Page 19 of Lucas

“You’re missing out,” he says. He pretends his fork is an airplane and swoops it under my nose. A buzzing noise vibrates between his lips. He circles around again, this time swiping the meat across my lips to that I have no choice but to lick them clean. He’s right, the sauce alone is noteworthy. My stomach grumbles.

“God, you’re such a kid,” I say. It’s meant to be an admonishment, but the truth is, he’s adorable, and while part of me wants to slap that boyish smirk off his face, I’d rather be running my fingers through his hair.

“Growing up is for suckers,” he says, with a dry chuckle.

My annoyance flares up again. That’s easy for someone like Lucas to say. One snap of his fingers and he can command whatever—whomever—he wants. But I live in the real world, and it’s not that simple. I don’t have indispensable wealth at the tip of my fingers.

Lucas slumps down on the chair. “Come on Eden, what do I have to do? I like spending time with you, and I think you feel the same. This doesn’t have to come between us.”

Some of the anger dissipates, replaced by defeat, “There’s no way this can work.”

“Because of the lawsuit?”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I’ve been racking my brains looking for a way out of this, some kind of escape clause that lets me have both. And so far, I’ve come up blank.

His eyebrow quirks up. “So, let’s pretend it doesn’t exist.”

I laugh without humor. “Cute, but impossible.”

The lawsuit is like an albatross over my head, permeating the environment everywhere I go. Tensions between Liz, Marnie and I are at an all-time high. We’re arguing over little things, petty things, the kinds of stuff that high school kids bicker about. No way I can just pretend it doesn’t exist. It’s a ridiculous solution.

“Not forever.” Lucas puts the fork down and takes my hand in his. “Give me one week.”

My palm is slick with nervous sweat. I try to pull back, but he hangs on and waits for me to look up into his eyes. In them, I find sincerity.

My mouth goes dry. “And after that?”

Lucas offers a small smile. “If after seven days of spending time together, we still like each other, we’ll figure out what to do about the situation.”

My heart flutters with indecision. “Nice try. You just want to spend a week fucking me without any strings or repercussions.”

His eyes go smoky and sexy. “Don’t you want me to fuck you every day for a week?”

Yes.

The word catches in the back of my throat. It’s the answer he wants—the one I’m desperate to give—but it’s also the path fraught with the most danger. Once again, my brain, my heart, and my body are at war, but this time, the battle isn’t even close—I want him. Badly.

Not just for a week, I realize.

But if that’s the offer on the table, I’ll start with seven days and see where it goes, because I’m not strong enough to walk away. Not yet.

Jesus, I’m in big trouble here.

“One week,” I say, lifting my chin as if this was my plan all along.

“One week, plus tonight,” Lucas says, grinning wolfishly. “And I don’t intend on wasting one second of it.”

Chapter 10

True to his word, Lucas pulls me to him and plants his mouth on mine, effectively ending any further negotiation. His hips grind up against my crotch while his tongue probes between my lips. His moves are frantic, almost desperate, as if for one second, he thought I might turn the offer down.

A girl could get lost in that power.

I don’t protest when he lifts me off the carpet and carries me blindly to the bedroom, navigating his way through the small suite like he owns the place. His hands hitch up under my buttocks and dig in as I wrap my legs around his lean torso.

His gaze never leaves mine, not even when he lays me on the mattress and climbs onto the bed. One hand cups my breast through the nightshirt, and the other yanks the bottom upward to reveal my bare stomach. My skin feels electric, alive. It never ceases to amaze me that whenever Lucas touches me, I feel special, like the most beautiful woman in the world.

Lucas severs the connection between our mouths now, shifting his eyes to my underwear—plain, white, the least sexy pair in my drawer. His grin turns wolfish again.