Читать книгу On Her Terms - Cathryn Fox - Страница 12

HOW COULD I have been so stupid?

I shake my head and give myself a good hard lecture for falling for Luca’s charm and letting him seduce me into his bed. Or was it the other way around? I’m not sure. All I know is I was supposed to turn him on and leave him hanging, like he did to me all those years ago. I groan and pound the bed, but settle myself back down when Luca comes back from the bathroom. Shit, I wanted to be out of here before he finished. I close my eyes, pretend I’m sleeping until I can figure out what to do next, how to get myself out of this.

Yeah, I made a mistake last night, but goddammit the sex was good. Better than good. It was fan-freaking-tastic. The best sex I’ve ever had. The second he put his mouth on my nipple, I had planned to put a stop to things, tell him who I was and bolt. But did I do that? Of course not. How could I? No one has ever worked my nipples quite like that before. I knew I had to see it through. Why shouldn’t I take what I want, on my terms? Unfortunately those terms weren’t supposed to include a stupid sleepover.

The edge of the mattress dips, and I inch one eye open to find Luca sitting on the bed, a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Morning,” he says. “Coffee?”

“Like you even have to ask.” He grins and hands the mug over. I take a much-needed sip. “Thank you. You will be rewarded in heaven,” I say. He stands and my gaze roams his body. This morning he’s dressed in nothing but his jeans. Dammit, what is it about a guy in nothing but jeans that turns me on? Okay, maybe it’s just Luca in jeans that does that.

Time to go.

I push the blankets off me, and that’s when I realize I’m stark naked. I grab the sheet and haul it back up.

Luca angles his head. “I’ve seen you naked, Bri,” he says.

“It’s Brianna.”

He grins. “I’ve seen you naked, Brianna. And I’ve been inside you. It’s a little late to cover up, don’t you think?” He grips the sheet and slowly drags it down my body. “You’re beautiful, you know.”

Old hurts come back in a crushing wave. He didn’t think so years ago, couldn’t see that I was more than just a chubby freshman. “I should go.”

He frowns. “Was it something I said?”

“No. I should go. Tate and the others will be wondering where I am.” I climb from the bed, and Luca’s moan of appreciation fills the room as I saunter to the dryer and grab my clothes. I hurry to the bathroom and dress. Great. I’m wearing yesterday’s clothes, and from one look at me it’s easy to tell I’ve been up having sex all night. I somehow have to get to my room without anyone seeing me. This...whatever this was...is not something I want to explain, or repeat.

Liar.

Okay, okay, maybe I do want a repeat—why bother denying it?—but it’s not going to happen.

Oh, but it did once, and it was so damn good.

All righty then. On that note I step from the bathroom and glance around to find Luca in the kitchen. I take another sip of coffee and set my cup on the counter. I’m about to slip out when Luca points a spatula at me.

“Sit.”

Ribbons of need swirl through me at his assertiveness. I’m not sure what that’s all about. I’m the one who’s always in control, always calling the shots, but last night when he took charge of me, it awakened something needy inside me, something I never even knew existed.

“You’re not going anywhere until I feed you. What kind of guy do you think I am, anyway?”

Oh, if he only knew.

“I don’t normally eat breakfast,” I say, but glance over at the counter to see what smells so good. My stomach takes that moment to grumble.

“Maybe not, but we worked up quite the appetite last night and you’re going to eat.”

“Maybe I work up an appetite like that every night,” I say, having no doubt he does the same himself. I remember his reputation back at Oxford.

He flips the pancake, turns and leans back against the counter, crossing his feet at the ankle. Seriously, could he make the pose look any sexier? I want to tell him to put a shirt on already, but I don’t want him to know the true effect his near nakedness has on me.

“Is that right?” he asks.

“That’s right.”

“Is that why you don’t want to get married? You like having a different guy in your bed every night?” He shrugs. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I’m just curious.” He flips the pancakes again and then plates them, sliding them across the island. I breathe in the delicious smell as he grabs the syrup.

“Why so curious?” I ask as I pour a generous amount of syrup over my pancakes.

“It’s the lawyer in me.”

“It’s the lawyer in me that keeps me single.”

He forks a big bite into his mouth, chews and then says, “How so?”

“I’m a divorce lawyer. I see the worst in people all the time, and if you know anything about my family, the guys move from woman to woman constantly.” Tate’s dad, Uncle Don, is the latest example. He married his fourth wife several months ago. Half the family didn’t bother skipping work to attend. Carson family weddings have become so run-of-the-mill... Sounds scornful but it’s the truth.

“Tate’s not like that.”

I smile. “No, he’s one of the good guys.”

“Then you’re saying there are good guys out there?”

I laugh. “Way to twist my words. You must win a lot of cases.”

“I win enough.” He takes another bite, lounging against the island.

“You really don’t want to get married. I never would have guessed that about you,” he says, redirecting the conversation back to me.

“I don’t do relationships, don’t do love and I don’t sleep with the same guy twice. Believe me, I know happily-ever-after doesn’t exist. I see that every day.”

A moment of silence as he absorbs that, and then he says, “Your job is doing a number on you. Do you even like what you do?”

I take a long moment to think about it. “Some days, I guess.”

“You did family law at Oxford?”

A question, not a statement, but I answer anyway. “That’s right.”

“I wonder if we ever ran into each other, attended any of the same parties.”

“The guys in their Oxford hoodies.” I wave my fork. “I couldn’t tell one apart from the other. You all looked alike.”

“Ah, the hoodies. They were all the rage back then. I wore mine to every party.”

“I remember,” I say. Then when his eyes lift to mine, I add, “I mean I remember the hoodies. I don’t remember you in one at any party.” Wow, for a girl who hates to lie, I’m really nailing it here. “By the way, these pancakes are delicious,” I add, wanting to change the conversation.