Page 3 of Scripted for Love and Poison (Sol and Luke Mystery #2)

L uke wasn’t happy. But his discomfort came from reasons completely unrelated to what Sol had been musing about. And he certainly didn’t mind having to take care of her missing luggage for her. If anything, he loved the occasions in which she let him take charge of the situation. They were rare.

But he couldn’t deny the fact that they were now in a foreign country, and he hated traveling.

He’d tried—he’d really tried doing it right.

For her. Luke Contadino had gone as far as rewatching Up in the Air , taking notes about everything George Clooney’s character had to say on the subject of packing.

Especially considering that Sol had been obtusely vague in her directions: “Oh, bring whatever you feel you’ll need there. And don’t forget the suit!”

As if that had made anything any clearer. He hadn’t forgotten the suit, though.

They’d met for their LA-bound flight directly at Heathrow Airport.

It had been deemed easier that way, with each of them coming from their respective homes and packing on opposite sides of the Thames.

Luke had been so proud about his compact carry-on bag—until he’d seen her lugging the most ginormous of rolling suitcases and carrying an equally big carry-on weekender.

“We are still coming back in four days, right?” Luke had asked her, suddenly afraid.

Accepting to go to Los Angeles with her had been anxiety-inducing enough—there was no way of overstating how much he hated to be far from London.

He’d just hoped Sol hadn’t had a change of heart and wanted to spend a whole month there or something.

By the looks of her baggage, she was carrying stuff for at least that many weeks.

“Of course. Just so that we can attend the thing, see some friends, and fly back. Why?” she’d asked him, confused.

He’d simply looked at his luggage and then appreciated the size of hers with his eyes.

“Am I judging you because of that ridiculously small roller you’re bringing?

” she’d said, but her tone did sound judgy, and Luke had started doubting his packing method.

Perhaps it should have been less minimalism, more anything goes.

“I never travel light. My toiletry bag alone doesn’t fit into a carry-on.

Are you sure you have everything you’ll need?

” she’d inquired, just short of accusing.

The irony of it all wasn’t lost on Luke: Sol’s stuff was now missing, and his own carry-on was safely tucked next to him. Not that he had any intention of telling her that.

Especially considering that things hadn’t necessarily improved for them during the flight after the luggage discordance.

He liked to think that he’d come to know his romantic partner quite well.

He suspected that Sol would have bought first-class tickets if he hadn’t insisted on paying for his own.

She’d tried persuading him against it. But he’d told her that the only way he was going to join her on that trip and accompany her as her plus-one for a work commitment she had in Los Angeles, was if he paid for his own plane ticket.

In the end, she’d acquiesced, but Luke suspected she would have preferred to be traveling solo and in first class instead of with him and in the plebeian narrowness (her words) of a premium economy seat.

Compared to Luke’s limited past flying experience, the seats they had occupied in an exit two-seat row—Sol had been by the window, him by the aisle—were ample, comfortable, and almost luxurious.

But she’d complained and grumbled when they first boarded the plane.

She didn’t look uncomfortable for long, though, as she soon fell asleep, decked with all the complements of a frequent flier.

Luke had been a bit taken aback by Sol’s frequent-flier persona, in fact.

He felt almost tempted to say that Sol was the worst travel companion ever.

He’d assumed the trip would be an opportunity to spend more time together.

The two of them had been quite busy. Long gone were the ten days by the beach they’d both spent on a Mediterranean island that summer with nothing to do but to eat, sleep, read, sunbathe, and shag—not necessarily in that order.

He’d thought the quick escape to Los Angeles would mean another opportunity to enjoy each other’s company.

But from the moment they boarded the plane, Sol had acted with the absolute independence and detachment of someone used to traveling often and exclusively alone.

She’d put on her noise-canceling headphones and isolated herself from the rest of the plane, even from him.

He had been going to propose to watch a rom-com together on the infotainment system, but she hadn’t given him that option.

She didn’t even bother taking her headphones off during mealtime.

They’d barely made it in the air, and she’d already been placidly sleeping.

How could that have been even possible? They were such different travelers.

She was so used to flying that not even a rapid succession of turbulence had spooked her or even awakened her. She’d just barely turned on her seat and muttered something under her breath. She ended up invading Luke’s space. He didn’t mind that. He liked having her close.

But Luke feared she was finally going to realize he was too young and unsophisticated for her. Could she be wondering about the adequacy of their match?

Then he saw Sol coming in his direction after hanging up the phone call that had taken her away from the suitcase crisis.

Even after the longest, most tiresome of flights, she looked refreshed and bloody gorgeous.

Her chestnut hair, cut just above the shoulders, was tousled in the sexiest way.

She wore leggings and a boxy crop T-shirt that showed off her slender figure in all the right ways.

And she was smiling at him. He filed away his worries and started walking toward her, a smile also tugging at his lips.

···

“I think I got us a job.”

“Us?” Luke asked Sol, visibly surprised. “A job? We don’t need a job.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sol answered.

They were finally inside the Uber that would take them to the Fairmont Hotel in Century City.

Sol was still missing a big suitcase full of such basic things like extra sunglasses, block heel sandals, and a party clutch, but she’d decided to stop complaining about it for one full minute.

Luke had assured her that she’d get her stuff back soon enough.

So she was sharing some pressing news with him .

“That was my editor calling me at the airport,” started Sol.

“Julie McQueen?”

“You remembered her first and last name?” Her heart skipped a beat.

Not only was he sexy and smart in confusingly equal measure, he’d just dealt with airport employees on her behalf and remembered her editor’s full name.

He had the uncommon quality of paying attention.

Finding someone who cared and listened was exceptionally rare.

And if one was fortunate enough to find such a person, they normally never looked like an Italian model with perfect, tousled dark waves and even more perfect pillowy lips.

And yet, he was seated next to her, looking at her intently—and still waiting for an answer.

“Julie, yes,” Sol finally said. Her neck was a bit sore from the nap on the plane, and she was trying to massage it. “She’s worried because one of her friends, who sounds awful, has gone missing. She actually thinks he’s dead, but I tried talking her down about that?—”

“Missing?” Luke took his left hand to her neck and started kneading her muscles with a perfect, alleviating pressure.

“He won’t return any of Julie’s texts, calls, or emails,” Sol said, her eyes now closing. She enjoyed the expert touch of Luke’s hands on her neck.

“Sol, you know I like Julie,” Luke said, not stopping his work on her tight muscles.

His voice sounded deliciously coarse. “She’s kept you employed while you try to get your novel published, and I realize that she’s one of the only editors who doesn’t cause you an allergic reaction.

But could this friend be on a trip and away from his devices?

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to speak to Julie. ”

“Is that what you tell all your potential clients?” She opened one of her eyes and narrowed it on Luke.

His voice dropped, rough and deep, making every word land heavier. “No, that’s the version for the person whose neck I like caressing.”

“So not all your clients get such outstanding service,” she said, both her eyes open now and a note of sexy flirtation in her tone.

“Definitely not,” Luke said, leaning in, voice playful. “But tell me more about this job you’ve gotten us.”

“Julie is in London, of course. So she asked me to go to her friend’s place and check on him since she can’t do it herself. He lives here in LA.”

“What if we don’t find him at home because he’s on a trip—or went to the supermarket.”

“We’ll leave a note,” Sol said matter-of-factly.

“A note?”

“Yes, asking him to give us a call because Julie is worried. And tomorrow we’ll have another chance to find him, because he’s supposed to be at the same awards ceremony we’re attending.”

“Remind me again, how many people are attending this thing tomorrow?”

“Upward of fifteen hundred,” she said sheepishly.

“Should be easy enough,” Luke said, not even pretending to mask the sarcasm. “I’m afraid to ask, but are we getting paid for this job?”

“We’re doing it as a favor to Julie.”

“Are we?” he said, his hands still at her neck, his eyes pinned on hers, a wolfish smile on his lips.

Perhaps things between the two of them weren’t as strained, after all, and the only thing they’d needed was to get out of London. There was nothing like traveling to remind her of everything she loved.