Wicked Sexy Liar
Page 60

She stops, meeting my eyes. “London. Hey, I didn’t know you were up.” She looks like she got only marginally more sleep than I did.
I adjust my towel. “Just needed a shower. You’re up early.”
A slow, teasing smile spreads across her face. “Actually, I never really went to sleep.”
I groan a little.
She laughs. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Want some coffee?”
I look back toward Luke’s room, where the door is still pulled shut, and nod. “Sure.”
“Sweet. Let me use the bathroom, and I’ll meet you in there.”
She steps around me and closes the door, and I walk down the hall to the kitchen.
The sun is just starting to come up, the sky beginning to brighten on the other side of the window. I’ve been here enough times to know where Luke keeps his dishes and I pull two mugs down from the cupboard, opening doors until I find the coffee. I hear the toilet flush and the water run in the sink and then Margot is there, her taller form hovering beside me as she reaches for the filters.
She looks so much like Luke that it’s a little unnerving. They share the same thick dark hair, the same full brows and perfect cheekbones. But it’s the intensity of their gaze that’s the most pronounced. If I thought Luke was intimidating before he smiles, he has nothing on his sister.
We stand in silence while the coffeemaker gurgles and hisses in the background, and I search my mind for things to say, an icebreaker that doesn’t begin with I’m sorry I kept you up because I was so loudly banging your brother.
The scent of fresh coffee fills the air and when the machine chimes to signal it’s done, it spurs me into action. “So you live closer to campus?” I ask.
She nods, holding out her mug for me to fill. “I still come over to hassle him when I need to. Maybe do some laundry or steal his towels to take to the beach.” She pulls back her full mug with a quiet “Thanks,” eyes dropping down to my body briefly. “That’s a nice one, by the way. One of my favorites.”
I follow her gaze and realize I’m still wearing Luke’s Stone Brewery towel. “Oh, boy,” I say with an embarrassed smile. “I’m practically naked. In your brother’s kitchen.”
She waves me off. “Are you kidding? That’s the tamest thing I’ve seen here first thing in the morning.” Margot looks momentarily horrified with what she’s just said, but I smile, trying to hide the way my heart and lungs take a nosedive into my belly.
“Yeah, well,” I say, floundering. “I was just going to get dressed and head home when I ran into you.”
“Ahh.” She slips a piece of bread into the toaster and adds, “Were you going to leave without telling him?”
There’s a hint of protective big sister in her tone, and while I get it, I’m not really sure how to balance that against the scores of possibly naked shenanigans she’s just alluded to.
I really like Margot: we share the same hobby in teasing Luke, and my friends absolutely adore her, but after talking to Harlow and Lola two days ago, I’m more and more convinced that I don’t have to explain myself, or what’s happening between her brother and me to anyone, even her.
“I hadn’t really decided yet,” I admit, holding my mug up to my nose to inhale the pungent, nutty odor. “Is this the part where you tell me what a great guy he is?”
Margot doesn’t get defensive on his behalf. Instead, she snorts, laughing to herself as she rips off a paper towel and sets it on the counter. “No way.”
“Really?”
“My brother is a great guy,” she says with a shrug. “He’s honest when it counts, undeniably loyal, and has a huge heart. But I know he’s been a player. It’s not really my place to convince you of anything.” The toast pops up and Margot reaches into the fridge for the butter dish. “That’s his job. You’re a smart girl, and it’s obvious he has feelings for you. But you know what you need more than I do.”
The knife spreads butter across the toast with a quiet scratching sound, and Margot smiles at me over her shoulder. That smile melts away any worry I had that she was trying to make me feel unwelcome. In fact, it makes me think she’s glad I’m here.
“I really like you, London,” she says. “You’ll figure it all out.”
* * *
THE SOUND OF Margot’s car pulling out of the driveway drifts through Luke’s open window. He’s still in the same place I left him, stretched out on his side, sheet barely covering his hips. I can see a dark trail of hair low on his navel. His bicep peeks out, full and firm, where his arm wraps around his pillow.
I’m still not sure whether I should go, and pace back and forth a few times, glancing over my shoulder at him. His hair is a mess and standing straight up from whatever he had in it the night before, and I laugh a little as I walk over and smooth it back down. One minute turns into two and my fingers slip through the strands, over the side of his face, past his ear and down, tracing his spine.
Luke has a great back. His shoulders are broad, lats flaring along the edges, long torso tapering in at his waist. He’s nothing but miles of smooth, tan skin and a map of dips and edges. He’s also warm and somehow manages to still smell good after all of the hand jobs and cuddling and sex-without-a-condom and sleeping intertwined.
I really don’t want to leave.
With the conversation with Margot still ringing in my ears, I drop the towel and climb back into bed.
I loop my arm around his waist and he stirs almost immediately.
“London?” he mumbles. He finds my fingers where they rest on his stomach and rolls to face me, sleepy eyes blinking open and then squinting at me in the bright room. “Hi.”
His hair is standing up and he has pillow creases across his cheek. “What is happening with your hair?” I say, reaching out to smooth it again.
“I was asleep,” he says, just before he smiles. “With you.”
I look at the mess around us and laugh. “It looks like a storm passed through here. Don’t you have to get to work?”
“I’m going to take my first personal day in a year,” he says. In a rush of movement he pushes me to my back to hover over me. His eyes make a sleepy circuit of my face and I just honestly can’t process the emotion there.
It looks so real.
“Did you shower?” he asks.
“I hope that’s okay. I felt sticky.”
I could be wrong, but he looks a little proud of himself.
“You can do anything you want here,” he says, and tucks his face into my neck and groans. “Fuck, you smell good.”
“I hope so,” I say, giggling as his stubble tickles my neck. “It’s your soap.”
He sucks at my throat and then pauses, lifting his eyes to mine. “Was Margot still here?”
“She just left. Is it a matter of genetics that she only made one piece of toast?”
Luke laughs at this as he moves to press more small kisses to my throat.
“Who eats one piece of toast?” I ask. “Do you Sutters have something against eating bread products in pairs?”
Groaning, he says, “Logan. I don’t really want to talk about my sister right now.”
He shifts, lowering his body so he’s pressed against me, hips already moving in experimental circles.
We’re both naked and the sensation is so startling at first—the gentle drag of skin on skin—that I suck in a breath. This isn’t our first time being naked together—not by a long shot—but it’s still new enough that it’s a shock to the system: so much of his bare skin connecting with so much of mine.