Lucca's Lust: The Luminara Series Book 3 (9 page)

But now I think of nothing else. Today has just reinforced everything I thought at New Year’s. My life is not complete.

I need her.

I need Lexi.

I need love in my life.

Do I truly want these things?

Desperately, like my next breath.

“What kind of tortellini is that? It smells good, like Nonna’s.” I point to the tray, trying to change the subject and shift the elephant sitting on my chest.

“Yeah, it is crab, pepper, ricotta, and spinach. It is Nonna’s recipe. I am trying it out in the restaurant. Tell me what you think.” Savio stabs a piece with a fork for me to try.

“Hmmm, good. Real good. I like it. This will do well on a lunch menu. Do me a favour and do not tell Chris what is in it. He is a fussy bastard and will not eat it if he thinks it is ‘fancy shit.’ His words, not mine,” I say, swallowing it down with a slug of beer. And like that, we have moved on from my unfortunate loneliness and the miserable reality of my empty life.

Thank fuck. I need to think of something else. I feel emotionally drained.

Both my brothers laugh. Chris McCarron is one of my best mates and incidentally my accountant. A walking fucking liability if you ask me. Loves football, chicks, poker, and stock investments … a shark when talking money, but he is a good friend and a very clever guy.

It is probably why he will never settle down. Loves his money too much. Selfish prick. But he has looked after my investments for a long time, which I am grateful for.

“Still a pie, chips, and gravy man?” Armando asks with amusement, lifting plates from the cupboard.

“Fuck, yes, and mushy peas. I swear … he lives on that greasy shit. He must have a clogged artery by now.” I laugh.

“What you dudes laughing at?” Chris asks, setting down a case of beer and a tray of southern fried chicken wings. I almost spit my beer all over him, shaking my head, and hold my hand out to shake his.

Typically he brings deep-fried food. There is no way in hell, he dusted them in flour and fried them. They have takeaway written all over. Fucking cheating bastard. I tell him so.

While he slaps my brothers on their backs, Omari Fayed, another good mate who also happens to be my very loyal solicitor, shows up with the chips, dip, and vodka. Omari is not shy from attracting the ladies, though he is a little more tactful than Chris.

Where Chris tries really hard to win the ladies over, Omari has a natural charm. He is a good looking man, half-Asian, and looks like one of those fucking boxer shorts models, or at least he thinks he does. Omari delves right into Rose’s buns before he even has a beer opened.

Both of them showing no sign of settling down. They love their life just as it is. Fuck, I remember some wild nights ending up with some seriously hot women. I believe Chris and Omari still indulge in picking up chicks on the weekends.

They say it is the only way to top off a successful week at the office. We have always worked hard, but these boys know how to play hard too. They are good guys though. Decent, intelligent, and brought up well from respectable and loving families.

Marco, my right hand man and best mate growing up in Tuscany, joins us next followed by Andy Graham, my project manager at Osurac Industries, and Lyle Graham, my head of contractors, with a tray of pakora and chocolate brownies from his wife. Terence Huddersfield, Casey’s husband, and Jonathon Myers, my PA Suzanne’s husband, also arrive with a bottle of good single malt and cigars.

After lots of friendly banter giving Chris some shit when he tells us about the redhead he pulled last weekend who sucked him off then left him in the middle of the night because he was out cold, we grab plates and settle in the dining room. It is like a fucking bun fight right enough. You would think these lads have never seen food before.

“Chris, what the fuck? That is just so fucking wrong.” Omari scoffs, watching him wedge a steak pie between two slices of buttered bread before dipping it in the gravy of the lamb hot pot. He eats like a beast.

Chris mumbles with his mouth full. “Fuck off, dickhead. I played five games this week and have worked up an appetite.”

I laugh and roll my eyes, watching him now chuck some pakora then deep fried chicken down his throat. “You are one greedy bastard. Slow down. We are not going to fucking take it away from you.” I pass him his beer before he chokes on a chicken wing.

“Andy, pass me over that pasta shit,” he says, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand.

I lean back in my chair, fold my arms across my chest, and watch with wide-eyed amusement. This should be good. Savio and Armando both cock their heads, eyebrows lifting, lips curling up.

“What’s in this pasta shit, Savio?” he asks.

“Oh, just chicken.” I almost choke on my beer. Funny stuff. Lyle has to thud my back until I catch my breath. Chris would have an aneurism if he knew it was seafood. But by the looks of it, he has not got a clue. The daft fucker is eating it. Priceless.

“Hmmm, tasty this pasta shit. You should sell it in your restaurant,” Chris suggests before wolfing down another forkful of tortellini. Savio and I exchange a silent look of hilarity.

“Yeah, I might just do that,” Savio says calmly, hiding the obvious laughter in his voice.

Once we are finished, Terence, Jonathon, and Andy sit outside on the alfresco area smoking cigars, enjoying a single malt. The rest of the lads head up to the top floor to the home cinema room with as much alcohol as they can carry and the cinnamon buns, chips, and dip before the game starts.

I decline cigars and watch my alcohol intake as I have a flight to catch tomorrow, but the lads seem to be on a mission to get tanked tonight. I tell Savio I will be right up; I have a call to make first. Grabbing my phone, I head into my office and close the door. I have business to sort out.

I casually stretch back in my chair, one leg across the other, and make a call which could potentially change my life forever, or at least I hope it will.

“Hello, Mark speaking,” the guy answers.

“Mark, this is Lucca Caruso, owner of Club di Energia. Are you free to have a quick chat?” I ask, firing up my desktop to quickly check my emails at the same time.

“Eh, yes. How can I help you, Mr. Caruso?” he says with apprehension in his voice.

“Please, call me Lucca. Nothing is wrong, just a courtesy call. Ronan gave me your number. I hope you do not mind me calling after hours. I have a trip scheduled tomorrow and wanted to catch you before I left.” I pick up some fundraising documents for the Jasmine Foundation, the cancer trials I support and donate to.

“How can I help?”

“Look, I would like to be direct with you. I was in the clinic today with lumbar back pain. Your colleague assessed me and encouraged me to book in another appointment. She suggested I book in with you, but the problem I have is, I very much want to book back in with her. I want her to treat me.” I tap my finger on the desk impatiently after I have neatly filed the documents in order.

“Oh I see. Was it Jane or Lexi that saw you today?” he asks. I stare at the logo on top of the invoices, the small diamond sitting in the palm of a hand, and I rub my thumb over it, deep in contemplation.

“Lexi.” It falls from my lips in an easy whisper. I like the way Lexi sounds on my tongue. I say it again just to enjoy the sound of her name. “Lexi saw me.”

“Ah, she is my business partner. We were in placement together in the hospitals when we both first qualified. She is very good. Okay, if you would like to see her again, you will need to wait. She is going on holiday for three weeks. I can certainly treat you. I have free appointments at the end of this week and beginning of next,” he says, as if he is not hearing me or maybe I am not making myself clear enough. I place the documents down on the table, scratching my stubble with my thumb.

“Her holiday … I hope she is going somewhere nice?” I would like to lighten the mood and create a good rapport with this Mark fellow.

“I am sure it will be nice. She has been looking forward to going on this Tuscany trip for ages.” That got my attention. Home.

“Sounds lovely. Italy is my native country. I might be biased, but I do love Tuscany and highly recommend it for sightseeing. Italy is a wonderful country, very beautiful, vibrant, and cultural. I have been lucky to travel all around it over the years.” Smiling, the air leaves my lungs for the second time today. I lift my hand and place it over my heart and think that maybe God is watching over me today.

“She really has been looking forward to it and she deserves the break. It will be good for her,” Mark adds.

“Well, I am sure she will have a wonderful time and a very memorable trip.” I stare at my notepad. I pick up my pen and scribble the words: Lexi ~ Italia and tomorrow’s date.

I think I just found our first topic of conversation as an ice breaker when I do eventually get her to agree to go on a date with me. I can ask her all about her Italian holiday, spend endless time educating her in anything remotely Italian, and get to know her likes and dislikes.

What a fucking coincidence. A huge epic coincidence that I am praying will be in my favour. I honestly feel the weirdest sense of peace … or hope. It is hard to explain, like a spiritual sign or something. Well, one thing is for sure, at least I know Lexi and I have one thing in common. We apparently share an interest in Italy.

“Look, I really want to see her again but she insisted I book in with you. I would very much like you to call her and tell her that you cannot take me on as a patient and tell her she will need to take me on,” I stipulate, scrolling through pages of emails on my desktop.

“If you have spinal issues, I can assure you I am extremely qualified and have very successful results while treating patients in my care.” I remember Lexi telling me that. Right now, I could not give a flying fuck if he has magical fucking healing powers. I want her hands on me.

“I am sure you are, but like I said, I want her but she refuses to treat me as a patient.” Exasperation now evident in my tone, my thumb puts pressure on my temple.

He clears his throat and hesitates. “If she won’t treat you, then I’m sure there is a reason for it. Until I speak with her, I don’t know her reason for not treating you, and if she specifically asked you to see me, then I need to honour that.”

Diplomatic and respectful, but I am not accepting that bullshit. “The reason she refused to treat me is because I asked her out on a date. She says she will not date patients. I agreed to see you if it makes it easier on her and would convince her to go out with me. But the reality is … I want to see her. In and out of the clinic, you understand? I would very much like to see her again, and I would like you to tell her she needs to treat me,” I say honestly, man to man, raking my hands through my hair.

“Yeah, well I will need to speak to her first. It’s not like Lexi. Something just isn’t sitting right with me. Did she actually agree to go on a date with you? Someone she doesn’t know?” He sounds extremely curious, shocked no less.

“No, she did not agree, that is why I want her to treat me, so I can get to know her better and convince her to go out with me,” I reply. Agitation pulls my brow down into a deep frown.

“I would be surprised if she did agree. It’s not her nature. Anyway, why don’t I treat you until she comes back? If she changes her mind on treating you, then fine. If not, then I am sorry, Mr. Caruso, there is nothing I can do. She has reasons and I need to respect that.”

If it was not for the fact that I am desperate right now, I would commend this bloke on his decency and loyalty to her.

“Is she attached to someone? Does she have a boyfriend?” A brusque rasp in my voice heats my throat. I am done with the pleading. This man is good and he is not giving up so I need to be blunt. I was hoping he would be with me on this man to man. Is that what this is about? She
is
already taken or an ex was also a patient and fucked her over?

“Mr. Caruso, I—” he stutters. I have put him under pressure now.

“Lucca, please call me Lucca.” I try to school my tone, conscious that I am being abrupt and if I piss him off, then I will get no information whatsoever. In frustration, I pick up some old mail, tear it up, and toss it in the bin.

“Lucca, I would rather not talk about my business partner’s personal life or lack thereof. It should be confidential in the same way a patient’s details should be confidential.” I stand up out my chair, put him on speaker, and pace the floor.

Lack thereof?
Perhaps she is not taken after all.

“Mark … as the club owner, your landlord, and if you really want to be specific,
your boss,
then from a business perspective I am asking you to inform me of personal information regarding one of my employees. If I care to enter my employee database and records, I am sure I will find the information I am looking for. But I am asking you … professionally of course …
as your boss
.” I stop pacing the floor when I hear him clear his throat. He is speechless.

“You seem like an intelligent man, Mark, and I value your work ethic. In fact, I think we will get on great, and I am happy we have you as part of our Club di Energia team. You have qualities I admire and the potential to be very successful, a great asset to the team. You exude the professionalism I strive to deliver.”

“Mr. Caruso, it is a pleasure and honour having workspace in your club, and I hope that Lexi, Jane, and myself will always provide a professional standard of service. Thank you for saying so, but I’m afraid I can’t divulge that kind of personal information. Not only do I trust Lexi’s business decisions, I also value her friendship and I do not want to upset her. This is highly inappropriate,” Mark says concisely.

He is right. It is inappropriate. I throw my pen across the pad on a breathy sigh. What is he hiding? What is it about Lexi that makes him want to protect her, while I obsess about getting to know her so I can learn to protect her? She consumes my every thought since I left the club, and this dickhead is just making me even more desperate to get to know her and win her over.