Chapter Six
It took him ten minutes to calm down enough to make her an herbal tea, while he stared sightlessly out the kitchen window that during the day offered peekaboo views of the ocean through palm trees. He added a swirl of honey to the tea, thinking she needed the calories and the sweetness and headed out to the courtyard. He’d need to apologize for his overtly sexual behavior, and then tell her that whatever game she or Alex were playing, he wasn’t going to be on their field.
Feeling calmer now that he had a course of action and that he’d put on clothes and his erection was only regretful memory, Lane padded out to the courtyard in bare feet, holding a brewing tea pot and mug with some anti bacterial wipes stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans. He pulled up short to see her curled up on the lemon-colored chaise. Her hands were folded in prayer position and tucked under her cheek. She looked so young, innocent. He could just imagine his brother’s contemptuous comment if he could see Lane now, Luz safely asleep on his couch like she belonged here and him staring at her as if she were an archaeological relic. Maybe his brother did know him after all.
Lane hated tea, but he sipped it and stared moodily at Luz.
Let her sleep.
She looked stressed. Her body was rigid, her breathing shallow, a sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead, but her arms had goose bumps. She seemed brittle, about to break, and he tried to shove down the worry.
She wasn’t his.
Hadn’t been for a long time.
He laid a chenille throw blanket over her. She murmured his name, and the sound hit him like a fist. Her mouth relaxed a little, and she snuggled more deeply into the cushions.
He took two steps back, wanting to be anywhere but here, yet she tethered him in a way he hated and didn’t want to examine.
He stoked the fire to make sure it would keep her warm, but pose no risk, and tried unsuccessfully to avoid looking at her again. He checked his watch. Not even nine pm. There were a million other things he should be doing right now. Reviewing plans for the prototype reveal at the surf competition next weekend, checking emails, running on his treadmill. When was the last time he’d gone to bed before one or two am? Instead, he was staring at Luz like she was the Holy Grail, much like he had when he’d first fallen in love, worshipping everything about her, her smooth, dark skin, silky, black hair, the curve of her arched eye brows, large, dark eyes with long, feathered lashes. And her mouth. He’d loved kissing her, losing himself in her mouth. Had felt that by kissing her, their souls were merging.
God, he’d been young and stupid. Almost impossible to imagine. And yet, he could remember every searing detail of their almost two years together. She’d been older, driven in a way he hadn’t yet been. His life had been easy. Hers hadn’t, though she hadn’t let him know much about that. She’d been elegant. Composed. Serious. She’d also been, he’d realized when she finally let him close enough, shockingly inexperienced where as he had had girls targeting him since elementary school.
His mom and dad had always stressed that because of his family’s money and power, he’d be a target for women. That he should stick with girls of his class. Yes, they’d actually used that word like they’d been aristocrats. And yet they hadn’t been wrong. Not then. Not now, he thought bitterly. Women’s eyes still lit up when they recognized his name. His company. He’d never once suspected that his family’s money meant anything to Luz.
But when it was gone, so was she. And Alex had taken his place.
It still hurt, he acknowledged, accepting the wave of bitterness and pain that washed over him. He’d read that quote that said when you couldn’t outrun your pain, you had to turn and face it. Kadan had made him do that years ago.
He was done with hurt.
He was done with anger.
He was done with her.
And yet it burned in his gut. The desire for revenge. To take something from his brother. It was the opposite of what he should be feeling and thinking. What he had tried for years to rechannel into something positive. His anger. His overactive brain so difficult to harness and focus.
He wanted to burn Alex the way he’d been burned. Torch him, even though he knew that was his Duke side insidiously whispering. But what would that revenge look like? How could he target it the way Alex had targeted it? He had a hard time believing Alex had loved Luz the way he had.
So, what did his brother want? What did he value? And how could Luz play a role in making him pay? He watched her sleep, trying to ignore the gnawing worry that she looked exhausted. Ill. Too thin. Fragile. And the emotion that flitted across her face before she masked her emotions had made her look painfully broken.
Lane prowled back into the house, unnerved by the pull she exerted, even while asleep. He wasn’t going to get trapped in emotion again. Especially not with her. He didn’t even think he was capable of love like that anymore.
* * *
Luz woke up just as the sky was beginning to turn grey. She sat up slowly, pushing her hair back from her face, but then her fingers slid through air. It still felt so strange to not have the heavy fall of hair. It had been almost a cape. Something she could hide behind.
She was in a bed, but the last thing she remembered was sitting down on a couch on the patio and staring at the flames in his outdoor fireplace. She smiled. Her lingerie would have burned faster in Lane’s fireplace than in Alex’s fancy $10,000 pizza oven. For the first time, she wondered what his reaction had been to see the ashes and charred wisps of fabric filling his cherished pizza oven before it had been christened for its real purpose of margarita pizza with garlic, basil, and goat cheese or whatever other precious toppings Alex wanted to impress with.
Poseur. Alex was gluten free.
Luz slid out of bed. She definitely did not want to run into Lane rumpled from sleep, but she didn’t want to miss him as she needed a ride back to her car. The lack of marine layer lifted her mood. So many mornings in the Bay Area started with fog. And her day had started at 3:30. Five am was a luxury.
She saw Lane had brought in her overnight bag and purse. Alex wouldn’t have done that.
“And this is why you need to stop thinking about him.” She reminded herself wryly.
She’d wasted ten years of her life with a man who hadn’t really loved her, he’d finally made that clear, although if she’d been paying attention, she would have known years ago.
So, no more comparisons with Lane; no more grieving over her mistakes and things she couldn’t change.
She took a quick shower, her hands still tentative over her breasts. The small incisions were tender, pink, warm to the touch. The doctor had warned about a small chance of infection. She reminded herself to take her antibiotic even though it threw her system off. She’d not taken it last night, and she’d thrown up the one yesterday morning. But she was using tea tree ointment and keeping the incision sites clean and changing the small bandages regularly.
It was ironic. In a bid to find her old self, she felt so alien. Her breasts felt so soft and empty. The surgeon said the skin would tighten back up “to some extent, depending on genes, exercise, and luck.” She let the shower spray hit her face as if it could wash away her anxiety that seemed to ebb and build with her every ping-ponging thought and her skin felt loose, soft, numb, and creepy. She forced herself to cup her breasts. So strange. But good she admonished herself.
She flipped off the water and quickly dried and dressed in her skinny jeans and lacy tank and pale grey cashmere sweater. Tiptoeing from the room, she walked quickly through the house, feeling like an intruder, especially as Lane had seemed to resent her presence. Still, she couldn’t help marveling at all the details she’d missed last night. The arched doorways, small cut in areas of the stucco walls where there were books or art work displayed. The heavy, wood doors with brass handles, the lattice work over some of the side windows that looked out into the courtyard.
She caught her breath at the abundance of flowers spilling out of pots and climbing up the walls of the house. The house was simple. Peaceful. She couldn’t hear any street noise or neighbors. Lane really had an oasis.
She made her way to the kitchen. A latte machine dominated. Definitely Italian and state of the art. She peeked in the fridge. Almond milk. Definitely easier to face Lane with a latte in hand, but it looked more elaborate and complicated than the one she and…no she wouldn’t think his name.
She bit back a smile. She was now thinking of her soon to be ex in terms of Voldemort. He who shall not be named. Childish but not that off base.
She Googled the machine on her phone and turned it on.
No tengo miedo, she reminded herself.
I have no fear. It wasn’t true, but if she said it enough, perhaps she’d get close. What was it, three weeks to form a new habit? Well, she’d definitely burned her bridges with her old life—quit the station instead of taking the insulting demotion, walking out on Alex when she’d seen him going down on an overly highlighted blonde with an obvious addiction to expensive spray on tans. Did they make that orange junk in flavors?
Luz cut off the negative thought and wrapped her fingers around the two large colored ceramic mugs holding two lattes.
“No tengo miedo,” she whispered as she went nervously in search of Lane, sure that as a lifelong surfer, he was up.
* * *
She found him on the back patio where she’d fallen asleep last night. He was standing under an outdoor shower, back to her, water sluicing over his head, flattening his white gold curls so that his hair fell past his shoulders. She hadn’t realized it was so long. She was marveling at the beauty of it, and wondering how a man with such curly hair still managed to be so in-your-face masculine that it took her a second to realize that he was naked.
He couldn’t be. She blinked hard.
He was. God, his back was cut. Wide shoulders, indentations where his muscles bulged and moved almost like he was a granite wall she could hold on to as she climbed, and all of the masculine perfection tapering down to a narrow waist and a butt that was tight. His legs were long and strong, very defined. Luz stood there, lattes tightly gripped in both hands, feeling stupidly domestic and more than a little pervy, but, oh, he was a thing of beauty, and it was highly unlikely she would see anything this magnificent again in her life unless it was in a magazine, and those men were all photoshopped or at least she’d assumed they were.
She managed to close her hanging open mouth, but to convince her legs to move took her more effort. She must have had more wine last night than she’d thought because she didn’t remember him looking this amazing. She was so busy staring it was a shock to realize he’d turned around.
She sucked in a breath, feeling more than stupid to be caught oogling as well as making an unasked bid for domesticity. His blue eyes challenged hers, and even though she told herself to hold eye contact, she looked down. He was unabashedly hard, one hand wrapped around his erection. His eyes narrowed, and then he let go. She took a compulsive step forward and felt her cheeks flame. What was up with that? She thought wildly. Was she going to offer to help like a girl scout porn star?
“I made lattes.”
It was the stupidest thing she could have said, and she really thought dying of humiliation was a total possibility, but Lane ducked under the water again, smoothed his hands through his hair, and she gripped the mugs tighter, afraid she’d touch him. He was so beautiful, all hard planes and muscle and restrained energy.
He turned off the water and reached out for a towel. He dried his hair first, giving her a long time to admire the flex of muscle on his pecs and abs.
He ran the towel lightly down his arms, legs, and then across his back. She could do that for him if they were lovers. And where had that thought come from?
No tengo miedo.
She swallowed hard and approached him, heart galloping like a Triple Crown hopeful.
“Thanks,” he said.
His voice washed over her, heating her body with a desire she thought dead years ago. Lane took the mug. His fingers brushed hers, which created a shaft of desire that pierced her low in her stomach. She aimed for cool, but the fact that he had yet to reach for any clothes, and his dark blue gaze held hers in challenge, made cool impossible.
She ran her fingers trough her shorn hair. “Don’t you ever wear clothes?”
That had not been what she’d been intending to say.
“In the shower, no.”
“I meant—” She gestured out with her hand, and realized she didn’t really know what she meant, and why was she objecting.
He made Michelangelo’s David look wimpy, and why was she so into muscles suddenly? Was it a mid life crisis? A hormonal surge? A last hurrah, I’m alive.
“Are you uncomfortable?”
Who wouldn’t be?
“Of course not.” As long as she didn’t look down, which she already had.
She took a gulp of her latte and nearly spit it out, it was so hot. She stared hard at the rim of her mug, breathing shallowly so she couldn’t breathe in his heady scent of man and citrus soap and a hint of something spicy like cinnamon or sandalwood.
“Luz,” he said softly.
She decided scarring tongue burn was better than hearing him tell her it was time to go even though leaving had been her intention. What was wrong with her? She was staring at him like some adolescent girl with a crush and he was so not into her. She was old news. Used up. Her eggs shriveled.
“Luz, I’d appreciate if you’d look at me when I apologize.”
Surprised, her head jerked up. She clashed with his blue eyes, and they made it even harder to breathe. How was that blue even possible?
“Look at you,” he said softly, his finger reaching out and touching the pulse point low on her neck. “Your heart is racing, why?”
She froze beneath his touch, barely able to breathe. She felt a bit like an animal in a trap, she thought a bit wildly.
“Do I scare you?”
“No,” she said, wondering at the question.
Now, she probably would scare him if he knew half of her thoughts, but she had no doubt he was used to that. He probably had to beat women off with his surfboard just to get from the beach to his car each day.
“Is it my habit of walking around the house naked?” He smiled, and her stomach swooped to her toes.
She’d forgotten how beautiful his smile was, how his eyes would crease down to his cheekbones.
“I would imagine you’d be so used to seeing a naked man daily it would be a bit of a yawn.”
“Not like you,” she said, goaded into speech before her brain had a chance to process.
“Really?” The look on his face nearly melted her. “Now that’s interesting.”
Smug didn’t begin to cover it. Nor did amused. And if Luz had given a flying fig what her not-soon-enough-ex thought, she would have been mortified or felt a twinge of guilt.
Not that she should be comparing, but really there was no comparison. None.
“Care to elaborate?”
She stared intently at her cup as if it contained the secrets of the universe. She was burning to say something clever. Flirty. Her mind was completely empty of anything except the desire to see if he was still fully erect. To see if he still had the drop of moisture that he used to have when they would strip off their clothes, and she couldn’t wait to take him in her mouth because it cranked him up so fast and so hard.
“No,” she said softly.
His finger tilted her chin up so she was forced to look into his eyes.
She felt like she was drowning. And how had he come so close without her noticing? He was naked and the heat radiating off his body was going to ignite her.
“So what’s got you so wound up, Luz?”
“Your ego doesn’t need any stroking.” She hissed at him. “And I’m not comparing you.”
“But you already have.”
“Stop messing around, Lane.”
“I haven’t even started, Luz. That was you.”
“Me?” She jerked her head away from him and took a step back.
And then another. Her latte sloshed out of her mug her hands were shaking so much. This no fear thing was going to take some getting used to, but she’d get there, and Lane would be the one feeling awkward and…and…she didn’t even know and what.
“Sorry,” he said suddenly, taking her mug from her and holding it to her lips. She blew a little and then sipped on it. “I shouldn’t tease you. I wanted to apologize for last night.”
It was the last thing she expected him to say. He put both mugs down on a side table. “Seeing you threw me off. I was out of control. It’s out of my system. It won’t happen again.”
The words were like a slap. Even though she’d wanted to leave and to tell him he needed to keep his distance, hearing he intended to and to make it sound so easy when she’d just been caught spying and drooling was humiliating.
“Good,” she said coolly.
“Does Alex know you are here?”
“No. I didn’t even know I’d be here.”
Lane closed the distance between them, and she let him. He was still hard. And she was so totally wet.
“You spent the night in my bed.”
“I did not. I… That was your bed?”
He smiled.
Again, his eyes crinkled. His whole face lit up and creased, and Luz twisted her hands behind her back to resist the temptation to trace them. Why were lines so devastatingly beautiful and sexy on men, but women had to inject poison in their faces to get rid of them?
“But you didn’t sleep there?”
“It’s my bed.”
She stared at him. He was joking. He had to be.
“I fell asleep on the patio. It’s not like I crawled into bed with you.”
She didn’t. She didn’t sleepwalk. Only sometimes she did. Sometimes she would get up and wander around the house, opening drawers, looking for something she could never find, and she would wake up in other rooms.
“Crawled.” He drew out the word. “I love that image.”
“I didn’t.”
His expression didn’t change.
“Did I?” she asked softly. “Tell me I didn’t.”
His smile faded. “No, I carried you to bed and was the perfect gentleman.”
She thought she heard a trace of sarcasm, but her sweeping sense of relief let it go. “You could be a gentleman now and get dressed.”
“Where’s the fun it that? You’re awake now.”
She was also very, very alert and aware and her panties were soaked. She hadn’t anticipated the need for cotton panties when she’d been in Mia’s store.
“So.” Lane drew out the word like it was a cognac. “Alex spends too much time at his desk. And you got bored.”
He stepped away from her, his arms wide, just as the sun crested the bluffs of San Clemente bathing the back patio in pink and gold tinged light. His skin lit up and his hair glowed like a halo.
“So, Luz, my former light. Have a look,” he said. “I remember you liked to look.”
Her tongue darted out to moistened her trembling lip.
“And I know you still like to watch.” He gripped himself hard and Luz squeaked and spun away.
She would not do this even though every atom in her body was screaming at her to not only watch, but to touch. How could he do that, just stand there looking like Apollo and say a few words and she was ready to fall on her knees and beg to have a taste of him.
He came up behind her.
“I thought you had apologized. That you weren’t going to do anything like that again.”
“I did say that, didn’t I,” he murmured in her ear, and his voice was like fingers on her spine. Her eyes drifted shut. “You’re trembling. Do I frighten you?”
“No.”
“Do you want to watch me still?”
Oh, my God, yes.
She nodded. She had loved to look at him. She used to sit up at night and watch him sleep, loved watching the moonlight turn his taut, bare skin luminescent. And she had loved watching him surf and swim and read and grill fish tacos and she had loved best of all watching him above or below her, watching him move in and out of her body. It had been so magical. She’d never felt a connection anything near it with another person.
“But I can’t,” she whispered.
“Because you’d be cheating on Alex?”
“No.” She frowned and forced herself to turn around and face him.
He had the towel wrapped around his hips. He’d only been teasing her. Proving he could get her wet and ready with no more effort than snapping his fingers.
“Not that I would have a moral qualm participating in your metaphorical middle finger to your husband,” he said, making the word husband sound like a curse. “There could be a sweet justice in that.”
She opened her mouth but no words came out.
Justice?
She blew out a breath and ran her fingers through her still damp hair. If he would give her some space, she might be able to form a thought.
“You aren’t owed any justice, Lane.”
“We definitely differ in opinion on that,” he said, eyes squinty.
“And I didn’t leave Alex, intending to hook up with you.”
“Yet here you are.”
Their bodies were only inches a part. She wrestled with the strong urge to press against him, to absorb his heat and strength.
“Here I am,” she said, striving to sound casual or flippant and only sounding breathless.
Lane unnerved her when his fingers cupped her cheeks, and his thumbs caressed her jaw line. She’d always loved how he used to hold her face like she was infinitely precious when he kissed her. His head tilted, blotting out the sky, his lips were a whisper away. He was going to kiss her. Her lips parted and her breath feathered in excitement. Her nipples peaked, and her hips tilted forward to close the distance. A small sound escaped her.
“You are still the only woman I’ve kissed who didn’t close her eyes right before,” he said.
The chill in his voice unnerved her.
“We aren’t kissing.”
“Yet,” he said.
“Lane, I…”
“Don’t lie to me. Your body’s hot. Your pupils are dilated. Your breathing’s elevated. Your nipples look spectacular enough to eat, and yes—” He pulled her close so their hips were aligned. He rocked his cock against her, hard enough to tease her clit, and she cried out. “I want to taste you,” he whispered in her ear.
His fingers tangled in her hair and he tilted her head towards his.
“And you’d let me.”
Her nipples were so hard they hurt.
“Shut up,” she said. “You said you weren’t going to…you know.”
“Think about sex around you? It was a lot easier thinking noble thoughts last night when you were sleeping.”
“Really?” Luz felt pleased. She didn’t leave him entirely cold.
“Obviously,” he said coldly and took her hand and placed it over the obvious bulge under the towel. “I ache for you, Luz, but you were counting on that.”
“No,” she whispered.
He cupped her cheeks and lowered his head his lips lightly brushed hers. Her lips parted and she breathed him in, arched to get closer. Her fingers tangled in his hair.
“So now what?”
He gripped her arms and held them behind his back. Luz felt as if she’d been flying and then was freefalling to cement.
“Now what, what?” She gasped, trying to pull herself together. Her heart seemed ready to burst, and she’d run a half marathon before without being so out of breath.
“You have sex with me and then what does Alex get?”
“What? Why do you keep bringing up Alex? He doesn’t belong here.”
“I think he’d disagree. You’re his wife, Luz. His fucking wife. God, just thinking about you with him makes me want to vomit.”
“Let go of me,” she said coldly. “I don’t want to talk about Alex, and I didn’t come here to rekindle something with you, so stop touching me.”
He laughed. “Right. That’s why you were leering at me showering and trying to kiss me back because you are so not interested.”
She wanted to slap him. She really did. She even pictured herself doing it. Slapping would have been something Paz would have done. Instead, Luz tugged her arms free from his and tried to stuff down her shame and embarrassment. It was his fault. He’d brought her here. He kept parading around nude. She needed a vaccine against him. She’d practically begged him to kiss her. She wanted to rebuild her life. Not implode it. She wanted to find herself, not her orgasm button.
A sob rose up in the back of her throat. And then another. She pressed her hand over her mouth. She was not going to cry. She would not. He’d never seen her cry before, and he wouldn’t now.
He angrily jerked on some board shorts. Maybe that was it. All the hard body nakedness. It was frying her brain. She could ignore him with clothes on.
“Is this some kind of sick test?”
She shook her head quickly, horrified that her eyes were filling with tears. She spun away and sucked in a breath.
“I told you.” She enunciated each word carefully. She could keep her stupid emotions at bay. She’d done it all her life. She was a professional. Or at least she had been. “I want a divorce. I want out for good.”
“Turn around and look at me when you tell me that. You owe me that, Luz.”
She didn’t owe him anything. Why did he think that? Yes, she’d broken up with him, and yes, she’d served him with a restraining order because he kept trying to see her, and she’d known that she’d give into his pleas and run away with him and plunge herself into a chaotic life. She’d loved him so much, but she couldn’t live an unstructured life again. Her roller-coaster childhood still gave her nightmares. So, yes, she’d said no to him, but it wasn’t as if he’d felt any of the anguish she had. He’d replaced her within days.
She did turn around though. He looked so hard and angry that he was barely recognizable. He didn’t look like her Lane anymore. The Lane she remembered.
“Really?” He looked so skeptical Luz felt annoyed. “If my mother’s increasingly shrill voice mails are to be believed, Alex is about to announce a run for governor.”
“Yes, he is.”
“Hardly something he’s going to do the same day he announces a split from his wife.” Lane rolled his eyes, his voice dripped sarcasm. “California’s not a particularly conservative state. Still, politicians usually have their spouse gazing lovingly into their eyes while they spout their shit and launch a run.”
She didn’t answer. That wasn’t her problem.
“And, Luz, we’re Catholic. We don’t do divorce, and the fact that I’m even saying we when talking about my family fills me with loathing.”
She stared at the ground. She too was Catholic. And divorce wasn’t the only sin she’d committed, she thought as a wave of agony and regret crashed over her heart with the force of a tsunami whenever she thought about the decision she’d made so many years ago without Lane. She’d often wondered why God let her live. Why he didn’t smote her in some way, and now she knew because living with a lie, living with a sin, was far worse than dying.
“So…” Lane drew out the word.
“He should have thought of that before…”
“Before?” Lane asked silkily.
And she hated him for that almost as much as she hated Alex because now he would know. It was obvious. Her husband had preferred other women to her. Younger women. Blondes. Unaccomplished women. And she had been the stupid wife. Working harder to get ahead, starving herself to be thin enough, haunting the gym, the spa, the dermatologist to be fit enough, pretty enough, youthful enough, but she’d really been running in place. She’d kept trying to be perfect and falling far short. And now Lane would know her marriage had been in shambles since the beginning.
The silence stretched on and on. She wasn’t going to give him anything.
“How long ago did you find out?” he finally asked.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“So that’s why you’re here? To make him taste his own medicine?”
“No.” She denied, stung that he could even think that. “I would never do that. Why do you keep thinking that? It’s so arrogant to think I came for you.”
“I’ve been accused of worse.” He took a step forward and brushed the hair the kept blowing across her face, he tucked it behind her ear and then scrutinized her carefully. “So, why did you let me take you home? Why did you let me nearly take you against the gate?”
She had no idea. It was like he mesmerized her with his potent sexuality.
“Mmmmm?” Even the way he hummed the letter in the space between then made her wetter. Lane spread out both hands, fingers stretched out, and again she found herself fixating on his hands. They were so sexy. It was almost as if by looking at them, she could feel them on her body.
He had some sexual pull over her that she couldn’t explain or fight. She’d never thought of herself as a sexual or sensual person before or after Lane. Before, she’d only been determined to get away, graduate, and have a successful career and a stable life. She’d avoided boys like they’d been germs. And after Lane she’d never felt the passion for Alex that she had for Lane.
“I think this would be the ultimate in payback”
“I don’t want payback.”
“There’s not another man on this planet you could fuck that would piss him off more.”
“Don’t talk like that to me.” Luz felt like he’d lit a match and she was a stick of dynamite. “Don’t use that word to me. It was never like that. I’m not like that. I’m not.” She slapped her chest, even though it hurt and pushed past him to go back in the house.
She couldn’t even look at him. He made what they’d had ugly. Common. Nothing special.
“Hey, hey.” He caught her just inside the door. “Hey.”
She struck out at him. Kicking back, trying to slam her elbow into his solar plexus, but he used his bulk, and his arms to pin her to him, stilling her arms, his voice soothing against her ears. She squirmed to get away.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I never should have said that. Used that word. It was never like that with us. I’m sorry.”
“Let go of me.”
“I’m sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry.” He repeated the chant, his face buried in her hair, and his heart slammed against her back.
She squeezed her eyes shut determined to stop her tears. She shouldn’t care what he thought or what he said. She was through with men, and unless she wanted to lose all of her hard won freedom and sanity, she had to be through with Lane.
“Luz, I am sorry.” His voice was low in her ear, and he ran one hand along her arm in a soothing motion that made her want to turn into him, cling to him. “Baby, I wanted to apologize for being such a dick last night, and I ended up a bigger dick today. I’m sorry. So sorry.”
She pushed away from him and then faced him, one hand in a fist. “This is what you need to understand.” She told him and held out one finger. “One. I want out of my marriage. Two. I don’t care about Alex’s political plans or our religious beliefs. Three. I came back to San Clemente to try to patch things up with Paz. Alex pushed us apart, and I let him. Four. I came back for me. Not you. Not to f—” She couldn’t even say the word.
“Fuck?” He taunted.
“Got it?”
“Yeah.” He ran his hand over his face. “I got it. So, let’s roll.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Yes, you are, baby. You, me, and the beach. You want Paz? I can wrap her up for you. She’s been harassing me and creating havoc with my crew for weeks for some documentary on the spiritual healing of surfing or something touchy-feely like that, and she’s doing the whole thing with funds from Kickstarter and is using only high school kids so the whole thing is a cluster fuck.”
Lane walked away, his long legs eating up the courtyard.
“You want Paz? I can deliver. You want to keep your distance from me? Keep her off my back.”
Knowing her sister, he meant that figuratively and literally. Luz tried to squelch the quick hard stab of jealousy. Lane wasn’t hers. She didn’t care.
“It’s a win-win.” He tossed over his shoulder as she followed him far more slowly.
Judging by how easily Lane lit her up and made her emotions swing out of control, Luz didn’t feel like she was going to win anything.