Take Your Time (Boston Love #4)(16)

“Luca, I mean it. My apartment is the other direction.”

No response.

“Luca Buchanan!”

We jolt to a stop near the curb so suddenly, my whole body slams full-frontal into his back. Thankfully, the man is made of stone, so I don’t fall off the motorcycle on my face. I’m still reeling from the impact when he dismounts and lifts me down onto the sidewalk with laughably little effort. As soon as he sets me on my feet, I yank my skirt back into place and glare up at him from beneath the rim of the bulbous helmet.

“Was the manhandling necessary?” I snap.

He shrugs.

“I’m perfectly capable of getting off a motorcycle by myself. Last time I checked, I have two functioning legs.”

His eyes flicker down to the aforementioned limbs, lingering on the sight of my thigh-high garters. Clearing my throat, I smooth my hands over my skirt.

“It’s 2017 — women can do all types of things. We can drive and vote and work and raise babies alone and travel the world and boss people around. We can be superheroes and CEOs. Hell, we can even become men, if we want.”

His brows arch sardonically.

“Not that I want to become a man,” I mutter hurriedly, feeling my cheeks start to flame again. “I’m just saying, if I wanted to, I could. The option’s there. That’s all.”

Luca again says nothing.

I fight the urge to scream. Or bite off my own tongue, to stop my string of babble. At times like this, I often find myself wishing I kept a cyanide capsule handy in a false tooth. Without that option, I take a deep breath and try to sound calm and collected.

(Operative word being try.)

“Where are we, Luca? Moreover, why are we here? Furthermore… are you planning to take me home anytime soon, or am I going to have to hijack your bike? I promise, that won’t end well — for me or the bike.”

He shows no reaction except a slight flare of amusement in his eyes.

“What, are you suddenly mute?” I plant my hands on my hips and glare harder. I’m sure it would be more intimidating without the helmet.

He reaches up and scratches at his stubble in an unhurried gesture. “Figured you were babbling enough for the both of us, might as well let you get it out of your system.”

I do scream, this time. “I asked you to take me home. Not to bring me to some random building in the North End and taunt me with your taciturnity.”

He gives no reaction, besides another slight shrug. Getting desperate, I try a different tactic.

“Look, it’s four in the morning. The sun is rising. In the past twenty-four hours I’ve struggled through a massive hangover, a boss who gives new meaning to the term hands-on, a high speed chase, a two-hour interrogation, and a highly-informative sex talk with a hooker in a holding cell. I’m dressed in something an anime character would find risqué. My feet hurt from these heels, I’m so hungry I would happily eat that flattened gum off the sidewalk if I thought it might curb my appetite, and I’m so tired, I could sleep soundly in that gutter — which, funnily enough, actually may end up being my new home in a few days, if I don’t sort things out financially. My iPhone is missing, my wallet is empty, and I’m officially out of whatever patience I once possessed. So, while I appreciate you coming to my rescue, getting me out of there, posting my bail… all of it…Please, for the love of god, please… just take me home, Luca.”

My voice breaks on his name and my mouth snaps shut with a click of my teeth.

Crap.

I hadn’t realized just how overtired and overwrought I was until the words started pouring out. I hadn’t meant to reveal all those things — and certainly not to him — but once I began, there was no stopping the torrent of pent-up angst.

Luca stares at me and his eyes flicker through a series of emotions so fast I can’t sort them out. He settles on a guarded look I can’t read at all.

“First, not a random building. I live here.” He jerks his head at the brick five-story building behind us, built on a long wharf sticking out over the harbor. “Second, there’s a difference between being a straight shooter and a mute. I don’t make a habit of wasting my breath on bullshit, babe. You’ll just have to get used to that.” I open my mouth to retort, but he isn’t finished. “Third, you’re right about the sun rising soon, so we’re going inside before my neighbors start waking up and wondering why I’m fighting with a French maid in the middle of the sidewalk.”

“But—”

“Delilah.” He cuts me off before I can object. “You just rattled off a whole list of problems, including being tired and hungry and I’m guessing a bit freaked too, even if you don’t feel like admitting it. I know for a fact you wanna go home, that you don’t wanna be with anyone right now, after the shit you’ve been through tonight, let alone me.” He pauses. “But I also know from dropping you off after your bachelorette bender that you’ve got a house full of moving boxes, you’re sleeping on an air mattress, and there is exactly zero food in your fridge.”

I gasp. “You snooped!”

“Damn right I snooped,” he returns without missing a beat.

“That is not gentlemanly.”

“Did I ever claim to be a gentleman?”

I huff.

No. He certainly hadn’t.