

I grab the glass of wine he poured me and glug it back as proof.

“Anything else?” he asks.

I point to my face and whisper-yell, “SORRY I’M A JERK.”

His smile turns into a grin, and then a laugh.

“Apology accepted. Can I help you with anything in here? Now that I’ve wedged myself into your kitchen, I don’t know if I can get out again.” His eyes go to the meat. “What is that, half a cow?”

“That’s what I said when Rory brought everything over.”

“Rory? That’s your best friend, right? The one who can’t say panties?”

I gasp. “Don’t ever tell her I told you that.”

“And she works for a caterer, right?” He looks over all the food, realization dawning on his face.

I hand him the salad bowl to take to the table. “Nope. She drives a garbage truck. You must be thinking of your other girlfriend’s best friend.”

He chuckles and helps me bring the rest of the food to the table—or at least as much as will fit on the small surface.

We sit down, and he refills my glass.

“This is really nice of you to make me a home-cooked dinner,” he says. “It’s been a while since somebody took care of me like this.” His eyes are shining.

I feel something in my chest, like my soul is trying to tell me something.

He clears his throat and raises his glass, smiling and blinking rapidly.

“A toast,” he says.

I raise my glass and wait.

His voice low and soft, like a prayer, he says, “May every loving heart hear its song returned across the lake.”

We clink our glasses, and drink in the moment.

Chapter 13

After dinner and dessert, we move over to the couch.

It’s a generous-sized couch, in an L shape. I could have fit a bed plus some smaller furniture inside my cottage, but I opted for the big sofa with a fold-out bed instead.

When I bought the thing, I imagined having parties, and friends perching all over my pricey new sectional. In my imagination, everyone wore fancy clothes and drank martinis.

In reality, my friends wear socks with holes in them, and would rather watch a movie than engage in small talk with people they don’t know. The couch works well for that, too.

After I finish telling Luca all about the sofa, and how we had to take the door off its hinges to get it inside, he lets out a low whistle.

I hold my fingers to my mouth. “I’m babbling.”

He gets up and moves over to the corner where I am. He sat down first, and I sat opposite him. But now he’s making a move. I’m nervous and excited.

Luca seems calm enough. He casually puts his arm around me, across the back of the couch.

“It’s a good couch,” he says. “Your kitchen is too small, but this couch was made for me.”

“It is custom made, but I didn’t know you back then.”

Nervously, I look around for my wine glass. It’s in the sink, because we finished the wine. I wish I had something for my hands.

“Would you like a coffee?” I ask.

“I don’t need any caffeine.”

He strokes the back of my head with his hand while gazing into my eyes. His fingers push into my curly hair, but he doesn’t try to comb through and get caught in the knots.

His shave looks really close to the skin. He seems brand new, like a clone in a sci-fi movie who’s just come out of an egg. And he smells like heaven.

“Thanks again for the flowers,” I tell him.

“I didn’t just bring you flowers.”

“Oh. Thanks for the wine. It was excellent. You have a good wine cellar.”

He chuckles, then leans back to pull something from his jeans pocket. He hands me a jewelry box. It’s bigger than a ring box, but smaller than a necklace box.

My hands tremble as I reach for the velvet case. Jewelry? On the fourth date?
Cosmopolitan
magazine did not prepare me for this scenario.

“Open it,” he says, sounding like an excited kid on Christmas day.

I snap open the box. Inside is a charm bracelet, with several charms already connected to it. I pull the bracelet out to examine the charms. One is a tiny little hammer. There’s also a motorbike, a flower pot, and a tea cup.

I wave one hand to fan my face.

My throat is tight, and I can just barely rasp, “This is too much.”

He taps the tea cup with the end of his square, flat fingernail. “This one is the cutest, and you know I’m not a man who uses the word
cutest
often.”

I gasp. “The tea cup is from when we had breakfast at Delilah’s.” My eyes are welling up, and I feel raw with emotion.

“Don’t cry again,” he says.

“These are happy tears.”

He takes the bracelet from my hand and very carefully undoes the clasp. I hold my left wrist out, and he fastens the bracelet around my wrist.

I admire the bracelet, turning my wrist back and forth.

“I wish I’d got you something,” I say.

“Tina, you made me dinner, plus you’ve already given me so much. This dark cloud of dread has been hanging over me since I got the keys to the garage. I thought I’d made the worst decision of my life. But then I met you, and now I feel like I’m on the right path.”

“I’m your good luck charm.”

He agrees with me by kissing me.

His lips are firm, pushing hard against mine. I suck his lower lip into mine and hold it captive to slow him down.

He moans into my lips, and the vibration of his deep voice travels through me with pleasure.

We kiss, and soon our hands are entwined in each other’s hair.

He leans over and reaches around me, like he’s going to hug me. He grabs me firmly by the waist and lifts me up and onto his lap, facing him. My legs straddle his, and my skirt rides up, exposing my underwear.

I quickly fix my skirt to conceal myself, but he already saw, and laughs like he’s gotten away with something very naughty. His chest rumbles when he laughs. I feel it through my whole body.

We kiss some more, and I note how perfect it is, sitting on his lap like this. Our mouths are at the same height, and the feeling of his legs between mine is more intoxicating than the wine I drank.

The longer we kiss, the more relaxed I get. I shift closer and closer, until I’m bumping against the business area of his lap. He moans as I tilt my hips and press against him.

The vibration of his voice sets off explosions of lust inside me. I reach down and grab his shirt to pull it off.

He raises his arms to help, and then I toss the shirt aside and take in his bare chest. First, I use my eyes. He’s got some chest hair, the same light brown color as his hair. He’s not super hairy, but he does look like a man. A very powerful, muscled man.

My hands join in the excitement. First, I run my fingertips across the broad, square muscles of his pectorals. He flexes under my touch.

I start over from the top, with my hands on either side of his face. He’s got such a nice, square jaw, and it’s only complemented by his bare chest. I smooth my way down his neck, and knead the thick muscles connecting to his shoulders. I think I have decent shoulder muscles, from moving heavy buckets of water around the shop, but there’s no comparison.

My hands glide over his chest again, and then below. His skin is smooth and hot, begging to be touched. I trace the contours of his abdominal muscles, and follow the line of curly hair down to the waistband of his jeans.

He’s been holding still, just watching me look at him, but now he reaches to my back, feeling around for a zipper.

I smile, because there is no zipper. This is a jersey-knit dress that lifts off like a T-shirt, but he doesn’t know that. My smile gets bigger as he keeps searching for a zipper or buttons, his forehead furrowing.

I glance around to make sure we have privacy. The blinds on the windows are closed, which is a relief. Even though the lights are dimmed, with all the big windows facing the lawn, at nighttime the cottage may as well be a brightly-lit display case.

Luca mutters something about tearing off my dress. I push his hands away and whip it off over my head in one smooth motion.

He gets quiet, staring at my chest. He looks up at my face, his blue eyes bright and shining. He smiles and holds his big hands up to my cheeks, then moves to my neck and kneads my shoulders, rocking me.

He’s exploring my upper body the same way I did his, with the notable exception of extra fumbling to remove my bra. Also, he takes about ten times longer on my chest as I did on his.

He pulls me to him and we kiss, our bare chests pressing together. I pull away enough to graze my hard nipples from side to side against his chest.

He groans and closes his eyes. “Do that again.”

I do it again, and he moans. More heavenly chest vibrations rumble through us.

His eyes flick open. Staring at my lips, he says, “I brought you flowers, wine, jewelry, and also condoms. They’re in my other pocket.”

“We should play Scrabble.”

He smiles, still looking at my mouth. “I’ll play whatever you like. Your house, your rules. No expectations.”

“How many did you bring?”

He looks up into my eyes, his eyebrows high with surprise. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

I look down at my panties, and his jeans. I reach for the button on his jeans, but pull my hands away. I’m so nervous, suddenly. Usually, guys are trying to get their clothes off the minute you start kissing. Luca has so much restraint, it worries me.