Page 4 of This Loving Feeling (Mirror Lake)

Lukas was back at the mic. “Okay, that was fun.” The crowd cheered their agreement. “But I think an old friend of mine is here and I was wondering if she’d come up and join me.”

As Lukas squinted over the lights to scan the crowded gym, Sam’s heart dropped like the ball at Times Square. She looked around wildly. No eyes were on her. Good. It was just her imagination, which was on overdrive. Yet Lukas was always a loner. He hadn’t had a lot of friends. Except ... except ...

“Sam, will you come up here and sing with me? I meanMs.Rushford,will you come up here and sing?” He turned immediately in her direction, as if he’d known where she was all along. Then he extended his hand and motioned for her to join him.

Up there.

On instinct, she shook her head. Frowned hard, the only way she could convey her distaste—no, her abjecthorrorat being put on the spot. These were her students, and she was a respectable teacher. She was no longer the girl who fell for a bad boy who’d turned into a wild man whose antics were splashed all over the grocery-store tabloids.

“C’mon, Ms.Rushford,” his gravelly voice cajoled. “I bet you’re the coolest teacher in the school.” He looked over the crowd of cheering teens. “Am I right?”

The uproar was deafening.

His voice was a unique blend of the smoothness of velvet rubbing against the roughness of stubble. She could still hear it whispering sweet, lovely phrases into her ear. Ones she’d actually believed at nineteen.

She was much less gullible now at twenty-six.

Shit. He could’ve picked any of fifty doe-eyed girls in sherbet-colored dresses, eager, expectant, and steeped in adoration. After all these years, whyher?

Sam was suddenly swept away by her own students, the traitors. “Oh my God, Ms.Rushford, youknowhim?” one of her students asked. She only had time to shrug as they collectively pushed her forward, everyone shouting and cheering. She managed to catch Jess’s gaze from her place near the drinks, full of concern and worry. As the crowd began chanting “Ms.Rushford, Ms.Rushford,” and “Sing one song, Sing one song,” she knew she was doomed. She couldn’t disappoint her kids, seeing how excited they were at the amazing turn of events, so she allowed herself to be drawn up onto the stage.

Under the spotlight and the disco ball, she found herself next to Lukas Spikonos. The splinter under her thumbnail. The water seeping into her shoes on a rainy day. The prickle in the bouquet of roses. And every other awful metaphor she could think of.

She could force herself to make nice, for the sake of her kids. She had no choice. She would never spoil this for them, no matter how much she disliked him.

“Hello, Samantha,” Lukas said, tossing his head a little to flick a lock of gypsy black hair out of his eyes. He played a little strum on his guitar, the spotlight bouncing off its spit-shined wood, as he casually hooked one long leg around the rung of a stool and gestured for her to take a seat on another one nearby. There went that smile again, still slightly crooked even though he could surely afford to throw millions at some dental work.

She deflected the smile by glancing at the guitar. Some fancy acoustic model she knew nothing about. He had one arm draped around it, his hand hanging casually over the body. Those hands. Each long, elegant finger adorned with a hammered silver ring she knew he’d made himself. On his wrists, he wore bands of leather cords.

Reluctantly, she looked up. Met his deep, searching gaze, being careful not to look too long lest it suck her in and turn her to dust. “Hi, Spike,” she said, deliberately avoiding his God-given name. “Long time no see.”

“You as well, Samantha Rushford,” he said as he swept her slowly up and down, taking in every inch. “Long time no see.” Then he started the riff, that same damn one again. He crooned into the mic, his butter-soft voice spreading smoothly through the gym and trying to work its way into her heart.

But failing. Gritting her teeth, she forced a frozen smile.For the kids, for the kids, she repeated to herself as every impulse begged her to reach out and strangle his beautiful neck with one of those shiny guitar strings. She crossed her arms to hide her clenched fists.

For the next three minutes, life imitated art in the weirdest way as she joined him in a song about love gone bad.Theirlove gone bad. The pure, resonant tones of his voice seemed to vibrate clear through to her soul. Her own voice was adequate but didn’t hold a candle to the angelic quality of his. She simply carried the familiar melody as he harmonized and blended their voices together until they sounded ... beautiful. The anguish she had written about long ago was the anguish he now sang about, carried on his face, and the very intimacy of it shook her deeply.

At last the music ended. Panic swelled inside her chest.It was only a song. To believe more would be as unrealistic as believing in a child’s fairy tale. She shook her head to dissipate the spell that seemed to envelop her like the cacophony of applause and cheers sounding all around them. When the final whoops and hollers went up at the end, she took her chance and hopped off the stool.

Out of the spotlight, he grabbed her by the elbow. She spun to face him.

“I thought you’d want the chance to finally sing that to my face,” he said, his coffee-black eyes flashing.

“Gee, thanks. I’ve been waiting six years for that. I feel so much better now.”

He tugged her back under the spotlight and spoke into the microphone, “Hey kids, give your teach a hand. Her voice is so sweet it makes your heart break, doesn’t it?”

Suddenly he leaned over and she realized with horror that he was going to kiss her. She politely offered her cheek while clenching her teeth but he ignored her civilized gesture. He pushed his guitar aside, wrapped one hand around her neck, then pulled her in and kissed her directly on the mouth.

His lips were pliant and soft. His kiss was gentle but thorough, bold, and cocksure. He tasted like peppermint and his own unique, seductive flavor that brought unwanted memories hurling back. He pulled away and looked at her with a blank expression, as if he were actually startled by his own brash behavior. Then the wicked sparkle returned, and a wide bad-boy grin spread slowly over his face.

“You arrogant bastard,” she hissed in his ear, still smiling, above the deafening uproar of the gym.

She turned to go, but he reached out yet again. For a moment, they were in the shadows. His grip on her arm felt hot and tingly, probably from all the outrage coursing through her body. In the dim light she saw something raw in his eyes. She used to be attracted to precisely this exact kind of danger, this risk. That was before she’d lost a brother seven years ago. She’d learned the hard way that stable and steady was far better than a wild roller coaster ride that gave you an adrenaline rush and a headache.

“Let me see you later,” he said off mic. On the stage, a handler took away the stools. The gym went black except for a lone spotlight, beckoning him for his next song.

He had to go, as always. But this time, Sam wasn’t going to be the one he left behind.

She shrugged out of his warm grasp, shaking her head. Then she took advantage of the darkness and slipped away.

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