“Bees make honey, Em.” I nudged her again, hard enough to rock her and make her squeak with a laugh. “And you seem intent upon making me sweet.”
CHAPTER TEN
Emma
Make Lucian Osmond sweet? I suspected he always was; he simply didn’t know it.
I was in a ridiculously good mood on the drive back to Rosemont. Though prone to long periods of silence, and sometimes gruff, Lucian was good company. I didn’t mind the silences; I tended to daydream and get caught up in my own worlds anyway. And the gruffness, the grumbles, and the huffs were kind of adorable. Not that I’d tell him that. Or maybe I should; he’d probably end up doing it more.
Thing was, I didn’t know what was going on between us. I liked him. Lord knew I wanted him. And if he didn’t know that, at the very least, he knew I found him attractive. I wasn’t completely oblivious. I’d seen him looking as well. Never leering or too lingering. But he seemed to like what he saw as well.
When he let his guard down, he flirted. But it was clear he resisted it. Which was smart. Both of our professional lives were up in the air, he was clearly working through a lot of stress, and I . . . technically, I’d just broken up with my live-in boyfriend. Who I hadn’t thought of for days. Greg was just one in a line of disappointments. Either I had completely crap taste or crap judgment. Regardless, it was for the best to stay clear of relationships for a while. Focus on becoming a better me and all that, and stick to simple friendship with Lucian.
Then I caught a glimpse of his big body in the driver’s seat next to me, a ratty Captain America T-shirt stretched tight across his wide shoulders but hanging loose over his flat belly. He wore cargo shorts that just reached his knees.
Were men’s knees supposed to be sexy? Their calves? One sight of Lucian’s bony knee, delineated muscled thigh, and hard calf, lightly dusted with dark curling hair, made me want to reach out and stroke his leg, creep my hand under those shorts to cup what I knew would be firm and meaty and . . . damn.
Keeping my hands to myself and my mind out of his pants was going to be difficult. Which was weird; I loved men and sex, but I’d never been preoccupied by either. Until him.
I put down the window as we turned onto Rosemont’s drive. “I’m starving. What do you think they’ll have for lunch?”
“I don’t know. I was going to make myself a sandwich.” Lucian glanced over, a glint in his pale-jade eyes. “You’re wrinkling your nose. Disrespecting the humble sandwich, Em? Or have you been spoiled by the elaborate meals from the kitchen?”
“I was not wrinkling my nose at your sandwich.” I might have been. The lift of his brow said he read me like a book. I huffed a laugh. “Okay, fine. The house kitchen is spoiling me rotten. I should end it now and tell them not to send me any more meals.”
“Don’t go overboard,” he murmured, eyes back on the road. “You’ll offend Amalie. She’s very proud of her kitchen.”
“It was an empty threat. I’m hooked well and good.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “If it’s difficult for you to fix your own meals, I’ll make you a sandwich.”
“Hey. I’m not a princess. I can make my own sandwich—thank you very much.” Though the idea of Lucian making one for me had its merits. Spending more time with him, chief among them.
He tossed me a challenging look. “Can you really?”
“You don’t have to look so dubious. All right . . . I admit I am a horrible cook. Everything comes out bland or dry. But I can slap peanut butter on bread.”
His expression told me all I needed to know about his thoughts on my sandwich-making abilities. “Don’t worry, honeybee; there will be lunch ready for you. Meals are one thing you can count on at Rosemont.”
“Snoopy, honeybee . . . I’m not certain I like that you have so many names to tease me.” Lie. I loved it. But he didn’t need to know that.
Lucian, however, got that gleam back in his eyes, even though he kept them on the road. “Put Brick back into the rotation, and we’ll be even.”
My heart skipped a beat. He’d noticed I’d stopped using it. I felt awful for having called him something that hit too close to the bone for him. And yet here he was challenging me to use it again. Maybe there was power in embracing what could be perceived as a weakness and making it your own. Or maybe men were strange beasts, and I’d never fully understand them.
Either way, I shrugged, as if unaffected. “How about brick head? Seems accurate half the time.”
Lucian chuckled and pulled into his parking spot under the shade of a towering eucalyptus. “Sounds about right.”
His humor ebbed as he caught sight of the two SUVs parked in the lot.
“Looks like Amalie has company.”
Lucian grunted, then got out, still eyeing the vehicles. He waited for me to round the pickup and come alongside him before heading toward the path that led to the grounds and my bungalow. Silence fell as we walked, and I could feel the tension radiating off him.
However he was before, I didn’t know, but this version of Lucian Osmond did not like unexpected guests. If I had to guess, he would disappear until they were long gone.
Then again, I’d been assuming the guests were Amalie’s. But as we rounded the corner that took us to the terrace of the big house, Lucian’s step faltered. A low and vicious “Motherfuck” tore from him as he spotted the people having drinks at one of the tables.
There was an undercurrent of pure panic in his tone, and I felt compelled to brush my arm with his just once, my finger trailing over his curled fist. He jerked his gaze my way, pale eyes pained, panicked, and a little surprised. But he’d felt my touch, and his pinky twined with mine for a brief moment of acknowledgement.
“Friends of yours?” I murmured.
“You could say that.” Lucian moved just enough to put space between us.
One of the men stood and shouted a jovial “Oy! Ozzy!”
Visibly bracing himself, Lucian trudged forward. I could, in theory, retreat to my bungalow. But it would be rude. More importantly, I’d be abandoning Lucian to face whatever this was.
Maybe he doesn’t want you around to witness it, my inner voice hissed. But it was too late. We were already at the table.
There were three guests, all of them around our age. The one who’d shouted stood and spread his massive arms wide in clear happiness. A big bear of a man, he was taller than Lucian by an inch but likely outweighed him by a good twenty pounds. Shaggy sandy hair with a thick beard that framed a smile broken up by a missing right lateral incisor—the man lumbered over to a stone-faced Lucian and gathered him up in what looked like a bone-bending hug.
“Oz,” he said, practically picking Lucian up. “You dick. No word in months, and all this time, you’ve been hiding away in paradise.”
Lucian let out a strained ghost of a laugh. “So you decided to invade it, huh?”
“Didn’t leave me much choice, did you?” The man’s smile was still in place when he let Lucian go, but it was strained now. And I knew he was unsure of his welcome. A pang went through me, because it was clear this man thought the world of Lucian.
His blue eyes glanced over at me and paused. “Hello . . .” I was treated to another tilted but charming smile. “And you are . . . holy shit.” His booming voice cracked. “You’re Emma Maron, aren’t you?”