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Chapter forty-nine

Samara

W hy had I agreed to this again? Oh, right… Because I’ve lost my goddamn mind.

Clearly.

I’m running around my apartment, making sure I don’t have anything lying around that would be easy for Luca to pick on.

I don’t need him telling my parents about anything he’s seen over here. Something tells me he isn’t going to shy away from opening that big mouth of his, even while on my family vacation.

Is it a vacation though? More like hell-cation. It’s about to be the longest four days of my life. My parents will be dissecting my every move, with my mom making note of every morsel of food I put into my mouth, just like she has my entire life. And now I’ve added the need to resist Luca to the mix—as if my resolve isn’t already paper thin where he’s concerned. More like tissue paper.

The loud rumbling of an engine from outside my door is followed immediately by an obnoxious knock done in a pattern of six beats.

I take a long breath in through my nose and slowly release it through my mouth as I make one final sweep over the living room. I’m nearly certain there’s nothing here that even Luca could manage to make an inappropriate comment about.

He knocks three more times, pulling me out of my thoughts. Well, shit. I guess I’m really doing this then.

I’d been half hoping he’d just leave.

Unlocking the door, I yank it open, and Luca’s towering frame greets me. He’s wearing a snug black T-shirt that perfectly hugs his every muscle, and his dark waves are tousled and a little sweaty from his helmet.

He reaches out to my face, running the pad of his thumb across the corner of my lip, startling me. I swat his hand away. “What the hell?” I snap at him.

“Figured I’d help you out and wipe that drool from your mouth, princess. ” He winks at me, only annoying me further.

“I wasn’t drooling, you jackass. Are you coming in or not? Your hour has already started, and I’m more than happy to let you spend every moment of it out on my porch.”

“Whatever you’ve gotta tell yourself,” he says, letting himself into my space. He removes his shoes at the door and drags a hand through his dark hair, pushing it out of his face.

I shut the door behind him, relatching it. “You know, you don’t have to lock me in here. I’d gladly stay,” he tells me with a smirk.

My gaze swings over to the clock hanging in the entryway before meeting his eyes. “You’re down to fifty-three minutes. Use them wisely,” I inform him.

He chuckles. “Yes, ma’am. Do I get the official tour, or should I just show myself around?”

I let out an exasperated huff, sauntering off, assuming he’ll follow after me.

When I get to the back of the apartment, I swing a door open, pointing inside. “Laundry room.” He pokes his head inside to look around, and I slam the door when he straightens.

I lead him around my apartment, pointing out the main rooms and allowing him the bare minimum amount of time to visualize everything. When we make it to the guest room, he pushes past me and lifts the edge of the duvet cover, looking under the bed. What is he on?

I don’t bother asking him because that’ll only act to further delay how long he’s here. When he’s finished, we walk across the hall to the only thing he hasn’t seen yet. My bedroom.

I’m feeling some rather heavy animosity toward Luca. It feels like he’s doing everything in his power to make this encounter as uncomfortable for me as possible, and I have no desire to let him keep boosting his ego with his snide remarks. Yes , I came all over this man’s face last weekend. But that doesn’t give him the right to act as if it should happen again or as if I’d even want it to happen again.

It was a moment of weakness due to an unfortunate dry spell. I’m talking drier than the desert. Dustier than my grandma’s knick-knack shelf. That’s all this little fluke can be chalked up to.

I twist the knob, pushing the door open, and without a word, he looks over at me as if asking for my approval. Gone is the cocky jerk who reared his ugly head less than an hour ago, and in his place is the somewhat respectful and cautious guy I’ve gotten glimpses of over the last couple of months.

The moment I give him a reassuring nod, he practically runs inside, full steam ahead. He runs his fingers over the edge of my duvet, taking his time to lift and stare at each individually framed photo and trinket placed on my nightstands and dresser.

When he’s made his way around my room, with me awkwardly standing in the doorway, he picks up the edge of my duvet, getting on his hands and knees to peer underneath it.

“Luca, what are you doing?” I finally ask, my temper getting the best of me after thirty long minutes of watching him scrutinize my home.

When he peers over his shoulder at me, his firm ass still in the air, he slowly stands, and the sly grin he’s wearing is like a beacon, reminding me how much trouble this man brings everywhere he goes. Whatever he’s about to say is going to ruin my whole damn night.

“Well, principessa , I was just looking for your cat,” he tells me, prowling over to stand not even a foot in front of me. That damn, nonexistent cat.

I don’t step away though. I hold my ground, steeling my spine for whatever bullshit is about to come flying out of that sinful mouth of his. “But it seems the only pretty pussy around here”—he leans in farther, his cool breath coasting over my heated flesh—“is yours.”

My skin feels flushed, and as his words skate over me, my annoyance with him is renewed.

The fact that I’ve told multiple lies in the last few weeks irks me. It makes me feel slimy, and considering the negative association people often feel toward lawyers, that furthers my discomfort. But Luca’s words both ignite a fire in my core and extinguish it all at once.

I can’t lie about this fucking cat again. I clearly do not have a cat. More than that, I don’t want a cat. I can barely take care of myself these days; how could I be trusted to care for another living being?

Maybe this is why I haven’t gotten pregnant. Maybe I’m just not ready.

That familiar self-doubt wiggles its way to the surface, but Luca’s fingers trail across my chin, turning my face up to look at him and bringing me back. “Hey, princess , where’d you just go?” he asks softly, concern lacing his words.

I draw away from his touch, refusing to let this confusing man try to comfort me. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

His dark brows pinch together, and I’m hit with that two-tone gaze of his. “Samara, I’m sorry if I took things too far or if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I know you aren’t my biggest fan, but I like you , and when I’m nervous, I flirt. It’s a really flawed defense mechanism, but it’s something I’ve leaned on for a long time.” He sucks nervously on his bottom lip, and my eyes are drawn right to it. “I don’t want you to feel disrespected, ever. So I’m gonna leave now, but please tell me I’ll see you at the studio tomorrow.” He averts his gaze, his cheeks turning pink. “I’d really miss you if you weren’t there, and I’m not just talking about getting a rise out of you. I like being around you no matter your mood,” he confesses, sounding so sincere that it almost makes my heart crack in two.

Very few people have ever been that vulnerable with me unless they wanted something from me. The thought alone makes my hackles stand on end, but I need to take Luca at face value.

I have to recognize that I’ve been wired to be mistrustful of others, but that doesn’t mean he actually has bad intentions. What he’s shown me of himself so far, he doesn’t seem all that bad, and I know I’m embarrassed by the way my body responds to him. But truthfully, I’m more upset at myself by how much of a brat I’ve been to this man.

I guess that is my defense mechanism.

Shutting my eyes tightly for a moment to calm my racing mind, I finally open them to see that Luca’s still staring at me, worry written all over his handsome face.

“I’ll be there,” I tell him, turning around to lead him to the front door. He follows after me, and as he walks out onto the porch, he presses a chaste kiss to either of my cheeks, turning to leave. “Goodnight, Luca,” I tell him in a hushed tone.

He looks over his shoulder at me with a shy smile. “Goodnight, Samara.”

***

As I chew on the inside of my cheek, staring down at my phone, I finally hit send on a text I wrote nearly ten minutes ago.

Did everything with Gia go okay?

Luca

So far, so good. No calls just yet, but Cici’s sent me a bunch of photos.

Three pictures of Gia download, and a smile touches my lips as I look at the pretty girl with her daddy’s stunning eyes.

I’ll give it to you, Luca. You made a damn cute kid.

Luca

I think you know what I want to say, but I’ll be a good boy and refrain.

My brows furrow as I read his message before flitting back up to the one I’d just sent. Heat climbs my neck as I realize the joke I’d just inserted myself in.

Ha ha ha. Very funny, Luca.

Glad everything is going well. Night.

Luca

;)

Luca

Sleep well, gorgeous.

Words can’t begin to describe what that last text does to me as I fight for sleep.