Chapter Five
Could he be any stupider?
Don’t answer that.
Lane inwardly kicked himself. Why was he feeling sorry for her? Trying to take care of her. She was probably here by Alex’s command. That would be so like his brother thinking he knew him. Knew how he thought. How he rolled. He might be younger, but he was no longer the little brother. So what was the plan? Soften him up for what?
He’d heard rumors that his brother was gunning for the top seat. Governor in the next election. Or Senator. Typical Alex, thinking he could pick or choose any political job he wanted, and he probably could, but if voters really knew Alex Duke, they’d cut off his head, stick it on an iron spike outside the city limits of Sacramento, and burn the body.
“Why are you smiling?”
“Just thinking.” And then he laughed. “So, you didn’t answer. Where do you want me to drop you off? Are you up at the Ritz or the Dana Point Resort or…” He shot her a look.
Her tongue moistened her upper lip and he had to force his eyes back on the road. Sister-in-law, he reminded himself even if she claimed she was about to be an ex, which he couldn’t imagine his brother dumping her. She was beautiful. Respected. Accomplished. And Dukes didn’t divorce. Ever. So she was so far off limits he shouldn’t even look at her. And that was before their whole personal history. She’d dumped him for his brother.
It still burned when he allowed himself to think about it. Another thing Dukes didn’t do. Let go of grudges. He’d cut all ties to his family for her. Dropped out of college so they could stay together. Had planned to propose the night she’d dumped him. The minute she learned he no longer had his family’s financial support, she’d thrown him out of her apartment like he was contaminated. And when he’d tried to see her, she’d threatened to call the cops for stalking. She’d had him served with a restraining order. And he’d risked a second arrest just to get close to her again, and what had he found? His brother coming out of her apartment, holding her hand and talking to her.
His brother knew all that, so why had he sent his wife? What did he expect? Lane to fuck her? Did Luz know the plan? She definitely seemed on board. He remembered all the signs of her arousal, and she’d been definitely ready to go at Fisherman’s. Except she’d been scared. Of what? Him? Alex? And why was he all speculative? He should toss her skinny ass out on the curb. Instead, he’d buckled her into his customized Jeep. His favorite ride. His heart twisted bitterly. She probably felt like she was slumming. Well, she could get the hell out.
“So where to?” He asked tensely.
“I actually didn’t really book anything yet.”
“What? It’s a week away from Memorial Day. There’s a huge surf competition in town everyone’s gearing up for. An artist street fair. And some idiot reality star’s wedding in town. There are no hotel rooms for miles.”
“I’m sure I’ll find something,” she said. “You can just drop me off at my car.”
“No can do.”
“What?”
“You had two glasses of wine and didn’t eat anything.”
“What are you, the food police? I’m a grown woman. I eat what I want. I drink what I want.”
He bit back an exasperated comment. Personally, he thought she should eat a little more. She’d always been long and slim, and he’d loved nothing better than to feel her entire body pressed against his when they were dancing or kissing down by the beach, but now she was thin. Elegant, but not as athletic as she’d been before. He’d always liked her strength. How they would kayak together or surf or hike in the San Gabriel Mountains. Run in the mornings. Now she looked a little too ornamental.
“Just tell me where to take you.”
“How ’bout Preach’s?” she said after a pause. “He and Dulcie probably have a spare room or a couch until I can patch it up with Paz or find something.”
He stiffened. No fucking way was he taking her to Preach’s. There were a lot of men who hung out with Preach. They worked the bar or the auto shop. Con was tight with Mia now, and it looked like Rangeley was hooking up for good but most of Preach’s boys were highly single. And he’d seen them in action.
Preach would definitely look out for her and keep her safe. But something had gone down between Luz and his brother, and he didn’t need Luz, vulnerable and alone and so beautiful she made it hard to breathe, around all that testosterone. That was a one way ticket to crazy. He knew his limits. He didn’t like them, but he respected them.
He cursed and made a U-turn on El Camino Real.
* * *
He heard the catch of her breath when he pulled into the driveway. He cut the engine. The night closed in. Luz stared at the whitewashed stucco wall surrounding the house, the wrought iron and wood gate, the Jacaranda tree in full bloom, spreading out across much of the inner courtyard, which was not visible behind the gate. He could hear the splash of a fountain. The air was fragrant with blooms—tuberose, jasmine, Daphne. Lining the brick walk were large, white ceramic pots containing olive trees. Hot pink bougainvillea rioted over the tops of the square gateposts.
“This is…your house?” she finally asked.
He shifted in his seat, tapped a short rhythm on his thigh. Hell, no. It wasn’t his. Not really. He’d never once thought of it as his because his brother was right. He was too weak. Too sentimental.
“Yours,” she whispered. “You bought it.”
He finally nodded.
“When?”
“Two years ago.” Each word was like spitting out a pebble. “Before the owner died so it wouldn’t become part of her estate.”
She stared at the mosaic tile steps that lead to the courtyard, not visible behind the rounded wooden gate. Her fingers reached out as if she could touch the gate from the Jeep.
“Did you remember?” she whispered.
He abruptly slid out of the jeep. Faced the ocean that was now just a black writhing mass below the bluff. He counted his breaths. He could do this. Keep his shit together. Only Luz continued to stare at the house as if it were some lost archaeological treasure, and he supposed it was. He’d paved the way to buy it for the past seven years when he finally had the means. He’d paid too much. Kept like a shrine. He had a huge house in San Clemente. He’d needed this old pile like he needed a nail through his skull. But when he’d heard that the ninety-year-old owner’s health was failing, and that her relatives were circling, thinking about petitioning to get the historical society to strike the house from the register so they could build condos, he’d stepped in. Vowed to her to preserve it.
And he still didn’t want to think about why.
But he knew. Luz had loved that house. Had loved walking by it as a young girl and then as a teen. She’d fantasized about the family inside. Whole. Not broken. Secure. It had been her fantasy house. Luz had rarely talked about her parents or her childhood, but she had showed him the house on one of their visits. Had sat outside on the curb opposite on one of their late night neighborhood walks and talked to him about how she’d always dreamed of living in that house, getting married in the courtyard, raising children there. And then she’d gone all quiet, and he’d realized she’d expected him to laugh at her. Or freak out because he was nineteen and should have been a million miles away from a commitment. Only he hadn’t been.
He’d felt closer to her that night when she’d finally shared a little about her family and her dreams than he had any of the times they’d made love. He’d thought nothing could break them apart, until she’d exiled him for being broke.
Well, he sure as hell wasn’t broke now. Was that it? A new idea formed. Maybe Alex hadn’t sent her at all.
* * *
“You live here?” For some reason her earlier bravado seemed to be a bit shriveled, and no wonder. It was one thing to dream of escape. Dream of taking back her power, but now she was faced with her start line, and the road ahead was so steep and twisty and far.
The Confucius saying rang in her head about a thousand mile journey started with a single step. Lane was at the Jeep door now. He opened it. Stepped back. Luz slid out. He’d already retrieved her purse and overnight bag. She followed him up the brick steps, her heart hammering loudly against her ribs.
This was it. She was going to step inside the courtyard of one of the oldest Ole Hanson designed homes in San Clemente. She’d always imagined being able to walk up to the gate and turn the handle. Walk inside. Feeling a sense of peace and belonging that had eluded her her entire life. To her, it was like Mary’s garden in the Secret Garden. A place of wonder and life and mystery and magic. But this was real. And she was no longer a young girl with dreams.
“Lane.” She touched his arm, let her fingers wrap around his forearm, feeling his warm skin and tight muscles. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. “I want to see it so much,” she whispered.
He stared at her hand. His expression hard. Speculative. His closed-off features filled her with dread. She snatched her hand back. She had no right to touch him.
“But, I can’t stay at your house.”
His eyes met hers, and Luz felt as if she were falling into him. It was a thrill and scary at the same time. His expression was dark, unknowable.
“You’re family.”
She flinched. They’d never been family. He hadn’t attended his brother’s wedding. Hadn’t come home for the holidays. Had never made contact. Alex never mentioned him. Lane’s mother only spoke of “her son, Alex.”
“We were never family,” she whispered. “And I told you, Alex and I are over.”
Scornful probably was the best word to describe his expression.
“So, what? You pop back into my orbit?”
“No,” she said totally embarrassed he’d think that. Was her earlier lusting that obvious? She felt filled with shame. “I came to see Paz. I didn’t know you lived here. I thought you’d be in Silicon Valley or someplace computery.”
“I don’t do inland,” he said coldly. “And I know my brother. He covets. He hoards.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He knew how I felt about you, and—” Lane abruptly turned and pulled away from her.
He faced the street, away from the house and sucked in a couple of breaths. She’d upset him. Her hand reached out to touch, to comfort, but she no longer had that right.
“You aren’t over with Alex unless he wants to be over with you. He never gives anything up. Ever.” He hit the alarm button on the Jeep’s remote. The chirp was loud in the night. He turned back to face her.
“I. Am. Not. A. Thing.” Luz enunciated each word, resisting the unfamiliar urge to poke him in the chest to illustrate her point.
He didn’t respond, but by the way his eyebrows raised, Luz felt he challenged that.
“I don’t want to be here,” she said. “I can’t go in your house, especially this house, with you so hostile. You definitely don’t want me here. It’s awkward.”
His beautiful mouth twisted. “Awkward for you? For Alex? I don’t really give a fuck. But I’m not letting you get in your car to drive anywhere until I know you are sober.”
“I’m not drunk.” She objected.
She’d never ever been drunk. And if she were she should feel a lot better than she did now.
“Careful, I’ll make you walk a straight line.”
She’d been walking a straight line all her life. She was done being put down and challenged by Dukes. She’d let so much go over the years, and she’d promised to stop doing that.
“Fine.” She slipped off her silver flip flops, dangled them by her forefinger.
“What’s going to be our line? You want to lay down and I can walk along your body?”
“Luz.”
“Not straight enough?” She laughed, feeling a spurt of daring that she hadn’t felt in, well, maybe forever. Paz was the daring one. The rebel.
“That’s too bad. This will have to do.”
She plucked the head off of a luscious pink peony that was in half bloom and pulled off the pedals and then sprinkled them in front of her as she walked backwards, never taking her eyes off of his.
“Now I know you’re drunk,” he muttered. “This isn’t necessary.”
“Oh, look, it’s like a bride in reverse.”
She had this. She’d been a swimsuit and catalog model in her last year of high school and in college. She’d walked the runway for local designers. She could definitely move with purpose and attitude and Lane and every other man with an opinion could stick it.
“Ready?”
He crossed his arms. “Totally drunk. You are going to regret this.”
“Make me,” she said and then felt a spurt of sheer bitterness she choked on it. “I regret a lot of things, but it won’t be this.”
She cocked a hip, flung her head back and acting like she were about to stroll the red carpet with sex on her mind, she sauntered along the petals only stopping when she got within licking distance of his chest.
“Not drunk, but thanks for playing. Why do you and Alex never talk or see each other?”
His eyes narrowed to slits. And glittered. It was like looking at the stars through a keyhole.
“You have to ask me that?”
“It wasn’t because of me.” She was certain.
He’d had a girl friend within days of their breakup. He’d taken her to Thailand. And he’d had a girlfriend at Stanford while she and he had been dating, Alex had regretfully told her, holding her hand and softly stroking her palm as she’d stared at him uncomprehendingly before sobbing all over his Brooks Brothers suit.
“Of course not,” Lane said flatly. “I hated and despised him before, which was charitable compared to how he felt about me, but I’m sure you know all about that, Luz. Who’d be such as ass as to think I’d be even remotely bothered that you dumped me for my brother.”
“It wasn’t like that.” She objected, feeling breathless from how close he was.
“It was exactly like that,” he said through clenched teeth. “Was it all about the money? All of it?” He took such a quick, aggressive step forward that she leaned away from him but was determined to hold her ground. “Don’t even fucking answer that. I don’t want to know.”
Luz recoiled at his harsh words, took a step back, and stumbled. He caught her hips. Her pelvis was in perfect alignment with his and she could feel the hard length of his cock against her flat stomach. And he still just had that towel tucked around his waist. Something wild stirred inside of her. God he felt good. His arousal made her feel alive.
“Nothing was ever about the money,” she whispered, not even sure why he was asking her such a stupid question.
She breathed shallowly, trying not to inhale him into her lungs, but he was so close he was impossible to ignore. Before she could stop herself, her fingers drifted up and brushed across the sculpted line of his pecs.
He caught her hand. She bit her bottom lip nervously. She was out of her element. She had no right to touch him. He hadn’t been hers for years, but even then, as it turned out, he hadn’t been hers, not really. But touching him now felt like heaven. She felt alive. Charged up. She could feel her blood pump and an electrical current seemed to pulse in her body. She felt connected to the earth and to life in a way she hadn’t felt since him.
“How much.” He demanded. “Would have been enough?”
“What, ooooh.” She moaned low in her throat as he took her captured hand and placed it over his erection.
Instinctively her fingers spread to grip more of him. He was so hard and he hissed a breath in her ear and, feeling daring, she lightly raked her nails down his length before gripping him tightly and letting her thumb play along his ridge. God, he felt beautiful in her hand. She felt dizzy from his masculine scent enveloping her and touching him was far headier than any wine she could have drunk.
He caught her other hand and lifted her arm above her body, bringing him in closer. She looked up into his hard, cut features. He was angry. Luz felt a cold wash of dismay and shame. What was she doing touching Lane like this? She’d only left Alex a little over a week ago. And the five lawyers she’d contacted so far refused to take her divorce case. She tried to remove her hand, but it was trapped by the press of his body.
“I wasn’t objecting,” he said, and she found her attention glued to the sensuous cut of his mouth, remembering how he used to kiss, nearly drugging her with sensation with his kiss alone.
He bent his head and breathed heat onto her breast. Her nipple responded instantly, pebbling. She hadn’t worn a bra thinking it would irritate her small incisions so her response was obvious. Through the fabric of her shirt, he sucked her nipple into his mouth. She cried out, the pleasure barely edging out the pain.
“And neither are you.” He laughed against her breast as his other hand cupped her other breast. “You are still so responsive,” he said, “Why?”
The coldness of his voice spooked her.
“Lane, I…” She tried to drag herself out of the sensual haze so that she could formulate a thought.
“What does Alex think sending you here will get him? Pictures of me, doing his wife against a gate? I don’t give a shit if that goes viral.”
“Get off me.” She pushed at him hard, and he didn’t even move. “I didn’t come here to…” A million ways to phrase it bounced in her brain, but everything sounded so crude, and her experiences with Lane were something she wanted to cherish. She’d felt loved. Adored. Not criticized and rejected.
“And don’t spout that crap about Paz because she isn’t here and you are ready to let me fuck you against a gate in view of about a dozen houses.”
“I’m not,” she said shakily realizing for the first time how out in the open they were. “I don’t want that.” Even though her hand was still wrapped around him tightly, and it was his hot, hard, silky flesh she held in her hand. Not the towel.
What was happening to her? One evening in his presence and she wanted him inside her so badly she could barely hold back a whimper or her urge to rub against him.
“Stop lying. I can feel how soaked you are.”
His hand still trapped one of hers above her head, but the other one slid down her body and cupped her mound. His thumb expertly stroked her through the fabric.
“I can feel your heat,” he whispered. “Are you wearing panties?”
Not waiting for an answer he unbuttoned the pants and slowly unzipped them, his blue eyes holding her black ones.
His finger slid inside the scrap of lace and stroked her. She bucked against him and her legs began to shake.
“I used to love to taste you.” His voice was harsh in her ear and shivers ran down her arms and back. “You want me to taste you again? Right here?”
She cried out when his finger dipped inside her and his thumb began a sensual glide across her clit. No one else had ever touched her like this, made her come alive like this. She rocked against his hand, spreading her legs a little wider so he had better access.
“You’re already so close,” he said. “I remember how you look when come, Luz. How you fall apart in my arms. How you scream my name. You going to scream, Luz? Tell me no?”
He hated her. Hated her. She could tell. But her body didn’t seem to care. She craved him. Needed him.
He took his hand away and she cried out. His thumb glistened and he stroked it along her lower lip and then kissed her, his tongue following the path of his thumb.
“So sweet,” he murmured before sucking her lower lip into his mouth.
Luz fought back tears. She didn’t know what to think or what to feel. Having Lane touch her was like heaven, but he was so angry and suspicious that it made her feel dirty and ashamed that she could respond to him when he hated her.
He deepened the kiss, his other hand releasing her so both of his arms slid around her. She shivered, warm from his kiss, but cold because he was angry, harsh, no longer the sweet, enthusiastic boy who used to lay in bed with her for hours stroking her body, playing with her hair, talking to her, watching her sleep. This man was hard and aggressive and using his sexual hold over her like a weapon.
To her shame, Luz couldn’t help responding physically. His kiss was like falling into a vat of honey, so intoxicatingly sweet. She sighed into his mouth and lifted her hands to let her fingers roam over his back, grip his shoulders and tangle in his beautiful hair so much longer than it used to be.
He cupped her jaw, his thumbs feathering along her cheekbones. He cursed and jumped back, pushing her away from him. She stumbled against the gate, her arm getting scraped by some bougainvillea thorns.
“Dammit.” He took her arm and examined the scratches.
Swore again.
Luz pulled her arm away. A bit of blood welled. No big deal. Then she put her hand to her cheeks. Both were wet. She’d been crying. She didn’t even realize it. Lane aggressively punched in a code in a key pad hidden behind some climbing clematis. Luz heard a click and he pushed the gate open.
She backed away. She’d wanted to go behind this gate for as long as she could remember, but now it was all ruined. Lane lived here. This was his sanctuary. His dream. She didn’t belong here. She had to look to the future. Not the past.
And he hated her. He’d taunted her with her physical response to him. Pulled her strings like a puppet. She’d always loved how she’d responded to him, but now she felt like a slut. Responding the same way she had twelve years ago. She could hear the word slut banging around in her head. Slut. Alex’s voice, of course. Don’t act like a slut like your sister and your mother.
And she never had until tonight.
“I’m not going in there.”
“Don’t be stupid.” His words were clipped.
“Lane, you can’t make me stay here.”
“Really?”
She faced him. But before she could toss his “really” back in his face, he’d picked her up, carried her inside, and kicked the gate closed with his foot. She struggled in her arms.
“Stay still.” He hissed between clenched teeth. “You are poison to me.”
He deposited her on a double chaise that had a thick cushion, and lots of throw pillows.
Luz struggled to right herself and untangle from the pillows. She wanted to hurl the pillows at him and wished they were rocks. How could he say that to her? She hadn’t pressed him against the gate and let her hands walk all over her body while taunting him about how he wanted more. He’d started it. And now he found her repulsive. He couldn’t even look at her.
Luz tried to shut down her emotions while Lane crouched in front of an outdoor fireplace, tucking some kindling into a stack of logs. He lit it. The small flame flickered.
That’s like me. I am a flame flickering in the night but soon I will roar. She needed to start hearing the Katy Perry song instead of Garbage’s.
She thought about making a sarcastic comment about boy scouts, but kept her mouth shut. She shivered, the night suddenly seeming cool and damp without the heat of his body so close to hers.
“Tea or coffee?” He faced the flames.
He couldn’t even stand to look at her now. Good. He was the last person she needed to spend time with. She obviously had no physical defenses against him, and she needed to mend fences with Paz and figure out who she was now after her failed marriage and career. Not become Lane’s casual and convenient sex toy.
“Tea,” she said finally, hoping that he’d go into the house and give her some space.
“I’ll bring something for your arm,” he said coldly and walked away.
* * *
Lane unlocked the front door and barely, just barely, resisted the urge to slam it. What the hell had just happened? What the fuck was wrong with him? He’d practically raped her against the gate of the house he’d pathetically bought just because it had been so special to her. Four fucking million dollars, and he didn’t even live here.
He’d been crazy. Lust and fury definitely were a volatile cocktail of emotions. She was worse than kryptonite. He’d meant just to push her a bit, taunt her, a dickish move to be sure, but she deserved it, showing up here like twelve years and marrying his brother had never happened. But then, when he’d pressed against her, her pupils had dilated, nearly swallowing him, along with her midnight irises and her breath had hitched just like it used to, and he’d been sucked into a vortex of lust that had consumed him.
Hell, he hadn’t even been that forceful when he’d been nineteen and so in love with her that she’d consumed his every thought. And the more she’d responded to him, the more jacked up for her he got, the more jealousy had reared it’s ugly head and caught him in its sharp teeth. Shaking him so hard his mind had separated from his body.
She’d let Alex touch her like that. Begged him to take her. Screamed his name when she’d come instead of Lane’s. He’d thought he’d moved somewhat beyond that long ago pain, but it had all come back in a rush the instant he’d touched her slick heat.
She’d been his. His everything. And he’d thought he’d been hers. He’d been her first lover. She hadn’t even told him that until a couple of months after they’d started having sex. She’d been so shy, embarrassed when she’d confessed. He’d been shocked and ashamed especially when she’d told him she’d been waiting for marriage. He’d been with girls since he was fifteen, and he’d been so sorry he hadn’t waited for her, that she hadn’t been his first. But he’d thought she’d be his last. That night, when he’d held her after she’d told him, he’d said she sort of had waited since they were going to get married after college.
Idiot. He wanted to kick his nineteen-year-old self over and over again. Who committed body and soul so young to a woman who’d turn around and marry his brother the minute he’d come to her with nothing? His entire childhood, his family had exerted control over him and the second he’d escaped their orbit even slightly, he’d handed over his heart and will to a woman who’d crush him like a bug.
“Shit.” He prowled around his kitchen completely unable to stand still. He sucked in breath after breath, unable to find a rhythm or to calm down even slightly.
She still got to him. Yanked on his mind, his control, his balls.
He had to get out of here. Leave. Go for a run. Punch and kick his bag for an hour or more. She didn’t deserve a place to stay. Or tea. Or an antibacterial wipe for her arm. But he knew she’d get them. She just wouldn’t get his heart. Ever. That organ was staying locked away in his chest forever.