Page 22 of Tempt Her

For the rest of the day, Luke works solo to transform the parlor. It looks so much better in white. Fresh and bold. The black leather settees now gleam powerfully in the room like they were always meant to look.

Gentry won’t be home today, so I get comfortable. After showering, I throw on a gray hoodie and matching pants. Sitting at my kitchen desk, I review the RSVPs for our party before I email the caterer with an updated headcount and Gentry’s lavish champagne request.

“Want lunch?” I glance up, and Luke’s holding a Jersey Mike’s bag, and I’d kill for carbs. “I got three subs,” he says. “Two for me and one for you... or my snack later.”

I lean back in my chair. “I don’t wanna starve you.”

“You’re not.” He reaches in, pulls out a wrapped foot-long, and waves it my way. “Turkey and provolone?”

“Hell, yes.” I’ve never been so happy over lunch. And I don’t want to be rude and not invite him to share it with me, but cameras are everywhere, except... “Wanna eat outside? It’s warm today.”

Even in December, we get mild days, and I know the few spots around this house not surveilled by Gentry.

Leading Luke outside the back French doors, I dart a quick right, and like he’s onto the game, he carefully follows my steps.

On the side of the house, there’s a little brick-paved courtyard with two chairs. Spanish moss drips from the oaks above, and thick clumps of dwarf palmetto palms provide privacy from the neighbors and street. I sit out here and read my romance books sometimes.

But today, it’s a sub brought to me by a future Army Ranger that warms my heart.

Luke sits across from me and unwraps his. “So you like yoga?”

Unveiling the mammoth meal, my stomach growls. “It’s cliché, rich White girl shit—I know.”

“It’s good for you,I know. Long before White people did it; it’s great for your muscles and mind.” He pauses. “Your body looks strong; maybe next, you can train your mind not to be so hard on yourself.”

“Ouch,” I protest, not offended. “I look strong to you?”

“I got eyes, and you got delts and quads for days.”

“That’swhat you notice about me?” I’m not fishing for compliments; I’m shocked. He sees my strength, not my sex.

“Honestly?” His thumb swipes a dollop of mayo off his grinning mouth. “I notice lots about you. But I’ve learned what matters is what we notice about ourselves.”

“Where do you get all this wisdom?”

“Mateo. Ford too. But Mateo’s like a philosopher. He makes me think abouthowI think all thedamntime.”

I laugh. “So what are you thinking about all thedamntime?”

Sex? Cars? Beer? The gym? He’s young. Those are my top guesses.

But something storms across his face, clouding his eyes that glance away. His massive shoulders drop. “Fear,” he mutters.

“Of what?”

“You feel it too, don’t you?” He doesn’t answer me. Letting a long pause linger as if solving a puzzle, he looks back at me. “You feel afraid.”

It’s that moment you connect with someone so quickly in a silent storm that you grab their hand. There are no words. No need to say it. You’re both just hanging on, terror making you grip tighter.

Suddenly, Luke is hope.

I don’t want to let him go.

“Yes,” I answer him.

He doesn’t want to say what he’s afraid of. I know because I don’t want to give my fear more power by saying it aloud, either. So I gently change the subject and just hang on to the gift of talking to him.

“So, when do you train?”

---