Lucca's Lust: The Luminara Series Book 3 (4 page)

She fought, kicked, and screamed until she broke free and ran towards the car park. I chased her, told her to wait, that I would help her and never hurt her, but she was hysterical while sprinting, trying to get to her car. I caught up with her, but just outside the stairwell I saw a man running towards a car in the other direction. I knew it was him, it had to be. He must have run down the stairs, came out at the lower level, and then ran up the ramp towards his car on the upper level.

I saw red. I could not let him away with it. I bolted towards him, grabbed him, and tossed the fucker over his car bonnet, kicking, punching him in the face, gut, and head, until he collapsed. He had an Irish accent, threatening me. I wanted to shut the fucker up.

I was brutally rough and could not control my actions. Adrenaline zapped through me, blood pumping fast, heart beating rapidly. I grabbed his hair, was about to pulverise him and smash his face off the ground, when I heard screeching, brakes, screaming, and an almighty thud … then a smash.

I dropped the fucker, leaving him barely breathing in a pile of blood on the ground, and I bolted. Petrified of what I would find. That was when my heart stopped beating for the first time in my life, and I witnessed a sight no person should ever have to see.

Jasmine had been running down the ramp towards the lower level, at the same time a woman in a 4x4 unknowingly swung around the corner and accelerated up the ramp at a fast speed … straight into Jasmine, sending her flying over the top of her car, until she was thrown across the car park like a rag doll. Everything happened in slow motion. It was a messy, chaotic, fucking blood bath. The most horrific thing I have ever witnessed in my life.

By the time I reached her she was dead. The impact and injury to her head caused her to bleed from her brain almost immediately. I fell to my knees, kissed, touched, and begged her to come back .With my head in my hands, I shouted to the open space and screamed like a deranged lunatic. I noticed her diamond earring sitting next to her head in a pool of spilling blood. I picked it up and scrunched it tightly in my hand.

I lay on top of her and cried. I heard nothing, felt nothing. I was numb and in shock. I remember only hours later sitting in the back of an ambulance being treated for shock while the wounds on my hands from beating her attacker were dressed by a paramedic.

It was her ex-boyfriend. He knew where she would be and he waited for her. He wanted revenge because she left him. CCTV footage showed the full thing. His attack … her running from me … me attacking him … the devastating car accident. It was all on camera.

The bastard was sentenced to eight years in custody, six for good behaviour. I was charged with an assault fine, not that I could give a flying fuck. He was lucky I did not murder him with my bare hands.

The woman that was driving the car was rushing to get to work and had music on loudly. There is no way she would have been able to break; the ramp was too short and steep, and the sharp bend obstructed her view. She was charged and lost her licence but never went to prison as technically it was a freak accident.

Jasmine should not have been running down a ramp, but she was distressed and hysterical. I found out later that the woman driving the car could not live with the guilt of accidently taking someone’s life and later killed herself. A complete mindfuck and torturous time. For me, for Jasmine’s family, and for the driver’s family.

After the tragic event, I wanted to do something for Jasmine to honour the life that was taken too early. I named one of my cancer charities after her: The Jasmine Foundation. I designed a logo for the brand, a diamond sitting in an open palm. It was my way of dedicating it all to her. It was my last memory.

The diamond in my palm reminds me she gave me light, hope, and encouraged me to be bright about my future. It reminds me of those little earrings she wore that illuminated her face on that one nice night we shared. A special time of losing our inhibitions and rediscovering ourselves just hours before she was tragically taken. The diamond, I found lying next to her that I held in my palm while I prayed and cursed is represented in my logo.

Her funeral was hard, real hard. I thought I would not get through it. It brought back too many painful memories of my papa’s brother’s funeral, my uncle Genaro. But it made me stronger, and in a sense it prepared me. It prepared me for the death of my stillborn son. Another death later to come that tore my life apart and ripped out my fucking soul. But I was a stronger man. In a way, Jasmine prepared me for it.

A few months after Jasmine died, I went back to Tuscany and spent time with Fran. I eventually opened up to her, told her everything. About the cancer, meeting Jasmine, losing Jasmine. We rekindled our relationship and that is when I decided that life was too short, that I wanted someone in my life because you never know the minute life will be taken away from you.

Fran agreed to move back to Scotland with me. She fell pregnant, but I just was not ready to be a father. I did not even think it would be possible for me to father a child. They had said that radiotherapy could reduce my fertility. And if the cancer was ever to spread, I would need chemotherapy and then chances of me being fertile would be even less if not impossible.

They had offered me the chance to freeze my sperm. It was the last thing on my mind. I was in my mid-twenties and busy building my empire. They did suggest that if I ever needed chemotherapy treatment, then it would be highly recommended. A must. I thought I would cross that bridge if it ever came to that.

When Fran lost the baby, I felt as if I had been dealt the worst unimaginable twisted hand of fate. I felt it was probably my one and only chance of fathering a child and it was taken away from me. It was almost as if my dismissal of ever having a child and my negative thoughts were contradictory and my bluff was called.

Fucking
jeopardy
.

Story of my life.

I always thought because I was irresponsible and reluctant to consider fertility at the time of my treatment, and my initial response was apprehension when Fran said she was pregnant, the big man up there decided it was not for me. He made the decision for me. I vowed to never tempt fate again and be a little wiser in the choices I make. I grew up.

Papa convinced me to propose to Fran and make an honest woman of her when she was pregnant. Fuck, I did not know if it was what I really wanted, but I was nervous not to. I had so many regrets about Jasmine, the cancer, Uncle Genaro, and it seemed like the right thing to do. I was under a lot of pressure.

After Fran and I split, I became the young reckless man I was before my cancer. I fucked any woman who threw herself on me without any strings. My old rule: I protected my heart. I drank, I fucked … I drank … and I fucked. Again, it was Casey, my therapist, who brought me back to focus and helped me gain perspective after my little sister, Orianna, begged me to get help.

“Lucca, are you alright, boss?” Ronan asks, snapping me out of my reverie.

“Yes, sorry, Ronan, I was just thinking.” My thumb rubs over my scratchy stubble.

Brunette.
Brunette
.

Memoria.
Memories
.

Abbandono.
Abandonment
.

“You look like you are in real pain. Do you want me to call upstairs to the clinic and get you an appointment with the brunette?”

Brunette!

I forgot all about my back pain for a moment. I was too busy thinking about my heart and my dick. It has been a while since they were looked after properly, since I felt loved or had a good piece of ass.

“No, it is okay.”

“Pity. I desperately want to get to know this beautiful broad that everyone’s talking about. Let me know how you get on,” he jokes. I will give the prick fooling around; he has a fucking job to do.

Now that I think about it, it has been a while since I had any piece of ass. I work too hard and do not play enough anymore. Maybe I should hook up with an old acquaintance in Tuscany on my trip. That is exactly what I need: a quick, mindless distraction. Works every time.

I cannot remember the last time I had a good fuck. No strings attached … good fuck … good times … good night … back to work. Everybody is happy. Fuck it! I must be losing my edge.

My New Year’s resolution was to find a nice girl and settle down this year. I am not getting any younger, and shit if my papa does not keep reminding me. I just do not have the time to meet a nice girl, so quick fuck from an old friend will have to do. Until I have time or meet the right person.

It is not as if I do not have many offers. Women seem to throw themselves at me, and while that was amazing when I was younger and getting over Jasmine, Fran, and my son dying, I do not find it appealing anymore. I envy what my parents, grandparents, and brothers have. That all-consuming love. It is something I have yet to experience.

Fuck … I am turning into an old man, thinking crazy shit like that.

The types of women who throw themselves at me are normally desperate. Many of them are desperate for my money or just plain whores. Not all, but some. A few of my no-strings-attached affairs are actually friends who wanted more … who wanted me and a serious relationship I would never commit to.

My brothers, Savio and Armando, cannot seem to comprehend how I can sleep with women, break their hearts, and still be friends with them afterwards. I do not see it like that. Sure, there have been a few cling-ons in the past … but no one that I have ended or parted ways with on bad terms.

I am always honest and put my cards on the table. I never give them hope or any slight notion that they will ever get a piece of my heart. I did not even promise that to Jasmine after our one nice night.

Hey, I am a sensitive man … my heart needs to be protected.

I think it is respectable and mature to be able to continue a mutual friendship or relationship with someone I have slept with. It is only sex. It is not as if I remember or feel anything afterwards, so there is no reason for me to phase out friends who I have been with. They are only ever going to be friends, and the sex … is always inconsequential. Well, it is to me, unfortunately sometimes not to them.

There have been many encounters I have experienced which I am not proud to admit. I have found myself in bed with some piece of ass after a night of alcohol. Faces I will never remember. Drunken, mindless sex, which is good for a brief amount of time, but gives me nightmares the next day and makes me feel like a complete fucking asshole.

Which actually reminds me to give Ronan a stealth warning not to get involved with this chick upstairs. It is not professional and he better not get any ideas … not in my club.

“Well, do not do anything foolish. You have a reputation to uphold here and an example to set and a lovely wife at home. Keep your dick in your trousers,” I gently warn him, patting his shoulder.

“Relax, Lucca, she is out of bounds, or I think she is. Painfully shy … but easy on the eyes all the same.” He laughs, shaking his head, and opens the door for me. Thank fuck, there is hope for the poor girl yet. She may be saved from Ronan: the walking fucking hard-on.

“I will take your word for it. Okay, I will be upstairs in the gym if you need me. I might try and catch the physio before she leaves.” I switch the light off behind me. He gives me a roguish smirk before he leaves.

I head to my office on the ground floor next door to the admin office and throw my suit jacket over the chair. After listening to my voicemails, checking my emails, I grab my sports bag to change. If I can see this physio today, I do not want to wear my suit trousers and shirt. I want to be comfortable.

On the way to the changing rooms, I meet several of my club members and a few of my personal trainers who work there. I briefly talk and catch up with them. Many of the women purposely stop to catch my attention. I pride myself on my people skills and am always pleasant to them. I am not in the club that often as Osurac head office is my home base, but I like to make a point of getting to know the regulars and the staff on the floor.

It does take some restraint to be the “professional boss” when I have tits bouncing in my face everywhere I go. There is fucking flesh, curves, and tight little asses everywhere you look in clubs like these. And those shit hot sports bras they wear … fuck, they should be illegal. They might as well exercise in their lingerie.

The footballers’ wives are the worst for testing a man’s resolve. They come in all manicured, made-up, and look like centrefold models in their fitness gear. Definite eye-candy. Ah, the big man up there likes me after all it appears.

Part one: Lussuria ~ Lucca’s Words

“Lussuria ~ Chapter Two: Chemistry”

Chance Encounters

I change into my running clothes and let out a deep, hearty groan as I bend over to tie my running shoes. I hope this ache passes because I would hate to be uncomfortable on the flight tomorrow, and I do not have the luxury of chartering a jet this week.