Page 95 of Angel In Armani

“Yeah but he’s your dad, not your boyfriend. You know he’ll choose family.”

“And Lucas would choose what he wants, not what his family thinks he should want. He’s proved that many times already,” Maggie said. “Flavia knows that. Every time she’s fought Lucas on something, Lucas has won. He does what’s right for him, not what’s right for Flavia. She didn’t want him to play baseball but he did. She didn’t want him to be a doctor but he is. She definitely doesn’t want him owning the Saints. Do you see him caring about that? He’s a grown-up. So maybe you could give him the benefit of the doubt? Especially when a case like Sam kind of pushes his buttons?”

“Buttons? What buttons?”

“Lucas hurt his shoulder when he was playing college ball,” Maggie said. “I won’t tell you how—you can ask him that—but it wrecked his chance at a career. So if you want my two dollars’ worth of Lucas Angelo psychoanalysis, I think he sees quite a bit of himself in Sam. And wants to give him the second chance that he didn’t get.”

“I can see that,” Sara said slowly. “But that doesn’t make his life any less complicated.”

Maggie shrugged. “No, it doesn’t. But if he was happy with simple, he wouldn’t be the guy you’ve fallen for. Trust me, I know it’s complicated. Guys who do the kind of stuff that Alex and Lucas and Mal do, they’re complicated. But the complicated is worth it. It’s not as though you’re so simple, Sara. You’re a helicopter pilot. You were in the army. You’re up in the air, technically risking your life every day. Lucas hasn’t asked you to give that up, has he? He’s willing to take the hard with the good. Besides, things won’t always be this crazy with the Saints. It will calm down once they find their feet a bit more and the season starts. This first year will be the worst. I remember Dad telling me once that he wasn’t sure how he made it through his first year of ownership without going crazy.”

“That’s not exactly encouraging,” Sara said.

“At least Lucas wants to take you with him in the crazy,” Maggie said. “The man is spending hours every week in helicopters—and he really does hate flying—just so he gets more time with you. He’s smitten. And I think you’re kind of smitten, too. And being smitten with one of the terrible trio doesn’t seem to shake off all that easily. So why don’t you try again? You never know, it might just work out.”

It might just work out. Sara stared up at Lucas’s apartment building three hours later, Maggie’s words still ringing in her ears. She’d gone back to sit with her mom until her dad woke up and then made sure her mom ate before driving back to Staten Island, having waved off Sara’s offer of paying for a hotel room for a few nights.

And then Sara had found herself in a cab, giving directions for Lucas’s apartment. She’d never even been inside yet thanks to Lucas being late the night of the ball. She had no idea if he was even home, though Maggie had told her he was in New York, not heading back to Florida until later in the week.

But she asked the concierge manning the front desk. He lifted a telephone and someone at least answered because shortly she was shown into a lift and directed to the top floor. The top floor. The damned penthouse. Figured.

The lift dinged discreetly when it came to a halt. Sara walked out into a small foyer with a smooth black lacquered door facing her.

“Here goes nothing.” She reached out and knocked.

Then held her breath for ten very long seconds, counting Mississippis in her head until the door swung open and Lucas stood in front of her.

He wore a black T-shirt and very dark jeans and his hair was rumpled, as though he’d been sleeping. His feet were bare. A scruff of five o’clock shadow darkened his jaw.

She’d never seen anything as delectable in her life.

“Sara,” he said, voice reserved. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Can I come in?”

“Of course.” He stepped back politely. She walked past him, feeling her knees wobble a little when she got a waft of the damned delicious smell of him.

For a second she just wanted to throw herself at him and drag him off to bed, but she fought off the temptation. If this didn’t work out, if reality was going to win over the fairy tale, then one more taste of him would just make walking away even more difficult.

“Come into the living room, I was watching a game.”

She should have guessed that part.

She followed him, looking around curiously. The whole place was floor-to-ceiling glass on one side, looking out over the darkened park. The floor was a dark polished wood and the walls a deep blue-gray.

He showed her into a room with three huge overstuffed sofas upholstered in navy. They flanked a huge TV. The walls were bare except for one massive abstract painting that echoed the grays and blues above the flat screen. Lucas bent down and killed the TV with the remote. Then he turned to look at her, face still impassive.

“I came to say thank you,” she said simply. “For my dad’s leg. For still operating.”

He nodded, expression not changing, eyes wary. “I said I would.”

“No one would have blamed you if you hadn’t. Not after the way I behaved.”

“You were worried about your dad. I get that.”

“Still, thank you. It means more to me than you know.”

“His prognosis is good,” Lucas said, with a half hitch of his shoulder that only drew attention to the way the T-shirt hugged his body. “And you know, even if he doesn’t get full use of his leg back, he can probably still fly. I asked Alex about it—Ice has an aeronautics division—and he said there are modifications for disabled pilots. He said he’d be happy to get someone to talk to you about it, once we know what’s going on with your dad’s leg.”

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