Page 81 of Angel In Armani

His hands came to her waist—that was a good sign—and she stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. Gently at first, but then the kiss turned hungry. She almost dragged him off to her bedroom but she didn’t think that a postcoital glow was quite the time to have a relationship discussion. Better to do it with a cooler head and then use the sex part to smooth over any bumps the conversation might cause.

A cooler head and a full stomach, she thought as hers rumbled slightly, reminding her that it was past lunchtime and she hadn’t eaten anything except a few cookies since breakfast.

“So, Dr. Gorgeous,” she said, pulling back from Lucas a little. “How about you make me some lunch?”

Forty minutes or so later she was sitting at her kitchen table, biting into the pasta that Lucas had made and trying not to moan with pleasure. Apparently he not only cooked, he cooked well. Divinely.

Figured. He was the sort of man who made sure he excelled at something once he decided to do it at all.

Sara had stood at one end of the counter and watched as Lucas had sliced and diced tomatoes and eggplant and bell peppers and onions with knife skills that could only belong to a professional chef or a surgeon. It was like watching a dance in a way, every movement purposeful and elegant and controlled.

And it had been a complete and utter turn-on. She’d barely restrained herself from jumping him in the kitchen. Only the smell of the sauce he was concocting restrained her. She’d watched and found the herbs he’d asked for, and set the table and poured the wine he’d brought, but otherwise he’d insisted on doing it all himself.

“I could get used to this,” she said, pausing before she scooped up another forkful of pasta.

Across the table, Lucas lifted his water glass and sipped before he said, “I could, too.”

And there was the opening she’d been looking for. She’d been avoiding having this talk with him, but meeting Maggie and Alex earlier had meant that avoiding wasn’t going to work any longer.

“I know we said we’d just see how things go but this changes things, yes? If I go to the ball, it says something.”

“It says you’re going to the ball with me.”

“It’s taking things public. That will change things. Your world is … different.” She didn’t know if he understood just how different. She doubted he’d ever had to be aware of how much money he had to the exact dollar and do mental math to make it through another month. And if he had problems with an insurance company he could just set a whole squad of lawyers on them.

“I understand,” Lucas said. “And I understand if you don’t want to change the status quo. This isn’t what you signed up for.”

He wasn’t what she’d signed up for. He’d tilted her world off its neat little flight path. She hadn’t expected to like someone like him. Let alone let him start to get a foothold on her heart.

Foolish.

Not enough words to describe just how foolish.

But also too late to stop now. And the thing was, in her heart of hearts, she would love to go to a ball with Lucas. To stand at his side and let the world see that this gorgeous, ridiculous man was hers. Even if it was just for one night. Sanity was warring with desire and she had a horrible feeling that, just like it had every night she let him into her bed, sanity would lose.

“I need to think,” she said. “I need to think about this. So do you.”

She wished desperately that Viv were just across the hall like she had been in Manhattan. She would be an objective opinion. But she wasn’t.

“I’ve thought about it,” Lucas said. “And I want you to go. I want to show you off.” He smiled at her. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll force you to go.”

She pushed pasta around the plate with her fork. Such a seemingly simple choice, pasta. Red sauce, some vegetables, some chicken, some red wine. Simple. But dig deeper and there was a world of subtle complexity in the dish he’d made.

If only she could figure out her life as easily as she could decide if she liked the pasta.

“And if I say yes?” she said. “Do you think Mal will go along with Maggie’s plan?”

“I think Mal likes Maggie and he’s not dating anyone at the moment, so I can’t see why not.”

“I’m not sure that plan even makes sense.”

“Probably not. Like you said, there will be plenty of people who know me there. No pictures will keep it out of the press and the wider world but not from them. But it’s an option if you want to take it. I can understand not wanting your picture in the papers. I don’t like it, either.”

“Where is the ball, anyway?” she asked. It was a relatively minor detail at this point but maybe knowing the venue might let her figure out what level of craziness she was getting herself into.

“At the Paragon.”

Huh. The Paragon. Right in the heart of the city. Times Square. Better than it being somewhere ridiculously extravagant like the Met, but still, not exactly a hole-in-the-wall venue. About the only point in its favor was that it was in Manhattan, which meant the Staten papers wouldn’t cover it. Or would they? After all, it was a Saints fund-raiser, and the Saints belonged to the island even if they were called the third New York team.

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