Page 20

Chapter

Fifteen

L ucas flipped the steaks, the sizzle a steady rhythm that matched the crashing of waves against the shore. The scent of garlic and seared meat hung in the salt-kissed air, mouthwatering and warm. He glanced over his shoulder and stilled.

Miranda was sprawled out on the chaise lounge, her long legs stretched gracefully, her arms relaxed at her sides. Her head tilted slightly toward the setting sun, and her lips parted in soft, even breaths. She was asleep.

Not passed out exhausted, but truly, deeply resting—something he doubted she did often. Gone was the tight line of her mouth, the tension between her brows. For once, she wasn’t holding the weight of a franchise on her shoulders.

She looked radiant. Untouchable. And for a fleeting moment, his chest squeezed in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

He hated to wake her. Even for dinner.

The sound of the sliding door broke the spell. He turned, bringing a finger to his lips in a silent plea.

Trudy paused in the doorway, took in the scene in one quick sweep, and nodded. She moved quietly, placing a bowl of roasted potatoes and a dish of asparagus on the table before making her way to him at the grill. She leaned in close, peering over his shoulder at the steaks.

“Make sure they’re medium rare,” she said softly. Then, without missing a beat, “What’s going on with you and Miss Callahan?”

Lucas stiffened.

“Don’t take me for a fool, boy. I saw that kiss. And the looks. Yours. Hers. It’s not just professional anymore.”

He stabbed the meat thermometer into the thickest cut. “Few more minutes.”

“Lucas.”

He exhaled through his nose, jaw tight. “I don’t know. It’s... complicated.”

Trudy folded her arms, her expression calm but unyielding. “Because you work together? Because you’re sitting on the fate of the team her father built? Because people whisper you want to take the Knights back? I may be retired, but I still read the news, and I haven’t missed the rumors.”

He flushed at her words. “It’s not like that. I’m just doing my job. This—whatever’s happening with Miranda—is separate.”

Trudy cast a glance toward the lounge chair where Miranda dozed, golden light tracing her features like a painting.

Her voice softened, but the concern remained.

“Be careful. Matters of the heart rarely stay in neat little boxes. And I know you, Lucas. I know how long it’s been since you let anyone in. Since you let yourself feel anything.”

She placed her hand gently on his forearm, grounding him. “I’m glad to see you with someone like her. I am. But I’ve also seen what holding a grudge can do to a man. And sweetheart, you’ve been carrying one for a long time.”

He looked at her, voice low and deliberate. “This isn’t about the past. Not about my father. Or the team.”

Trudy’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “Are you sure? You don’t think, deep down, there’s a part of you still chasing a reckoning? Still blaming Seamus Callahan for what happened to your father? For the sale?”

Her words hit like a strike to the gut. Not because they were new—he’d heard the accusation before—but because coming from her, they cut deeper.

He didn’t flinch, not outwardly. But it took effort.

“I’m doing my job, Mom. That’s all. And Miranda... Miranda is her own story.”

She studied him for another beat, then turned back to the table with a sigh. “I think those steaks are done. Want to wake her? Or shall I?”

Lucas didn’t answer right away.

His gaze drifted back to Miranda, still glowing in the soft orange light, the edges of her hair catching the sun like gold thread.

She looked like peace.

He wasn’t sure he deserved it.

But damn, he wanted it.

D inner passed in a blur of warmth and laughter, conversation looping through safe topics—childhood mishaps, favorite ballparks, disastrous holiday recipes. Lucas gradually let his guard down, helped along by the mellowing vodka Trudy had generously mixed into her signature lemonade.

As the sky darkened, the scent of grilled steak gave way to ocean brine and salt-soaked air. The sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting the deck in shadow, the only light now the soft silver wash of moonlight and the occasional flicker of candles inside.

The evening ebbed like the tide—unhurried, easy, quiet.

“I can see why you chose to live here, Mom,” Lucas said as he leaned back in his chair, gaze sweeping over the moonlit waves. “It’s peaceful.”

“You haven’t even scratched the surface,” Trudy replied, mischief dancing in her eyes. “This is a private beach. You should take a walk. It’s a gorgeous night. I’m sure Miranda wouldn’t mind a moonlit stroll.”

Lucas shot her a sidelong glare. Matchmaker mode: activated. Amazing how fast she could pivot from worry to subtle manipulation. “Maybe Miranda’s too tired. It’s been a long day.”

Miranda smiled, the kind of slow, slightly tipsy smile that hinted at secrets and intentions. “I’d love it. I miss the beach.” She stood, swaying just a little, and extended her hand. “Will you join me?”

Trudy waved them off with a satisfied smirk. “Go. I’ve got this. There aren’t many dishes anyway.”

Lucas stood, taking Miranda’s hand in his.

Her fingers fit easily with his, cool and warm all at once, and the simple touch sent awareness skimming down his spine.

They descended the steps, brushing through the tall grasses that lined the path to the beach, until their feet found the cool, velvety sand.

Miranda stopped and slipped out of her shoes, lifting one foot then the other with a kind of reverence. “I forgot how much I love this. Barefoot on the beach... God, it’s been too long.”

Her delight was infectious. Lucas kicked off his own shoes, tugging off his socks and tossing them beside hers. “You’re right. The sand feels good. Soft, not too hot. Still, this whole walk was your idea.”

She led the way toward the surf, where gentle waves rolled in like whispers.

She danced ahead, kicking at the tide with a childlike joy that made something twist in his chest. The moonlight silvered her hair and turned her silhouette ethereal.

This wasn’t the controlled executive or the beauty queen image he'd imagined back in Savannah.

This was Miranda undone. Unfiltered. And it knocked the air out of him.

She turned and stretched out her hand toward him, fingers wiggling. “Come on, Lucas. You have to feel the ocean on your toes.”

He smirked. “I already felt the sand. Besides, do you know how many people pee in the ocean? I’m good right here.”

With a laugh that cut through the quiet night, she lunged from the edge of the surf, grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward the water. Off balance, he stumbled, the cold foam licking at his ankles.

“The ocean dilutes it, trust me,” she teased, eyes sparkling as she tugged him deeper. “Besides, you’ve survived worse.”

He caught her around the waist, pulling her flush against his chest, the cool water forgotten as her body pressed against his.

Her scent—vanilla and sea air—hit him like a shot of adrenaline.

She melted into him, her arms looping around his waist, head resting on his shoulder.

They stood there like that, the water brushing their legs, the stars winking above them, the only sound the steady rhythm of the waves and the rush of blood in his ears.

It felt inevitable to kiss her. So he did.

She met him halfway, lips parting before he even touched her.

This time, she didn’t hesitate. Her tongue met his with heat and hunger, kissing him like she needed it to breathe.

He cupped her face with one hand, the other sliding over her arm, then down her back to pull her closer, fingers splaying possessively over the curve of her ass.

She moaned against his mouth and pressed her hips against his, and just like that, the erection he’d been keeping in check since dinner surged back to life, demanding more.

He deepened the kiss, taking everything she offered and giving it back twice as hot. Her hands roamed over him—his back, his shoulders, one threading into his hair while the other clutched him with fierce need. Her body was fire and silk, her mouth temptation and promise.

When he finally tore his lips from hers, her eyes were glassy with desire, her breathing ragged.

“I won’t be able to stop this time,” he said hoarsely, voice rough with restraint. “Be very sure, Miranda.”

She nodded once, then licked her lips—slow, deliberate—and his groin clenched so tight he had to bite back a groan. “I’m sure.”

Still, he hesitated, scanning her face. Her pupils were dilated, but not with alcohol. Her eyes—clear, bright, electric—held no trace of confusion.

“It’s not the vodka talking?” he asked, giving her one last out.

She kissed him again, slow and sure. “Not even close. This is all me, Lucas.”

That undid him more than the kiss.

He stepped back abruptly, his control fraying. She stumbled, but he caught her by the elbow before letting go completely.

“Not here,” he said, voice low and rough. “Not for our first time.”

She nodded, breath catching, then turned to take one last look at the glittering ocean, the stars reflected on the surface like a spilled galaxy. Then she followed him back across the sand, barefoot and glowing.

A towel had been laid neatly over their shoes, a quiet sign from Trudy—graceful retreat, no questions asked. The kitchen lights were off. The house silent.

Lucas grinned. “Looks like Mom’s gone to bed.”

He turned to her, desire simmering under his skin. “Want to sneak away with me?”