Page 70 of All's Well that Friends Well
He surges up, his hands flying to my face, sliding down my neck, into my hair—and I gasp at the sudden hunger in his touch, at the tug of his lips, the tilt of his head as he growls low in his throat. His grip drops to my waist as he pulls me to the edge of the desk.
I lean closer, eager for more—more of his lips, more of his touch, more of his blue-green scent—and I let him take control, the urgency of his touch like a beast being unleashed.
Like he’s wanted this for as long as I have. Been dreaming about it.
My arms twine around his neck as he rises, letting go of me to support himself with hands on either side, caging me in. I tighten my hold on him and slide one hand into his hair; he shudders at the touch and jerks away, rearing back just far enough that I can see his gaze dart over my face with something akin to desperation.
When he speaks, his voice is rough, low. “Why are you so—so—” he says, but he breaks off as that look in his eyes intensifies.
I don’t wait for him to find the word he’s looking for. I pull him back to me, and he comes willingly, groaning as I deepen the kiss.
“Intoxicating,” he breathes—passes the word from his lips to mine—“You’re intoxicating, and this can never happen again, Jules. Ever.”
I freeze at the name he’s just used; he freezes too, our kisses stilled.
“Call me that again,” I say, my mouth brushing against his.
I feel him swallow, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “Jules.”
It’s different when he says it. It’s a secret he’s telling me, something private and perfect.
I kiss him again as something rises in me, a fire I don’t want to put out. It’s hot but warm too, wanting but joyous, yearning and alive. Luca’s grip tightens as he kisses me back, but it’s only for a second; then he sighs, pulling away.
“Jules—” he begins, but he breaks off and shakes his head. “No.Juliet,” he says firmly, like he’s correcting himself. “This can’t—really. We can’t. Neveragain.”
Now I’m the one who leans back. “Boo,” I say with a little frown. “Counteroffer”—he groans, ducking his chin to his chest—“thisdoeshappen again, because we start dating. Then later we get married”—he shakes his head now—“and we have three kids and live happily ever after.”
“Is it that easy for you?” he says, still breathless as his eyes slide over my face—intently, like he’s looking for something specific. “Is love really so easy for you?”
“Yes,” I say simply.
“You make yourself so vulnerable,” he says. I can tell that this is the rawest version of Luca—stripped down to his core, all pretenses gone, and a thrill runs through me at the knowledge that he’s showing me this side of him. “Doesn’t that scare you?” The words puff against my lips, against my skin.
“Sometimes,” I admit, breaking our locked gaze. “I’m scared I’ll fall in love with you and you won’t love me back. And I’m scared that after that, I’ll never love anyone else again. I’ll just love you forever while you find someone else.” When he remans silent, simply watching me, I go on. “I’m scared you’ll find out more about me and run away. And I’m scared that the woman you once loved has locked you in a cage you’ll never come out of.” I finally force my eyes back to his. “Those are some of the things that scare me.”
His gaze is still serious, but I do see a tiny quirk at the corner of his lips. “That’s a lot of fears for someone so young.”
“I’m twenty-four.”
“I’m thirty-one—fartoo old for you,” he shoots back, and I shake my head. My arms are still looped around his neck, but he hasn’t moved, and I don’t let go.
“You know what I think?” I say, leaning the tiniest bit closer. Then I drop my voice to a whisper. “I think you’researching for reasons not to like me.” And something desperately sad pierces my heart then. “If you look hard enough, you’ll find them. I’ll even give them to you, if you want.” I swallow. “All my skeletons.”
His throat bobs, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I like you,” I say. “Because I don’t like secrets. Because if you end up liking me, I want you to know everything about me. I want you to like the real Juliet, not just the surface Juliet.”
He blinks at me, silent still. Our five minutes have long since passed, but I don’t mention it. I just wait.
“Well?” I finally say, my heart pounding. I tighten my arms around his neck, as much for support as anything else. Then I swallow. “Do you want them? My secrets?”
I watch as his gaze darts back and forth between my eyes.
“I must be insane,” he mutters, more to himself than to me as a battle plays out over his features.
I raise my brows, and when he speaks again, it’s only three words, but they’re so raw, so rough, that I shiver.
“I want them.”
