I set the plates on the table. A ripple of excitement runs through me. This feels like home. I’ve only been here a matter of hours, and already, this feels like home.
The open-plan space is vast, with overly large couches filling the living area, and a huge television, far bigger than any I’ve seen before, is on the wall.
The floor-to-ceiling windows overlook a park, and my heart swells at the thought of bringing Harper here. Is this something even achievable? I bite my bottom lip, deep in thought. I can only hope what Cole is promising me will one day transpire.
“Hey, beauty. You good?” Cole’s rough hands wrap around my waist from behind, and he kisses into my neck, making me squirm and giggle on the spot.
I place the final set of cutlery down and turn to face him. He eyes the table with a look of longing. Maybe he’s missing his other brother, Rage. “He’s home in just under two weeks, right?” I question him.
His eyes flick up to mine in confusion.
“Rage.”
He jolts. “Oh yeah. Two weeks. Lucas won’t be joining us.” He waves his hand at the table, and my shoulders deflate, knowing that Lucas is the cause of his disappointment, not Rage’s absence.
From the moment I locked eyes with Lucas, I knew he instantly didn’t like me. Despite the fact that he was dressed to perfection—wearing a white shirt tucked into belted black pants that fit his fine ass perfectly—he glared at me with contempt, a look of disgust in his eyes, gleaming in spite.
Lucas has olive skin, broad shoulders—although smaller than Cole—and he must be a similar height, maybe a little shorter than Cole, but only just. Lucas’s eyes are an odd color, almost gray looking; they make him all the more intriguing, yet weary too. His thick dark hair is short on the sides but longer on top and brushed back. He reminds me of someone with an Italian heritage; he has a dark Mafia vibe about him that tangles me in a web of excitement yet leaves me with a ball of nervousness.
He watches me like a hunter watching its prey; every movement of his eyes was calculated to scrutinize me, analyze my actions—no doubt judging my intentions with Cole.
My stomach did a nervous flip when his eyes latched on to my chest, causing heat to travel up my neck and my feet to shuffle awkwardly on the spot.
Cole told me little about his brothers other than the fact that Lucas has a troubled past, and Rage spends his time taking out his aggression in the fight clubs they own if not in a different girl’s bed every night.
When Lucas rejected my outstretched hand, I wasn’t surprised. I can’t imagine he’d want to touch me with the disgust he harbors toward me. And when Cole reminded me of his reasons behind the lack of enthusiasm, I wanted to kick myself. I’ve been there. I should know the aftereffects of trauma when I see it.
I live it every day.
