‘Dive in,’ Lucas called out to her as he shampooed his hair and rinsed under a blasting spray. He made quick work of the rest of him, paying particular attention to his thick erection and Becca couldn’t look away. His throaty laugh had her gaze jerk to his and she read a wicked mischief and a dark lust in those amazing eyes.
He slapped off the shower, wrapped a bath sheet around his hips totally unconcerned that the fabric tented over his arousal. She couldn’t tear her eyes from him as he dried his hair with a hand towel.
‘I’ll see you downstairs. My housekeeper has dinner waiting.’
What had happened to sharing a bath or a shower? Torn between relief and bitter disappointment, she remembered the last time they’d taken a shower together and how he’d rocked her world.
What the
hell
was he playing at?
There was nothing worse than losing the power of speech or being wrong-footed Becca decided as she turned in a circle desperately trying to kick-start her brain and get her bearings.
Lucas popped his head around the bathroom door and grinned at her.
‘Oh, and we have laundry facilities if you want to wash your underwear and that sexy leotard. And I have a spare pair of your panties. I put them on the bed.’
Sexy leotard? He’d watched her dance session? And he’d found the panties she’d lost in the hotel?
She didn’t know what to think. And wondered what on earth was the matter with her because the fact he’d kept her panties gave her an illicit little thrill.
Temptation tugged her towards the bath. She turned off the steaming water and after a pitifully short debate decided if she couldn’t beat him she’d join him. Stripping down to her skin, Becca piled her hair on top of her head and slid into the water. It felt fabulous and she found herself relaxing for the first time since Lucas had entered the dance studio.
She didn’t need to ask what he wanted with her since it was more than obvious. And she’d missed him terribly too. It wasn’t a chore to be attracted to a gorgeous man like Lucas. She knew he wasn’t the type to stick to one woman. If she decided to have an affair with him she’d need to keep her wits about her. He had a tendency to be controlling and she wasn’t sure she could cope with that.
He’d get her a Smartphone would he? That’d be the day.
Once she’d finished in the bath, she padded into his amazing bedroom, her attention riveted by the heavy wrought iron bed that took centre stage. It was enormous. Lying on the pristine duvet of Egyptian cotton were the black satin panties. The thought of his fingers touching the silky fabric brought Becca out in goose bumps.
Her gaze wandered about the magnificent room. The space was light, airy, and lethally masculine and decorated in tones of black and white. There were a couple of huge comfortable sofas in crushed black velvet set at right angles along with two sets of arched double doors of dark panelled wood.
Her inquisitive nature got the better of her and she opened a set to find a dressing room that was organised to within an inch of its life. There were racks and racks of suits, colour coded shirts and rows of fabulous shoes she knew were hand made. Belts were looped in especially designed glass fronted drawers. Perhaps Lucas had a touch of OCD because not only were sweaters organised by colour but even his jeans were regimented. This was another mark against him. She was messy around the house, always had been, and always would be.
Becca dressed quickly in her jeans and skinny vest. She didn’t wear a bra since she didn’t have much to put in one. The fact didn’t bother her. Make-up wasn’t an issue either although she slapped plenty of moisturiser on her skin. Her mother was French and had drummed into her the evils of the sun and the benefits of a disciplined skin care regime.
Skipping down a wide curved staircase that could have come straight out of a movie set, she made her way to the back of the house past room after room until she heard a music system playing Pachelbel’s Canon in D performed by a single guitar.
Becca followed the delicious scent of roasted meat and found the kitchen. It looked like something out of NASA. A slim middle-aged woman turned to smile at her.
Her eyes were pale grey and sharp but friendly. ‘Good evening, Becca. I’m Moira. You’ll be looking for Lucas. He’s in the orangery, down the hall and first on the right.’
Becca found herself grinning back at the twinkle in her eyes and the lovely Scottish lilt in that soft voice.
‘Thanks, Moira. Can I say that whatever it is you’re cooking smells fabulous?’
‘Och, it’s just a roast chicken.’
Since she always owned up to her weaknesses, of which a notorious lack of culinary skills was one, Becca admitted,
‘Doesn’t smell like any chicken I’ve ever roasted.’
Moira’s lips twitched. ‘Away you go and see Lucas.’
Becca did as she was told and found him in a room constructed of plate glass and fat columns of stainless steel.
Wearing ancient jeans and a cream chunky sweater, Lucas was sprawled on a spacious modern couch covered in a cream linen fabric. His feet were bare and she wondered if the house had under floor heating because even though it was huge the space had a cosy feel. At the moment he was scrolling through messages on his cell phone.
A sharp memory of a long forgotten domestic intimacy caught her breath.
Becca cleared her throat.
‘Hi,’ she whispered.
Lucas tossed the phone on the couch and stood.
Those dark eyes met hers and she wished he wouldn’t have such a lung crushing effect on her.
After an eternal moment, he smiled and held out his hand. Becca found herself smiling back. She placed her hand in his, trying desperately to ignore the energy that snapped and zinged around them as he led her to a round table made of plate glass which was set for two.
He sat her in a chair, placed a pristine linen napkin on her lap and a chaste kiss on the edge of her mouth.
Moira bustled in with a smoked fish starter.
‘Wine?’ Lucas asked holding up an icy bottle of white.
‘Please, just a small one.’
He poured a little into a wide goblet of clear crystal.
‘Watching your weight?’
‘Not particularly.’
She didn’t want to get into her personal life, her career and what she did and why, especially with Lucas Del Garda. He had too many fingers in too many pies in show business. This
thing
between them would probably burn itself out, eventually. A relationship with him, and the potential fall out, may bring her unwanted attention.
‘Were you teaching a class today?’ he asked.
He thought she was a teacher? Well, she was in a way.
‘Yes, did you catch some of it?’
‘Just the end bit. You are a tough cookie,
querida
.’
Becca shrugged. ‘If Amy wants to get to the top, she needs to put in the work. Partying at nightclubs means she won’t make the cut.’
Dark eyes caught hers as he raised a brow. ‘So it is a case of do what I say and not what I do?’
Well, she walked right into that one, hadn’t she?
‘That was the first night I’d been out for a very long time.’
She didn’t add it was because she was celebrating a Tony nomination for her choreography of
Street Dance
. The chances of winning were slim to none but she’d been thrilled. Her defences had been down and she wondered now if that was why she’d permitted herself to be seduced by Lucas. Then honesty had her admit that she’d been the one to make the first move in the night club.
Moira took their empty plates and returned with stunning hand made glass platters holding moist tender morsels of chicken breast with oven roasted vegetables.
They ate the deliciously prepared food in a comfortable silence.
Lucas’s deep voice rumbled in his chest as he spoke, ‘Why did you not call me?’
He added more wine to her glass giving her time to consider her honest response.
‘I’ve been debating that question with myself all week. I think it’s because everything that happened between us was too intense, too much.’
He nodded in agreement, seemingly accepting her account of her actions.
‘
Si
, we have found something very special,
querida
.’ He took a sip of wine, dark eyes watching her like a hawk over the rim. ‘You said I had been too rough with you. Did I hurt you?’
Heat burned her cheeks. They’d said horrible things to each other that day and she knew by the anxiety in his dark eyes that she owed him nothing less than the truth.
She shook her head. ‘No, you didn’t. Once I got over the shock of being manhandled, I liked it.’
He still looked concerned and frowned now.
‘You think I manhandled you? Promise to tell me if I do something you do not like.’
Becca wasn’t stupid. If she agreed to that statement she knew it was a carte blanche for more sexual gymnastics in that big bed upstairs. The ball was in her court. She could say no that nothing was going to happen, have dinner and leave.
But was that really what she wanted?
‘I promise,’ she said and didn’t miss the flash of pleasure in those eyes. A sudden spurt of anxiety made her ask, ‘What are we doing, Lucas?’
‘We are getting to know one another.’ His deep voice went gravelly. It vibrated up her spine.
Becca decided there and then that she needed to be clear about her needs and her intentions.
Her eyes clung to his. ‘I don’t want a relationship.’
Lucas hooded his lids as his fingers toyed with the stem of his glass. By the clench of that strong jaw and the narrowing of his fabulous mouth she received the message loud and clear he wasn’t pleased.
Those eyes, cool now, met hers with an intensity that had the nerves tightening in her belly. ‘Do you mean a relationship with me or with anyone?’
Did she? Becca didn’t know but she didn’t want to get hurt and she didn’t want Lucas to get hurt either.
Leaning forward in her chair, she wanted no misunderstandings between them.
‘To be in a relationship you have to be in a place where you’re capable of compromising certain parts of your life, to let another person in. I’m overwhelmed with work. I’m just getting my life back together. It’s nothing personal, Lucas.’
Those dark eyes flashed into hers now in a way that made her brace herself.
‘Forgive me, but it feels personal to me. I went through something unique and outside my experience with you. I respect your feelings, Becca. But you need to respect mine too. We are not children,
querida
. Not contacting me was the behaviour of a twelve year old and I do not want it to happen again.’
She blinked at the rebuke as a flush of mortification burned her cheeks.
Who the hell did he think he was talking to? He respected her feelings did he? Since when?
Temper stiffened her spine as her eyes battled with his.
‘Really? Then how do you explain invading my work space? Virtually kidnapping me this evening? Stripping like a manwhore to arouse then leaving me high and dry? And if I didn’t contact you, perhaps it was because I’m not ready to have a relationship or sex with you or with anyone? You don’t want it to happen again? Where do you get off talking to me like that? I won’t call you if I don’t want to bloody well call you.’
Christ, she was trembling and where had all that come from? What on earth was she doing?
Her heart was hammering in her ears and she realised he was as stunned by her outburst as she was, but his own anger was gathering now. Fine. So was hers.
Those dark eyes slitted as the sexy I-need-a-shave jaw tensed.
‘Manwhore? Charming. If you want to leave you only need to say so,
querida
. John will drive you home or take you wherever you want to be this evening.’
Stubbornness had always been a besetting sin with Becca and it reared its ugly head now.
She stood and dropped her napkin on the table.
‘Thank Moira for the delicious meal. I’ll get my things and go.’
The flash of surprise in his eyes galvanised her to spin on her heel and almost run down the hallway. Obviously Mr Sex on Legs wasn’t used to a woman walking out on him. Tough. She took the stairs two at a time and burst into his bedroom, tossing still damp clothes into her kit bag.
He hadn’t even kissed her!
He’d marched into her studio and taken her to his home – without her permission by the way. Imagine standing naked and parading his body in front of her like a stripper? He’d deliberately teased and tantalised her then walked out leaving her off balance and out of her head with lust.
The bastard had given her dinner and discussed his wants and
demands
without even a glimmer of the intimacy they’d shared before. What had happened to the empathic man who’d held her tight and kissed her as if she was the only woman in the world for him?
Fury with herself that she was making a horrible scene, and with him for causing it, made Becca’s hands shake as she thrust her arms into her jacket and wound a fine cashmere scarf around her neck.
God, she felt physically ill. She simply couldn’t cope with her feelings for this man. They swung from wanting to jump him to sticking a red hot needle in his eye.’
‘Becca, you are behaving like a child.’
The deep voice from the door was indulgent and the tone clipped her temper as Becca lifted her bag and stepped into him.
‘Move!’ she said rudely and kept her eyes glued to a point past his shoulder.
‘I am sorry if I upset you,
querida
,’ the words were spoken through clenched teeth by a man who apparently found it hard to apologise. He didn’t mean a word of it.
Her eyes flew to his.
‘No, you’re not sorry! How dare you tell me how to behave? What’s next? Being put over your knee?’
Wicked laughter flashed into those dark eyes.
He grinned and that did it. ‘Actually... Oof!’
Lucas doubled over as her kit bag plunged into his gut.
She’d caught him by surprise and moved to dart past him.
But she wasn’t fast enough.
He seized her in a vicelike grip around the waist.