He’s funny and kind and sincere and genuine and always smiling, but it’s really no wonder how he’s managed to launch into the public eye so often. His scandals have always been along the lines ofyeah, no, I didn’t assault that guy; he was groping a fan. I merely yanked him away from her,politely, and here’s all the footage, so why are we still talking about this?
I like King, when he’s not kidnapping me and buying me a million things and giving me unclear rules to follow whileflipping through my personal notebook and laying his head near my lap while I’m in pj’s that don’t have pants.
That is to say, I suppose I likeKingand I may have liked Lukas three days ago, but it’s gonna take me a minute to assess how I feel about him now.
“I’m excited,” he murmurs, boyish, and I get a little stuck on the tenderness in his smile. “Thank you for coming home with me, Clara.”
I don’t really think I had a choice, right?
But then, no. Morana shut his proposition down immediately earlier. I had every choice. I just didn’t…speak up. Wetting my lips, I say, “Thank you for everything today. I hope I wasn’t too much trouble.”
“You’re worth all sorts of trouble,” he says, turning past the final page I’ve written on, finding the next blank, and letting my book flutter closed. “You’ve yet to cause any.”
That’s good to know.
Sitting up suddenly, Lukas frames my face in his hand. “I wish you’d cause all sorts of trouble for me. I think I’d like that.”
My cheeks heat, and I squeeze my pillow tight.
His fantasy gaze slips, falling on my lips and simmering. His thumb coasts across my mouth, igniting all sorts of things I’ve never experienced before. Gentle, he asks, “May I kiss you?”
My stomach knots, and I can’t get my mouth to work, so I simply…nod…and hope it’s only a kiss.
“Do youwantme to kiss you?” he asks.
I’d rather throw myself from the balcony, even knowing a three-story drop into rose bushes is unlikely to kill me. Fighting for use of my mouth, I whisper, “I…don’t know. If you want to…it’s okay.”
His gaze lowers to my lips again, and he paints the pad of his thumb across them. “I really do want to. But I want you to want me to. Why don’t you sayplease?”
Oh, I’d really rather not. Nevertheless, my lips part against the warmth of his caress to obey.
“Or…” he interrupts me before I can utter the embarrassing word, “…you could also sayno. You could hit me with your pillow and tell me to leave you alone.”
I would love to. My hands bunch in the fluff of my pillow, and I picture beating him back with it, but I don’t budge.
“Let’s take a moment and practice something, hm?”
“Practice?” I echo, so quietly.
He nods, moving his hand from my chin, to my head, where he ruffles my hair. “I want to kiss you. You aren’t sure that you want to kiss me, so youdon’twant to kiss me, understand?”
Not…really.
“Unless you’re completely positive you want to do something, you should default tonotwanting to. Just in case. Play it safe. Does that make sense?”
“Oh…” I blink. “Yes? I…think so?”
“So, since you don’t know if you want to kiss me, you…” He motions for me to finish.
I tremble. “…don’twant to?”
“Excellent. Well, get rid of the question mark. But good start. So nowIsay…” He cups my jaw, and gets close, sending a thrill of convoluted emotions plunging into my chest as his voice goes low, sultry, determined. “Oh, come on, cupcake…” he purrs. “It’ll be fun. You’ll like it. And that’s when you…”
Cave. Like an overmixed muffin.
When I don’t answer, he sighs and fills in the blank for me. “Hit me with your pillow.”
Oh, wow. Was that the right answer? I’m having a very good time holding onto my pillow for dear life, actually, but I will take your suggestion into consideration.
