Page 71 of The Edge of Summer
“You have a really nice house,” I say as I lean against the doorframe. “I’ve grown pretty attached to the pink house, but yours is a close runner-up.”
He turns at the sound of my voice. And then he drinks in the sight of my body, from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. He lingers on my exposed legs.
“You’re not wearing pants.”
“I am not wearing pants,” I confirm. “Want to find out what else I’m not wearing?”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he visibly swallows. “I didn’t bring you here for that.”
Why, then? This is what we do, me and him. I want to ask, but I am admittedly a little scared of what he might say, so I bite my tongue. Instead of voicing my thoughts, I cross the room to him.
“I can put pants on, if you really want me to.”
His finger brushes the hem of the shirt, running along where it meets the skin of my leg. His jaw works as he decides what to do, but I can tell that his control is slipping.Yes, I think.Let go.
I only have to wait another second before Luke’s hands are on the backs of my thighs, and then I’m lifted into his arms. My legs instinctively wrap themselves around his waist as his palms settle on my ass, holdingme up. My fingers tangle in his hair, still damp from his shower in the guest bathroom.
I tilt his face up to mine. The stubble on his cheeks scrapes against my skin and I shiver just imagining what that would feel like on the insides of my thighs. I want to find out for real.
“You are so pretty,” I murmur.
He chuckles. “That’s my line.”
I tug on a strand of his hair. “Guys can be pretty, too.”
“Fine,” he says. “Then you are a goddamn vision, Delilah.”
I lean back. “Even with post-shower, messy hair?”
His eyes shine as he grins. And for a brief moment, I don’t breathe. He really is pretty, but that isn’t what stands out the most. He spends a lot of time wearing a frown or a neutral expression. Seeing him let go enough to smile is worth whatever I have to do to earn it.
“Especially then.”
Feelings I don’t want to even begin to name—feelings I’m forbidden from naming—bubble up to the surface. Before I say something I’ll regret, I lean back in. My mouth descends on his, and then my tongue traces his lower lip. He obliges, giving me exactly what I want.
Luke moves toward the kitchen island. I draw back, lungs starved for air, and shake my head. “Take me to bed.” At his raised brow, I add, “Please.”
“Look at you, being such a good girl and asking nicely.”
I expect him to set me on my feet, but Luke carries me back down the hallway and into his room. He places me onthe mattress and then he stands back, simply taking me in. I squirm under the scrutiny.
“What?” I ask. “What are you looking at?”
He shakes his head. “You. I knew you would look fucking exquisite in my bed, butfuck, Delilah, you’re better than I could have imagined.”
Better than I could have imagined.
Well, shit. If I wasn’t already in the mood, I certainly would be now. It’s a shame Luke has sworn off relationships because he’d be damn good at one. Even though our arrangement is casual, he has always made me feel comfortable, and he knows the right things to say. He is everything I would want in a person.
But he doesn’t want you like that.
I ignore the ache in my chest at that thought. I don’t want him either. I just want theideaof him; everything he represents. After spending so long with Mitchell, finally being around someone at least halfway decent would feel like I’ve won the lottery. Luke is on a whole other level.
Ugh, get out of your head. Stop thinking.
Luke touches my ankle. “Delilah,” he says, “we don’t have to do this.”
He mistook my silence for being unsure. But I’m not unsure. In this, I am absolutely certain. I trust Luke implicitly. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when that shift happened—when he went from being a stranger to being someone I need in my life.
