these things didn’t belong in the perfect political picture, and that thing was me .
“It’s a long story,” she said with a smile as she speared some arugula and feta.
“People say that when what they really mean is ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’”
“It’s in my past,” she said. “This is my present.”
“Will he be in your future, when you go home?”
“No,” she said firmly. “He will not.”
Nor will anyone like him, because I’m going to learn how to deal with men.
Flushing to the tips of her ears, she looked up at Lucas, and found him eyeing her across the steaming Bolognese.
Oops.
“You’re tricky,” she said. Her small-town police chief had questioning techniques from Denver’s interrogation rooms.
“I can’t see you making a mistake in your work, let alone one bad enough for you to essentially flee your hometown.”
“Making a mistake with a man, however, that you can see?” She’d intended the words to come out liltingly, and they did. Mostly.
“Don’t let my amazing powers of deduction overwhelm you. There’s only two areas of life where people make bad mistakes. Work and love.”
Which one brought him here, she wondered.
“Did he hurt you?”
“Is a cop asking or the man I invited over for dinner?”
“Same person.”
There were so many ways to hurt a person, she realized. So many. She set her fork down, and thought about the simplest way to explain what had happened between her and David. “It was a misunderstanding, and partly my fault. My boyfriend asked me to marry him in a rather spectacular proposal, and I said no.”
“You didn’t want to marry him. How is that a mistake?” His expression sharpened. “Unless you decided you did want to marry him, and that’s the mistake.”
“No! I didn’t want to marry him. I just . . . couldn’t figure out how he’d thought I did want to marry him.”
Lucas lifted an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“I went to an all-girls boarding school through high school. A women’s college after that. While most girls were learning to flirt, or at least getting comfortable with boys, I was learning Latin and reading my way through the library. I’m not . . . savvy,” she said.
“That explains the kiss for fixing the sink.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
He put down his fork and swiveled sideways to brace his back against the wall and his forearm on the back of the chair. Eyes heavy-lidded and knowing, he looked at her. “Tell me what you want.”
His voice held an air of command that sent heat flooding into her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. “Is it that simple?”
He shrugged as he trailed his fingers through the moisture condensing on his second bottle of beer. “Yeah.”
“I want to put him behind me.”
“Okay,” he said.
Her cheeks heated. “I shouldn’t have kissed you,” she said. “Becoming intimate confuses things. I’m leaving. We shouldn’t . . . I don’t want . . .”
To hurt you was the unspoken end to that sentence, but the mocking amusement that filled Lucas’s eyes stopped her from finishing it. Of course she wouldn’t hurt him. She’d never seen a woman leaving his house in the morning, or coming over for dinner and a movie, but she wasn’t naive enough to think that meant Lucas was celibate. He spent nights away. Not many, as he obviously didn’t like to leave Duke alone. This man was too potent to be going without sex, and darkness clouded his eyes too frequently to think he’d get hurt.
As if he heard her mind turning this over, he said, “I’m not going to get hurt. Stop thinking about what you don’t want to do, and tell me what you do want to do.”
“I want to finish what we started last night.”
“Too general,” he said bluntly. “Be specific.”
The blush heated her cheeks as she looked at him. His five o’clock shadow dusted his cheeks and jaw like dark sand, and as time slowed and heated between them, she found she could name
“It’s a long story,” she said with a smile as she speared some arugula and feta.
“People say that when what they really mean is ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’”
“It’s in my past,” she said. “This is my present.”
“Will he be in your future, when you go home?”
“No,” she said firmly. “He will not.”
Nor will anyone like him, because I’m going to learn how to deal with men.
Flushing to the tips of her ears, she looked up at Lucas, and found him eyeing her across the steaming Bolognese.
Oops.
“You’re tricky,” she said. Her small-town police chief had questioning techniques from Denver’s interrogation rooms.
“I can’t see you making a mistake in your work, let alone one bad enough for you to essentially flee your hometown.”
“Making a mistake with a man, however, that you can see?” She’d intended the words to come out liltingly, and they did. Mostly.
“Don’t let my amazing powers of deduction overwhelm you. There’s only two areas of life where people make bad mistakes. Work and love.”
Which one brought him here, she wondered.
“Did he hurt you?”
“Is a cop asking or the man I invited over for dinner?”
“Same person.”
There were so many ways to hurt a person, she realized. So many. She set her fork down, and thought about the simplest way to explain what had happened between her and David. “It was a misunderstanding, and partly my fault. My boyfriend asked me to marry him in a rather spectacular proposal, and I said no.”
“You didn’t want to marry him. How is that a mistake?” His expression sharpened. “Unless you decided you did want to marry him, and that’s the mistake.”
“No! I didn’t want to marry him. I just . . . couldn’t figure out how he’d thought I did want to marry him.”
Lucas lifted an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“I went to an all-girls boarding school through high school. A women’s college after that. While most girls were learning to flirt, or at least getting comfortable with boys, I was learning Latin and reading my way through the library. I’m not . . . savvy,” she said.
“That explains the kiss for fixing the sink.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
He put down his fork and swiveled sideways to brace his back against the wall and his forearm on the back of the chair. Eyes heavy-lidded and knowing, he looked at her. “Tell me what you want.”
His voice held an air of command that sent heat flooding into her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. “Is it that simple?”
He shrugged as he trailed his fingers through the moisture condensing on his second bottle of beer. “Yeah.”
“I want to put him behind me.”
“Okay,” he said.
Her cheeks heated. “I shouldn’t have kissed you,” she said. “Becoming intimate confuses things. I’m leaving. We shouldn’t . . . I don’t want . . .”
To hurt you was the unspoken end to that sentence, but the mocking amusement that filled Lucas’s eyes stopped her from finishing it. Of course she wouldn’t hurt him. She’d never seen a woman leaving his house in the morning, or coming over for dinner and a movie, but she wasn’t naive enough to think that meant Lucas was celibate. He spent nights away. Not many, as he obviously didn’t like to leave Duke alone. This man was too potent to be going without sex, and darkness clouded his eyes too frequently to think he’d get hurt.
As if he heard her mind turning this over, he said, “I’m not going to get hurt. Stop thinking about what you don’t want to do, and tell me what you do want to do.”
“I want to finish what we started last night.”
“Too general,” he said bluntly. “Be specific.”
The blush heated her cheeks as she looked at him. His five o’clock shadow dusted his cheeks and jaw like dark sand, and as time slowed and heated between them, she found she could name
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