This Loving Feeling (A Mirror Lake Novel) by Miranda Liasson Page A

don’t collect two hundred dollars . . .
    Sam’s gaze dropped to the beige carpet, where Lukas lay stretched out on the floor. Wait—on the floor ? One hand lay cradled behind his head, the other rested on his stomach. His sexy, shirtless stomach. Her gaze roamed from his muscular, lean torso and oh, wow—was that a soaring eagle tattoo?—down his long limbs, covered with navy pajama bottoms, to his bare feet. Man alive, the guy even had sexy feet. She’d just backtracked to admire his long, dark lashes—so like his nephew’s—when Lukas’s eyes fluttered open.
    Oh, fire truck. Busted.
    She waved because—well, what else could she do? And backed away too quickly, ramming into the door before retracing her steps to the kitchen. She heard a door close and sure enough, Lukas was right behind her. She hoped that racket didn’t wake Stevie up.
    “Hey,” he said, stopping her in her tracks.
    She had no choice but to turn around. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I—” She what? Was curious? Couldn’t stop herself from sneaking around? She decided to focus on her good deed instead. “—brought a few groceries.”
    Lukas stepped closer, filling up her personal space and all her senses with his tousled hair, his beard stubble, thick and dark, and that magnificent bare chest. For the first time she noticed a badass snake with its tongue out twining its way around his left biceps. She stepped backward. Away from him, where she could possibly have a logical thought instead of a completely short-circuiting nervous system.
    Her eyes were drawn to the elaborate swirls of ink running down his right arm. Flowers, musical notes . . . a delicate, intricate pattern of art that was mesmerizing. What did it all mean? Did it contain symbols for the special women in his life, events, places he’d seen, inspirational sayings? All of the ink on his chest and a lot of it on his arm was new since they’d been together. It saddened her in a way, thinking of how much life had happened to both of them since then. She forced her gaze away and started to unload the food.
    She suddenly got really interested in grabbing a carton of orange juice from a grocery bag. “How was your night?” she asked in what she hoped was a casual tone. “You slept on the floor?”
    “I was checking on him every half hour and I couldn’t sleep anyway so I just ended up crashing near his bed.”
    “I’m sorry I woke you.”
    “That’s okay, Sunshine.” He stretched and began opening cabinets. “I’d never complain about a beautiful woman waking me up anytime of the day or night.”
    “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of those lined up for the job.” Immediately she bit her lip, regretting her snarkiness. Not that she was jealous of all the women that were surely clamoring in every city to service his every need. Sam unloaded the orange juice, a carton of eggs. For Stevie , she reminded herself. The other Spikonos was just too . . . distracting.
    She felt his gaze boring down on her like the too-hot sun. When she looked up, his eyes were dancing and he was smiling, one dark brow raised.
    “What?” she asked.
    “You look a little flustered, Princess.”
    That reminded her of why he was so annoying, and it was a relief to replace the raw sexual tension with anger. “Do not call me that. And pu-lease. Don’t flatter yourself.” After this morning there was only one thing left to do. Stay the hell away. Like that was going to be possible with him living in her backyard. Good one, Einstein . If she were alone, she would have smacked herself upside the head.
    As she cradled a loaf of bread, she felt a hand on her arm. “Hey, sorry. I don’t mean to tease.” She turned to look at him, remembering when his calling her Princess was half in jest, but mainly an endearment. Up close, the stubble on his cheeks was dark and sexy, and his big brown eyes held a touch of something she couldn’t quite read, but it was bare and honest and so, so