Page 34 of All’s Well that Friends Well (Lucky in Love #2)

His jaw works for a second as he stares at me, and even though his expression is blank, I can see the wheels turning in his brain. Then he sighs. “Five minutes,” he finally says. “No more.”

And I’m not quite able to hold back my smile, the excitement that bubbles up in me. “Absolutely,” I say, nodding quickly. “Not a second longer.” I pause and lean forward. “So?”

He drops his gaze back to the papers on his desk. “So what?”

“So, ” I say. He’s going to make this difficult, which is fine; I didn’t expect otherwise. “Do you like me?”

His body stills, and I hold up one finger.

“Everything you’re thinking,” I remind him. “You agreed.”

When he answers, his voice is heavy. “I envy you,” he says, his eyes still hovering over the desktop. “Everything about you flows outward. I don’t know how to be like that anymore.”

I wait for him to go on.

“And I want to protect you,” he says when he finally speaks again. “You make yourself vulnerable. You wear your heart on your sleeve. People will hurt you. Take advantage of you.”

I nod slowly as something jubilant tries to rise in my chest. “So…you like me.”

His gaze swings up to mine. “That’s not what I said.”

I raise my brows at him, a silent invitation for him to explain. He hesitates, his jaw ticking, and then he says,

“There are things about you I like, I guess.”

“What things?” I say, leaning closer and smiling.

“I don’t—I don’t know,” he says with a frown. He waves me away, and I pout, straightening back up. “I haven’t given it a ton of thought.”

“You should,” I say earnestly. I’m practically bouncing in place. “You should think about it right now.” Then I shrug. “Because I know exactly what I like about you.”

Something shutters behind his eyes, like he’s pushing away the possibility that there are things about him worth liking.

But he should know. He should know all the good qualities he has. “You’re honest and upright,” I say. “You’re straightforward. You’re strong—there’s something in you that’s wilted, but you keep going anyway.”

His snort now is just as forced as the one earlier. “ Wilted? ” he says.

“Yes.” I reach out slowly, making sure not to scare him; then, with one finger, I poke his chest right over his heart. “A flower that’s wilted,” I say. “Right there. One that could bloom again with some water and sunlight.”

His eyes swing from my finger on his chest up to my face, and when our gazes meet, there’s only sadness and bitterness there. “I’m not sure I deserve water and sunshine, Juliet,” he says heavily. “And I’m not sure that flower could ever come back to life.”

I let my hand drop back to my lap. “Everyone deserves water and sunshine. Everyone deserves love. You certainly do.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t know?—”

“I don’t have to know,” I cut him off. My voice is soft now, because we’re entering sensitive territory—things I can’t take lightly.

Things I have to treat with respect. “I never need to know, if you don’t want to tell me,” I go on.

“I see you work hard every day to be a good person, even to someone like me. A gnat.”

His expression shifts into one of confusion, momentarily distracted by my words.

“Someone who buzzes around your face and won’t leave you alone. A gnat,” I explain, even though it’s painful. I pause and then go on, “A nuisance.”

And for a faint moment, I think I see something like regret in his eyes.

“But I’m going to try to win you over anyway, unless you tell me not to,” I say, brightening. “And right now, I’m going to kiss you—unless you tell me not to do that, either.”

He squeezes his eyes shut. “And if I say no?” he says.

I shrug and lean down, bringing my face closer to his. “Then I won’t.”

“And do you often kiss men you’ve worked with a mere several weeks? ”

“Ah,” I say, holding up one finger. “But I’ve known you for months. I’ve wanted to kiss you for months. So it’s different.”

His eyes fly open with surprise, widening slightly when he finds me only inches from him. “And if I tell you I’ll report you to HR?” he breathes.

But I can feel his breath against my lips as his head tilts up, angling closer to mine, and his knuckles are white where he grips the arm of his chair.

“Will you?” I’m close enough that I can see my reflection in his glasses. “Tell me now, because I need this job.”

“Then kissing your boss seems like a risk, doesn’t it?” he says evenly. His voice is hoarse, his eyes sharp.

“Just to be clear,” I say, letting my gaze dart over his face. “You’re not saying no.”

He blinks slowly but doesn’t answer—and that’s good enough for me.

“I think you might like it,” I say as I lean closer, my heart pounding in my chest.

“I would like it,” he admits, the words still hoarse. His gaze drifts slowly to my lips. “That doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”

“I think you might like me ,” I go on.

He opens his mouth to respond, but I stop him with the press of my lips, little more than a brush. I hover there, waiting, letting him catch up—because if he’s going to push me away, it will be now.

But he doesn’t. He’s still, completely still, neither pulling back or leaning in.

I glance over at the blinds, just to make sure they’re closed enough that no one will see us.

Then I look back to Luca. “I’m going to take off your glasses,” I murmur, and his eyes shutter closed, but he doesn’t protest as I reach up and unhook the glasses from behind his ears and then set them gently on the desk next to me.

“Has it been a long time since you’ve kissed anyone? ”

His hands clench on the arms of his chair again, his head spasming into what I think is a little nod. I reach up slowly and smooth one finger down his tight jaw, over the muscle jumping in his cheek. His eyes fly open?—

And there’s a storm in his gaze, tumultuous and wild.

That’s not rain; it’s not snow. The storm raging there is a hurricane that wants to wreck everything in its sight; a tornado that wants to devour everything in its path.

Me.

His breath is harsh against my lips now, his body no longer still; when I trail my hand down his neck and to his shoulder, I feel the tension coiled in his muscles, the rise and fall as he breathes.

And I don’t want to wait any longer—I kiss him. For real this time, sliding my lips over his and lingering, ready to take my time. Ready to coax, if I need to. I can be patient.

So I’m startled, completely taken aback, when he responds.

He surges up, his hands flying to my face, sliding down my neck, into my hair—and I gasp at the sudden hunger in his touch, at the tug of his lips, the tilt of his head as he growls low in his throat. His grip drops to my waist as he pulls me to the edge of the desk.

I lean closer, eager for more—more of his lips, more of his touch, more of his blue-green scent—and I let him take control, the urgency of his touch like a beast being unleashed .

Like he’s wanted this for as long as I have. Been dreaming about it.

My arms twine around his neck as he rises, letting go of me to support himself with hands on either side, caging me in.

I tighten my hold on him and slide one hand into his hair; he shudders at the touch and jerks away, rearing back just far enough that I can see his gaze dart over my face with something akin to desperation.

When he speaks, his voice is rough, low. “Why are you so—so—” he says, but he breaks off as that look in his eyes intensifies.

I don’t wait for him to find the word he’s looking for. I pull him back to me, and he comes willingly, groaning as I deepen the kiss.

“Intoxicating,” he breathes—passes the word from his lips to mine—“You’re intoxicating, and this can never happen again, Jules. Ever.”

I freeze at the name he’s just used; he freezes too, our kisses stilled.

“Call me that again,” I say, my mouth brushing against his.

I feel him swallow, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “Jules.”

It’s different when he says it. It’s a secret he’s telling me, something private and perfect.

I kiss him again as something rises in me, a fire I don’t want to put out. It’s hot but warm too, wanting but joyous, yearning and alive. Luca’s grip tightens as he kisses me back, but it’s only for a second; then he sighs, pulling away.

“Jules—” he begins, but he breaks off and shakes his head. “No. Juliet ,” he says firmly, like he’s correcting himself. “This can’t—really. We can’t. Never again.”

Now I’m the one who leans back. “Boo,” I say with a little frown. “Counteroffer”—he groans, ducking his chin to his chest—“this does happen again, because we start dating. Then later we get married”—he shakes his head now—“and we have three kids and live happily ever after.”

“Is it that easy for you?” he says, still breathless as his eyes slide over my face—intently, like he’s looking for something specific. “Is love really so easy for you?”

“Yes,” I say simply.

“You make yourself so vulnerable,” he says.

I can tell that this is the rawest version of Luca—stripped down to his core, all pretenses gone, and a thrill runs through me at the knowledge that he’s showing me this side of him.

“Doesn’t that scare you?” The words puff against my lips, against my skin.

“Sometimes,” I admit, breaking our locked gaze.

“I’m scared I’ll fall in love with you and you won’t love me back.

And I’m scared that after that, I’ll never love anyone else again.

I’ll just love you forever while you find someone else.

” When he remans silent, simply watching me, I go on.

“I’m scared you’ll find out more about me and run away.

And I’m scared that the woman you once loved has locked you in a cage you’ll never come out of.

” I finally force my eyes back to his. “Those are some of the things that scare me.”

His gaze is still serious, but I do see a tiny quirk at the corner of his lips. “That’s a lot of fears for someone so young.”

“I’m twenty-four.”

“I’m thirty-one— far too old for you,” he shoots back, and I shake my head. My arms are still looped around his neck, but he hasn’t moved, and I don’t let go.

“You know what I think?” I say, leaning the tiniest bit closer.

Then I drop my voice to a whisper. “I think you’re searching for reasons not to like me.

” And something desperately sad pierces my heart then.

“If you look hard enough, you’ll find them.

I’ll even give them to you, if you want. ” I swallow. “All my skeletons.”

His throat bobs, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I like you,” I say. “Because I don’t like secrets. Because if you end up liking me, I want you to know everything about me. I want you to like the real Juliet, not just the surface Juliet.”

He blinks at me, silent still. Our five minutes have long since passed, but I don’t mention it. I just wait.

“Well?” I finally say, my heart pounding. I tighten my arms around his neck, as much for support as anything else. Then I swallow. “Do you want them? My secrets?”

I watch as his gaze darts back and forth between my eyes.

“I must be insane,” he mutters, more to himself than to me as a battle plays out over his features.

I raise my brows, and when he speaks again, it’s only three words, but they’re so raw, so rough, that I shiver.

“I want them.”