We stared at each other in silence as Édith began to sing a jaunty “Milord.”
Lucian’s expression grew strained, a mix of regret and pained tenderness. It pierced my battered heart.
“You’re here,” I croaked. Why now, and for how long?
As though he’d heard my unvoiced questions, he gave me a small tentative smile. “I got your text.”
“Funny, I didn’t get a reply.”
“Some things need answering in person.”
My lips wobbled dangerously. Afraid I’d sob, I made do with nodding once.
Lucian’s gaze softened. “I realized something, Em.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He took a step closer. “I realized I never told you . . .”
“What?” I whispered, my breath coming short.
“I love you.”
They flowed over me, those words, sweet and warm. My heart skipped a beat, then started pounding. It was my turn to respond. I knew I should. But my mouth couldn’t move.
Undaunted by my frozen state, he continued to speak, soft but insistent. “For a long time hockey was my love. Somewhere along the way, that love twisted and became more about my ego. About stats and fame. You were right; I thought it was what everyone valued about me. Even when they told me it wasn’t.”
He rubbed the back of his neck like it hurt. “I loved you, Em. Almost from the beginning. But I didn’t love me.”
“Lucian . . .”
“I don’t regret going back.” The corners of his wintergreen eyes creased in a pained expression. “I found clarity there. But I do regret leaving you.”
The ground felt unsteady beneath my feet. I didn’t know if he was here to stay or simply to reassure me that I was loved. Even if this was the end, he needed to understand a few things as well.
“I love you too, Lucian. So much.”
He swayed, as though absorbing the words, and his smile grew. “I had hoped for that.”
“How could you doubt it?” Even though I had doubted him too.
He took another step. “Because I’ve been pretty much a dumbass this whole time.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that . . .”
“I would.” Lucian stopped right in front of me. “Em, I was lost. I thought everything that made me who I am had been taken from me.”
“I know.” I wanted to hold him, protect him, this big strong hurting man of mine.
But he didn’t look hurt or lost right now. He looked at me with a new light in his eyes.
“I was wrong. Yes, I’d lost hockey. Yes, it fucking hurt. But I’m not that man anymore.”
“Who are you, then?”
Lucian cupped my cheek with his warm hand and tilted my face up to his. “I’m Lucian, Brick, honey pie, the man who loves Emma, Snoopy, honeybee with all his heart. And I’m not going back. I’m staying right here.”
A sob tore from me. He hauled me close and hugged me tight, his lips pressing against my hair. “I’ll always love hockey, but it isn’t what I want anymore.”
Tears blurred my eyes, and my throat was thick, garbling my words. “What do you want?”
“You.” He ducked his head and met my gaze. “I want to go to bed with you and wake up to you. To talk to you every day about everything and nothing. I want to bake in that kitchen, make you tempting treats, and watch your pretty face light up when you taste them.”
He shook now, his hands combing through my hair. “I want to be the pastry chef at Delilah’s restaurant or have a place of my own. Travel the world with you. To tell you how much I love you every fucking day of my life. I want . . . I want to come home, Em.”
Laughing and crying, I stood on my toes and kissed him. And he kissed me right back, devouring my mouth with slow strokes. I melted against him, soaking up his warmth, the sugar-and-flour scent of his skin.
“I left you, Emma, without saying that you are everything to me. And I’ll be sorry for that until my dying day—”
“Don’t be. You came back.”
“I had to. You’re my heart and soul.” His lips touched my cheek. “I’m not lost anymore, Em. You found me, and I’m never letting go.”
Happiness bubbled and flowed between us, my heart molding itself back together and swelling with a sense of peace. Life was good. No, life was finally beginning. Threading my fingers through his silky hair, I leaned back and met his smiling eyes.
“Welcome home, Lucian.”
EPILOGUE
Lucian
“Hold still.”
Emma squirmed again, her lush lips curving in a smile as she gazed up at me coyly. “But it tickles.”
My dick pulsed, sheer lust twisting my insides up in knots. But I kept my hands steady. “Almost there.”
I piped another series of rosettes along the curve of her breast, heading for the pretty little pouting nipple, now deep pink and stiff. Her breath hitched, and I gave her a wicked smile. “Be good, or I won’t lick it off.”
“Liar. You can’t wait.” She was laid out on my bed, wearing nothing but the lemon-buttercream flowers and swirls I’d decorated her lovely body with.
“Guilty as charged.” My mouth actually watered with the need to taste her, mix her flavors with my cream. Fuck up into the tight, silky-hot clasp of her body, where it felt like both home and the best pleasure I’d ever had in my life.
My hand shook a little as I circled her perky nipple, choosing to highlight rather than cover it. Emma bit her bottom lip, her lids lowering as she subtly arched into the tip of the pastry bag. Heat rippled through me, and I tossed the buttercream aside.
“Now, where to start?” I wanted it all at once. Every delectable inch of her. Always. All the time.
Impatient and aching, I stroked my shaft, keeping the hold light lest I blow now. Because nothing looked more delicious than Emma Maron spread out before me, smiling in that way that said she was all mine.
Happiness warred with lust, making for a heady cocktail in my veins. I had Emma right where I wanted her—with me. Everything else took a back seat to her and the way she watched me palm my dick, all greedy need and anticipation. It fueled my own.
“Lucian . . .”
“Yes, honeybee.”
Her gaze narrowed. “I’m going to move.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Then you better come and eat me up.”
I growled low in my throat and bent over her. The tip of my tongue touched down on her knee. Her creamy skin prickled as I slowly licked a path along her thigh.
She whimpered so sweetly.
I found her belly button and sucked.
“Shit,” she said with a hiss of pleasure, her skin flushing rose. I grinned up the length of her body, then kissed her belly before tracing the fleur-de-lis on her hip. “Lucian . . .”
“Yes?” I nipped her waist.
She wiggled. “You know what.”
Her dark tone had me chuckling. Her luscious cunny, all swollen and wet, waited half-hidden by the elaborate rose I’d piped just above it. I knew she wanted me there. She’d have to wait.
“I’m going to get you for this,” she promised just above a rasp.
“I’m counting on it. Now hush, and let me do this, woman.”