Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)

Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3) Page 44

And my God, how it felt to have him on top of her, at last, again, finally. He was so hard and solid and incredible that her whole body was just one aching, throbbing pulse, and finally, finally, they were together again, Lucas and Colleen, the way it was meant to be.

He stood up and pulled her to her feet and led her to the bedroom. Thunder rumbled and shook the house, and Rufus snored gently from his bed.

And then, all of a sudden, Colleen was nervous.

Even though she’d been with him so many times in the past, even though she was far from inexperienced with men, even so. This wasn’t men. This wasn’t some guy.

This was the only man who’d ever meant anything to her.

He sat on her bed and looked at her, his Spanish eyes black and unfathomable in the dim light of the fading day. Turned her hand over and kissed the soft side of her wrist, and looked at her again, his thumb sliding over the spot he’d just kissed, and suddenly, Colleen realized her eyes were full of tears.

“I missed you,” she whispered, and he stood again and kissed her softly, softly, then wiped her tears away and kissed her again.

“Oh, mía,” he whispered. “I missed you, too.”

Then he unzipped her dress and pushed it off her shoulders, the fabric skimming against her skin to the floor. His hands were callused and warm and thorough, skimming her skin, unhooking her bra and sliding it off. His mouth lingered on her neck, her shoulders, and her blood felt slow and heavy and sweet.

This was love. This was what had been missing all the other times, when she tried to find what she and Lucas had.

No wonder nothing had worked. No one else was him.

She opened her eyes, realizing that he was waiting. Then he smiled, just a little, and that smile blossomed in her heart in a warm, heavy wave. She sank down on the mattress and pulled him down with her, her hands going to his belt.

“Vanquish me, Spaniard,” she whispered, then bit his earlobe, and the sound of his laugh was like the sound of thunder, reverberating in her heart.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

AROUND MIDNIGHT, LUCAS woke up. The rain had stopped, and a cool breeze fluttered the curtains. From the dim glow of the streetlight, he saw that Colleen was sound asleep on her stomach, mouth slightly open, possibly drooling, her lashes smudged on her cheeks, hair matted and tangled. Utterly beautiful, in other words.

Ten years ago, he’d married another woman. Shattered Colleen’s heart and walked away, leaving the shards scattered behind him.

And yet here he was, staring at her. He pushed her hair back from her face. She groaned a little and swatted his hand, then rolled over, presenting him with her shoulders and more matted hair.

She smelled like lemons, despite her foray into arson this night. He leaned his forehead against her neck and just breathed her in. Kissed her shoulder once. Then again. Then a third time.

This got a little sigh.

Her dog’s tail started thumping on the floor.

He put his arm around her. Her breast fit into his hand perfectly, soft and plump and—

“Hey, creepy man, stop fondling me.”

“No can do, mía. You were meant to be fondled.”

She rolled over and before she even opened her eyes, she was kissing him, wrapping herself around him, pulling him against her, his generous, beautiful, smiling Colleen, and he didn’t waste time, just pushed her on her back made her laughter turn into a gasp, and then a sigh, and then his name on her lips.

And when she was once again smiling at him, her cheeks flushed and her skin glowing, he said, “Get dressed, hotshot. I’m starving.”

With Rufus draped over the entire backseat of the truck, they headed to the nearest Chicken King, which was open until 2:00 a.m., and ordered a bucket of Texas Cowboy Big ’n’ Hearty Extra Spicy (“made with real lard!”) from the beleaguered teen behind the counter. Colleen directed him to a spot way up on top of a hill, in a field where tree frogs sang from the nearby woods and an impossible number of fireflies winked and flitted.

He grabbed one of the drop clothes he kept in the back of the truck, as well as the blanket he’d grabbed from her apartment, and set up a picnic, shooing Rufus away from the food.

They ate and watched the fireflies, the sliver moon giving just enough light. From somewhere not too far away, an owl called and was answered. There was a sweet smell to the air, and the chicken was fantastic, if taking years off their lives.

It was one of those perfect moments in life, like the time before his mother got sick, when the family had gone to the lake and he’d swum underwater for the first time, surfacing to hear Stephanie cheering and his parents clapping. The time he’d hit a grand slam his freshman year of high school off the opposing team’s best pitcher, one of the few games his father had been able to make. The first time he kissed Colleen, and known what he’d been trying not to know—that she was The One.

The One smiled at him now, and took another bite of the life-threatening chicken, then wiped her hands on one of the many wipes supplied by the Chicken King. Lucas lay down with his head in her lap, her hand idly stroking his hair, and it was like it had been back then, when she was the only thing he had that was real and unconditional and his.

She’d have to come back with him to Chicago. She just would. She could be happy there. She’d have to be.

“You know anything about constellations, Spaniard?” she asked, looking up into the sky.

“No.”

“Me, neither.” She smiled, then lay down next to him. The dog cantered over and flopped down next to her, putting his head on her hip. “So about...this. Us.”

“Yes. About that.”

She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Let’s not overthink it this time.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t want to read too much into this.”

“Colleen—”

“Let’s just have now. Because this is pretty damn perfect, and I don’t want to ruin things by making plans.”

He propped himself up on an elbow to see her face. She looked serious, but not unhappy.

She reached up and touched his lips, traced them, and a little smile came to her own. “It’s not that I don’t love you, Spaniard,” she said. “It’s just that I’m smarter now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, seize the day. Or the woman. Live for today. Look both ways crossing the street. Don’t use your teeth as tools.” Her hand went to his hair, tugging a strand. “I don’t want to ruin whatever we have together by looking too far down the road. I know why you’re here, and I know you’re not going to stay, and I don’t want to think about that right now.” She looked away and scratched her dog’s head.

“Colleen, you could always—”

“Shh. Don’t you know I’m the queen of flings? Enjoy me.”

His smile dropped. “This is not a fling,” he growled.

Her eyes filled with tears. “Be careful what you say to me, Lucas,” she whispered.

“This is not a fling,” he repeated.

“You don’t have to—”

“Colleen. This. Is not. A fling.”

“Fine. You’re a bully, you know.”

He kissed her then, softly, and tasted her, and she opened her mouth to him, her hands fisting in his hair.

“If you break my heart, I will sic this vicious dog on you,” she said against his mouth. “And then I’ll sic Connor on what’s left of you, and then I’ll bring your remains to the Chicken King, and he’ll—”

“Do you ever stop talking?” he asked, and gave her mouth something better to do, and they kissed, and kissed, and kissed more, tongues and teeth, lips and whispers, and yes, a smile or two as well, and he slid his hand under her shirt, feeling the soft skin of her breast, relishing the quick intake of breath.

“I haven’t stayed out all night with a girl for a long time,” he said.

“How about with a boy?”

He laughed. “Not with a boy, either.”

“You remember the time we went out on my father’s boat and fell asleep and woke up in Urbana?”

“I remember your black bra,” he said. “The one with the little pink flower in the front.” He undid the button of her jeans.

“And the time in Chicago, when we watched the fireworks. We stayed out all night then, too.”

“I don’t remember the fireworks. I do remember you doing something you’d never done before that night.”

She blushed. “Do you? I have no recollection of that event.”

“I’d be happy to help you remember. It involved you, me, your mouth—”

“Fine, fine, I remember. And I might be tempted to relive it if you’re a good boy.”

“I’m very good. I thought I proved that. Twice.”

“Oh, man. The ego on you is— Oh. Okay.” She finally stopped talking as he slid his hand into her jeans.

Lucas turned his head and looked at the dog. “Go away,” he said, and Rufus gave him a wounded look and heaved himself up.

“You hurt his feelings,” Colleen whispered.

“He’ll live,” he said. “But if I can’t get you naked, right now, I might not.”

She tugged his shirt off over his head. “Then shut up and put up, Spaniard.” She grinned. “And stop laughing or someone’s gonna hear us. This is public property, you know. We could get arrested for lewd acts.”

“Let’s give it our best shot,” he said, pulling off her jeans.

A good while later, after he’d worshipped her sufficiently, when she was trembling and weak and her eyes were closed, Lucas felt her breathing slow, felt her grow heavier against him and covered her with the blanket. The stars burned and blazed overhead, the night was soft and dark, and at this moment, he couldn’t think of a single thing he wanted that he didn’t have right here.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

WHEN COLLEEN GOT into her car later that week, she was humming. Because yes, life was good. Life was actually kind of perfect, in fact. Rufus seemed to agree; he put his cement-block head on her shoulder to better see where they were heading.

Happiness. Bliss, maybe. She’d forgotten what it was like to be with a man who really...knew her. In the years she and Lucas had been apart, her dealings with men had been frivolous, by and large. It wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted to meet someone; she had. It was just that she could tell within about ten seconds if there was real potential.

There never had been, and she’d made sure that on those rare occasions when flirting progressed to actual physical contact, it wasn’t with someone who was going to get hurt. She’d left the hometown crowd alone, in other words. God forbid she’d had a thing with Levi, for example; she saw him almost every day, and now the guy was married to her best friend. Tom Barlow had been extremely appealing, but within seconds, she could see that he was (a) in need of a friendly bartender buddy, and (b) not really emotionally available...unless your name was Honor Holland, which Colleen’s was not.

And so, Greg the waiter from Hugo’s last summer and his type. A fling. And flings, Colleen now admitted, hadn’t been worth the effort, really. Because there was sex, and then there was Lucas.

Lucas, who took his time. Whose smile alone could weaken her knees and get the special places purring. Whose hands were strong, whose body was warm and solid and—

“Sphincter!” she yelped, jerking the wheel of her car. “Sorry, Rufie.”

The street was mobbed with cars. Was there a funeral or something? A wedding? Bar mitzvah? How did she not know, she who knew everything?

Oh, man. Her mother’s driveway was full, and Lucas’s truck was boxed in. Rufus gave a joyful bark—Grandma, always good for some bacon—and cantered into the backyard.