Lucas smiles. “I think Frick and Frack already have. And I can see why Luna and Rowan come here. I can see why they’d want to support this place too. Question though,” he asks, shifting to a more serious tone. “Did you think it odd that their landlord came here with their clothes, wanting to leave them here as a way to get back at them?”

  She laughs, waving a hand dismissively. “Harrison? No. He made a donation when he asked me to hold on to the clothes. His donation went toward that hay right there.” She points at the bales near our feet. “Was it odd? Sure. But life is odd, and I’m not in a position to turn down a donation, so holding on to a few items seemed a small price to pay. Plus, he took a tour of the farm too.”

  “Is that so?” Lucas’s eyebrows shoot up.

  “I like giving tours and showing off my lovelies. He got a kick out of them.” Her eyes swing to the acres of land beyond the barn. “Said something funny about writing a scene where a couple of alpacas chase a guy down the street. I asked if he’d consider reframing it. I said alpacas don’t chase people, so maybe the man would try to get along with them instead. He said, ‘Good point. Glad I checked with you.’”

  “I’m glad he checked with you too. And I’m glad we came by,” Lucas says, then reaches into his wallet and hands Davina several twenties. “Thanks for taking care of these animals.”

  She takes the money and clasps her heart. “You’re one of my lovelies now too.”

  After we board the train, Lucas flops into a seat with a loud harrumph. “Four out of five,” he says, tossing the bag of clothes at our feet.

  “Only one left,” I say, wishing it were two, three, or four.

  “Only one,” he echoes, and his eyes lock with mine. In them I see a hint of longing.

  A question mark.

  What if we had a reason to keep doing this?

  I don’t want us to fall out of each other’s lives again. I want to stay in his orbit, and vice versa.

  “Hey, Lola,” he says thoughtfully as I sit next to him.

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t think this is just payback for Harrison.”

  “I don’t think it is either.”

  “Seems to be some sort of project.”

  “That’s what Amy thought from the start—that he was testing out a concept. Maybe for a show or something. And it sounds like it, from what Davina said.” I second Lucas’s idea, but have no clue what might motivate the man behind the breakup letter.

  “I think he’s enjoying it.” The conductor calls out All aboard, and Lucas turns to me. “And I am too. I’m not just doing it to help my brother.”

  My heart rises to my throat. “Why are you doing it, then?”

  He takes my hand again and threads his fingers with mine, sending shivers all through my body. When our eyes meet, a flash of vulnerability crosses his. “If you’d asked me yesterday, I’d have said you were the last partner I’d want for this sort of hunt. But now I think you’re the only person I’d want to do this with.”

  With those words—the only person—a flash of understanding fills me.

  In this moment, away from the city, far away from the hustle of my daily life, and so very far away from my family, I can see myself more clearly.

  I’ve put on twenty-twenty glasses for the first time in years, and I can make out something I should have seen years ago.

  How I’ve avoided love.

  Hidden from it.

  Run the other way.

  Because years ago, I fell for this man. He’s the only person I’ve fallen for, even partway.

  For the first time in my life, I’d felt something deep in my heart. Something terrifying to me—a hope, an ache for another person.

  That was what hurt so much when he didn’t show up that night. Hurt so much that I shut the door on my heart.

  I shut it to apologies. Shut it to him. Shut it to the dangerous power of falling in love.

  At the time, I could barely comprehend what all those foreign feelings were, or how hurt could get so mixed up with fear that you cut yourself off from something good just to avoid repeating something bad.

  I didn’t just lose my friendship with Lucas.

  I lost my first and—as it turned out—my only shot so far at falling in love.

  Trouble is, I don’t know how the hell to deal with that now. I can’t even look at him because I’m afraid I’ve become a see-through woman.

  Instead, I rest my head on his shoulder and speak another truth, if a partial one. “It’s the same for me.”

  21

  Lucas

  The tango club sign says Back in an hour.

  I’ve never been happier to have to wait.

  More time with Lola. “Are you hungry?”

  “Famished.” She leans her nose to her shirt. “But I also smell like a farm. I could seriously go for a shower.”

  The corner of my mouth curves up as my buddy and I formulate a quick plan. “I’m only ten blocks from here.”

  One eyebrow lifts. “Is that so?”

  I shrug ever so casually. “I’m just saying. You could get on a subway and go all the way across town to Chelsea, dealing with Saturday evening crowds and the perils of underground travel.” I shudder, selling it to the jury. “Or you could zip right on over to my place and be spick-and-span in no time.”

  She hums as if she’s considering the options. “That’s quite a picture you paint of subway horrors.”

  “It’s terrible this time of day. Clowns roaming free and whatnot. It’s really best avoided. Plus, it takes forever, and then you’d smell like a llama longer. Lots to consider, Dumont.”

  She shoots me a dubious look. “I thought you liked llamas.”

  “Love them. But llama smell?” I shake my head. “It needs to be dealt with stat.”

  “I believe that would apply to you too.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Wrinkling her nose, she leans in close, sniffing my shirt. “What’s this fragrance?” she says. “Do I detect notes of hay? With a hint of fur?”

  “Yes, I’m wearing eau de barn as well. Which means there’s only one answer.”

  Ten minutes later, the door to the elevator closes, and we shoot up through my building.

  She flashes me a knowing grin. “This is just a shower, right?”

  “What else could it possibly be?” I say, flirty too.

  With a playful eyebrow wiggle, she says, “You tell me.”

  “Of course it’s just a shower. A shower at my place. Besides, you said sex doesn’t change a thing,” I point out with a smirk.

  “Ah. So there’s going to be sex in the shower?”

  I raise my hands, like I’m shocked. “Whoa. Who said anything about a group shower?”

  She clasps her hand to her chest. “Oh, right. My bad. Of course you invited me over for a solo shower.”

  I lift my chin. “Exactly. I’m only concerned about my olfactory senses.”

  When the door opens on my floor, she exits first. “In that case, I’ll make sure your nose doesn’t suffer.”

  Not only does my nose not suffer, my eyes don’t either.

  Lola strides into my apartment, tossing a glance at me as she goes. She drops her purse on the floor, nibbling on her lip while she kicks off her shoes.

  Holy fuck.

  She wastes no time.

  She walks through my living room, paying no heed to the books on my coffee table, the artwork on the wall. Turning to me, she tugs at the hem of her T-shirt, slides it up an inch, another inch, then a few more.

  Revealing a supremely lickable sliver of her belly.

  My bones vibrate with lust. “Is that your clubbing look? Something to show off a little midriff?”

  “Maybe it is.” She shimmies the shirt higher as she heads for the hallway, on a beeline for the bathroom. “Maybe this is how I dress for a hot date.”

  Yes. That’s exactly what I want to hear.

  A rumble works its way up my chest.

  Yanking off my shirt, I toss it on the floor. “Are you going on a hot date, Lola?”

  She continues down the hall, looking back at me, lifting the shirt the rest of the way, only to let it fall to the floor, giving me a sneak peek at—fuck me now—her cranberry-red bra.

  “Yes, I have a ridiculously hot date in about one minute, and I need to make sure I’m in just the right outfit for it,” she says with a little sashay of her hips.

  Her hands move to the front of her jeans, and I groan at the sound of her zipper. When she reaches the bathroom door, she spins around, slides the denim down her hips, then sheds them.

  I swallow roughly. My throat is dry. My chest is a furnace.

  She’s nearly naked, and I can barely stand how stunning she is.

  I need her. Now.

  Bending, I unlace my boots, watching her the whole time as I pull off one, then the other.

  She reaches her hand behind her back, continuing to taunt me.

  To tempt me.

  To reveal herself to me.

  Unhooking the bra, she drops it in the hall.

  I scrub a hand across my jaw. “Your outfit isn’t finished,” I warn as she steps into the bathroom and heads for the shower.

  “Don’t worry,” she purrs. “I’m not quite done putting it on. Almost there.”

  I unbutton my jeans, pushing them down, kicking them off.

  Stretching a hand into the shower, she cranks on the faucet then turns, stopping in front of me. She hooks her thumbs into the lace of her panties.

  I’m. Dead.

  Just. Fucking. Dead.

  This woman is killing me with her striptease.

  “One more little thing,” she says, “and my outfit will be all set.”

  I’m stone, hard as a statue, hotter than a sidewalk in the summer, as Lola glides her panties down her legs, steps out of them, and then tosses them at me. I grab the scrap of lace in one hand, my eyes never leaving the goddess as she steps into the steamy shower.

  I bring the panties to my nose, inhaling her sexy, erotic scent.

  I’ve never been this aroused.

  Never wanted anyone so damn much.

  “Your outfit is perfect,” I growl.

  “Thanks. But you’re not in your hot-date clothes, Lucas,” she taunts as the water streams down her lush body.

  I rectify that in seconds, stripping out of my boxer briefs, stepping into the shower, and shutting the door behind me.

  “So it is a group shower,” she says.

  I don’t answer. Instead, I shut her up with my mouth, kissing her hard and passionately.

  Kissing her like she’s mine.

  Like she belongs to me.

  That’s how it feels after this surreal twenty-four hours with the woman I thought I couldn’t stand.

  But now I can’t stand not touching her, not tasting her, not having her.

  I seal my mouth to hers and kiss her like a starving man. Her lips are spectacular, and her body is heaven, all silky soft and sliding against mine as the hot water beats down, the steam wrapping around us, enrobing us in this private cocoon of lust and desire and something more.

  Of second chances perhaps.

  I cup her cheek, slide my hand into her hair, and kiss her like I don’t want to stop a damn thing.

  I don’t want to stop falling into her.

  But there is something I desperately need to start.

  Something she wants.

  Something I’ve fantasized about.

  I break the kiss. “Sit down. Spread your legs. You’re going to get what you asked for this morning.”

  22

  Lola

  If there are guidelines for how to rekindle a friendship as extinct as the dodo bird—and there probably are, if I had looked—they might not include tit for tat in the oral department.

  And yet, here I am.

  On the bench in Lucas’s shower.

  Ready, so damn ready for him.

  Judging from his feral look and the steel of his cock, he’s ready too. He stares between my legs as he grips his shaft, stroking.

  But he’s not interested in playing with himself.

  I’m his plaything, and in seconds he’s on his knees, the water drumming his back, his hands sliding up my thighs.

  “You smell so fucking sexy,” he groans, kissing my thigh, moving closer to my center.

  I tremble at the feel of him. I can’t even joke about llamas or noses, can’t toss back a saucy remark. I’m too turned on. I’m buzzing, intoxicated with lust.

  And then I’m lost.

  Absolutely lost to his touch when he kisses me where I want him most.

  Kisses.

  Licks.

  Sucks.

  Just like he promised.

  He’s intense and hungry as he devours me, making the sexiest sounds, animalistic murmurs, as he goes down on me.

  My hands shoot to his wet hair, my fingers curling around his head as desire spins through my body, making my toes curl too.

  “Yes, oh God, yes. So good.” I urge him on, but he needs no encouragement.

  He’s a man on a mission, and the mission is me. Eating me, tasting me, pleasing me.

  He goes down on me like he does everything. Passionately.

  The shower rains, steam rises, and pleasure builds in me. I grip him harder, lean my head back, let the feelings wash over me.

  With my eyes closed, I give in to everything. To him. To tonight. To sex. To us.

  “Lucas,” I moan, loving the way his name sounds on my tongue. Loving everything about how my body sizzles from his touch.

  How sparks spread through me.

  How my belly tightens as the ache intensifies.

  “It’s so good. God, I want to come on you,” I whisper as he flicks his tongue in the most delicious rhythm.

  He barely breaks contact, stopping only to rasp, “Then come on me. Come on me any fucking time.”

  He resumes his pace, drawing my clit between his lips and sucking. My thighs start to shake, and my release hovers on the horizon.

  I part my legs wider, needing more, wanting to give myself over to him, to this moment, to this dangerous new land we’ve traveled to.

  Pleasure.

  Lust.

  Connection.

  But it’s so much more.

  It’s everything I felt for him once upon a time.

  And knowing that does something . . .

  Tips me over.

  Sends me soaring.

  And like that, I’m falling apart for him, as white-hot pleasure races through my body. I come like it’s the only thing I want to do in the world.

  I’m not at all quiet, but I don’t want to be.

  I’m outrageously loud.

  I want to feel everything.

  Experience everything.

  I moan his name one last time, loving the taste of every sound on my lips.

  A minute later, I blink open my eyes and find Lucas kissing my legs, my belly, my breasts. Then he stands, steps out of the shower, and opens a drawer in the vanity.

  When he returns, he holds a foil packet in one hand, asking a question without words.

  “Yes,” I say, desperate, so desperate for more of him.

  “Good. Because I fucking need you right now, Lo,” he says, his voice bare, his eyes honest. He opens the condom and sheaths himself.

  I rise, still tingling all over, still high from that orgasm.

  He moves me against the tiled wall, hikes up my leg, and hooks my ankle around his hip.

  Sinking into me, he groans, a deep carnal sound. One I want to hear him make over and over.

  For me.

  With me.

  Because of me.

  “You feel so fucking good,” he growls into my ear, swiveling his hips and bringing me closer, like he’s luxuriating in this unexpected intimacy.

  “So do you,” I whisper.

  There’s more I want to say.

  As he moves in me, filling me, fucking me, I want to tell him everything I’ve learned today. Everything the last twenty-four hours made clear.

  That he is the one who got away.

  He’s the man I connect with.

  He’s the person I was falling in love with so many years ago.

  And right now, he’s that same man again.

  But I don’t know how to say those things without them going terribly awry.

  I don’t know how to give voice to feelings so deep without losing what I’ve only now found again.

  So, I focus on the present as we move together under the water.

  As he fucks me hard against the tiles. As he grips my ass, driving deep into me.

  It’s all so intense.

  I close my eyes, needing the feelings to take over, needing the physical to blur the beating of my heart.

  Sensations wash over me, spiraling to each corner of my body. I shudder with every thrust, every move.

  “Look at me,” he commands.

  I open my eyes, and I gasp.

  He’s staring at me, desire blazing across those dark eyes. “This,” he rumbles.

  “I know,” I gasp.

  “I fucking know too.”

  That’s all we say. Because he’s watching me, gazing at me with so much intensity. His passion—it’s who he is. But now, I feel that passion for me. In how he stares at me, touches me, talks to me.

  Wants me.

  With everything he has.

  My heart slams against my chest, thundering powerfully.

  Because I can see something else in his eyes too.

  This isn’t the start of something.

  No, this started a long time ago.

  For both of us.

  The trouble is, I don’t want to lose him for another ten years.

  And I’m grateful, damn grateful for the orgasm that grips me, tugs me under, and ricochets through my body.

  Blotting out all the emotions I haven’t a clue what to do with.

  23

  Lucas

  She looks good in my T-shirt.

  Hell, she looks good in everything, including my home.

  She’d look good in my life.

  No, she looks great in my life, and I don’t want to see her out of it again.