“Lucas Thorn.” She breathed my name. “One day you’ll tell me what turned you into this, but until then . . . I’m going to be grateful for it, even if it was horrible, because I don’t think I could do this with anyone else.”
I didn’t want to talk about my past. That was another thing I made sure my girls agreed to: they were never allowed to utter the question, Who hurt you?
I never talked about it.
And if one of them persisted in asking, I kicked her out of my bed and replaced her, but with Amy, it was different. She needed an emotional connection; hell, she just needed to be needed. Up until her husband’s sudden death she’d been a stay-at-home mom. Her new life was scary, and she was used to having a man depend on her for everything. Now she was back in the workforce and the dating field at the same time. I knew it was terrifying for her.
She wasn’t my usual.
I’d met her at one of my favorite bars and knew she’d be a great addition to my weekly list. She wasn’t pouty, or dramatic—hell, none of my girls were—she was just, nice.
I liked nice.
Needed it just as much as I needed sex.
Besides, I had the roommates for my more unusual tastes.
“Let’s go.” I held out my hand. Amy stared at it and then took it. I tugged her out the door. My apartment was in a luxury building near the edge of Belltown. The walk would be good for her, good for us, and maybe she’d be able to focus her thoughts more.
Her breathing picked up speed the minute I stopped in front of the Volta building. With an amazing view of Puget Sound, my two-bedroom penthouse was a bachelor’s dream come true. And though I had a fantastic salary as a corporate VP, the only reason I had been able to lease one of the top floors was because the owner of the building had been my Wednesday. God, sometimes I missed Monica, but she’d gotten married, moved on, and often emailed me pictures of her baby.
Even after she’d gotten married, I’d been to dinner at her apartment more times than I could count.
I stopped going when she got pregnant. Her husband, while understanding, wasn’t really a big fan of my lifestyle. I couldn’t blame him.
After all, I’d seen his wife naked and still had the balls to sleep with other women on other days of the week.
“So”—Amy clenched her fists—“this is it?”
“Let’s go.” I rubbed her back and led her through the lobby and quickly into the elevator, hitting the button for the eighth floor.
Twenty seconds later, the doors opened.
She gulped.
I shoved the key in my door and let her in. She was one of the first women who had actually seen my place, although she’d never been in my bedroom. None of my girls had. And I had a feeling she wasn’t going to be staying long anyway.
“Wow.” She gasped. “Your floors are incredible. Everything is so modern.” Another gasp. “That. Kitchen.”
“I love cooking.” I smiled.
She returned it, then nervously tucked her hair behind her ears. “Should we . . . go to the bedroom?”
“Nope.” I grinned. “I think we should stay in the light, so I can see you.”
“But—”
“Amy . . .” I pulled her into my arms. “Let’s just kiss.”
So we did.
For a half hour, on the couch, and then, on the floor, me on top of her, her legs wrapped around my waist.
I was into it.
Until I started thinking of Avery.
Amy must have felt my hesitation. “We don’t have to do this. I know I’m inexperienced, and—”
I silenced her with my mouth and slid my hand up her thigh. “I think I know how to get you to stop thinking.”
She fell apart in my arms within two minutes.
Her body was so responsive, starving for a man’s attention. And I felt good about it, good about giving her the release she needed, even though I was confused about why I didn’t really feel like sex.
Amy yawned.
I let out a low chuckle. “I’ll call you a car.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m just—” Another yawn. “Sleepy.”
“Orgasms do that to a woman who’s always had to be on top all her life.” I winked and pulled her to her feet. “I’ll pour you a glass of wine while you wait.”
She nodded, her eyes blurry, unfocused.
I pulled up Uber and grabbed her a nice black sedan that was only five minutes away, then poured her a glass of chilled wine.
When I returned to the living room, she was sitting in one of my favorite chairs, legs tucked beneath her, staring out at the Sound.
“Here.” I handed her the wine and waited for the inevitable, when she’d tell me that while I was really great, she just couldn’t do this.
“You’re wonderful.” She didn’t look at me. “And I’m so thankful that you’ve been patient with me, giving me weeks to decide what I want—and I think, I think I want something different . . . than this.” A tear slid down her cheek.
I caught it with my thumb and pressed a kiss to her neck. “Amy, you’re absolutely beautiful, and it’s okay to feel that way.”
She stared into my eyes. “I don’t get it.”
“Get what?”
“You.” She shook her head. “This, Lucas.”—Ah, the expected last-name drop!—“You’re better than this.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I smiled sadly. “I’m not.”
“But—”
I stood. “Your car should be here in about one minute. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
“Thank you.” Standing up on her tiptoes, she placed a polite kiss against my cheek. “I hope you find your happy, Lucas—I really do.”
She walked away, and I stared as the door clicked shut. I gulped down the rest of her wine and continued staring at the door.
“What the hell is in the water?” I muttered, then reached for my cell and called my best friend, Thatch.
I wasn’t interested in any of the substitutes tonight.
Maybe I just needed a guys’ night, a night to clear my head of all things work and Avery.
I wanted to blame her.
So I did.
It was, after all, her moans I wanted to hear, not Amy’s, damn it, and when I’d tried to get in the mood, I couldn’t.
Because even though Avery was sometimes a judgmental psycho, all I could imagine was her standing over me with tears in her eyes—like her hero had fallen into the depths of hell, and she had no way of saving him.
“What?” Thatch barked by way of answering his cell. “I’m getting ready to go into the OR.”
“You work tonight?”
“Off after this last breast augmentation.”
Lucky bastard got to touch tits all day long and get paid for it. “Our spot at seven?”
“Done.”
He hung up. Thank God he was free, because for a half a second I had entertained the thought of calling Avery.
Shit.
Chapter Eight
AVERY
“I hate him.” I sucked my drink down, my lips clamping hard on the straw with a vengeance.
“Eh.” Austin arched an eyebrow and grinned. “You’ve said that like ten times—once on the way over here, twice when we walked in, and every time you take a sip. I’m pretty sure I got the memo.”
“Why are we friends?” I wondered aloud.
“You’ve been stuck with me since second grade. I’m not changing now, even though I’m so busy these days I can barely see straight.” She pouted her red-tinged lips and twirled her hair into a low bun, then slumped her shoulders. “I think I may actually decide to become a bum. You know, live off the land.”
“You were kicked out of Brownies,” I pointed out. “And last time your electricity went out, you asked if I knew how to light a match.”
“I was just making sure I was doing it right!” she yelled defensively, her pale skin going red.
I burst out laughing. “Because you’re afra
id of fire, admit it.”
She lifted one shoulder. “It’s more of a healthy fear, like Oh, that shit’s hot—let’s not burn down the house or a finger off. Those things happen, you know, with stuff like firecrackers.”
“Okay, my little fire-fearing friend.” I patted her hand gently.
She scowled. “How much do you hate him again?”
“This much.” I held my hands wide, nearly taking out our waitress as she tried to squeeze by us. We were at the bar, drinking away our sorrows. The only reason I was there was because Austin had promised to buy me two drinks. Then again, her parents were rich, so I didn’t feel too guilty about saying yes.
She still lived at home.
Of course, if my parents had three pools, a sauna, and a tennis court, I would ask to be buried in their house.