Page 103 of Rogue Riders Duet

Luc walks us toward the hallway. “We’re going to talk. Or hug this out, but not here, it’s not the vibe.”

“I can walk,” I mutter, glaring at the side of his neck.

He chuckles. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t walk in the direction I want you to.”

I want to argue, I really do, but my limbs feel like lead, and my head is a mess, and honestly, it feels kind of good not to have to make the next decision. His hard stomach is right up against my pelvis, and suddenly I’m very grateful I forgot to pull out the rolled-up socks shoved in my boxers.

The steady motion of being carried lulls me. I rest my forehead against his shoulder as my eyes drift shut, and I do nothing but exist in his arms.

Every few seconds, a hiccup jerks through my chest, leftovers from the crying and the reasons for the crying.

Luc’s hand rubs slow, steady circles over my back like he’s trying to soothe a wounded animal. Maybe he is.

By the time he unlocks his hotel room door and kicks it shut behind us, I’ve drifted firmly between asleep and awake. He lowers me gently onto my feet, hands careful at my waist, and I blink around, dazed.

As I’m trying to steady myself, he plops down on the edge of the bed, patting the space next to him. All I can do is stare, unable to process what is happening, how I allowed myself to end up here.

The bed is a mess, covers half off, pillows sideways, but it’s what is in the middle of his bed that makes me pause. There, curled up, fast asleep like he owns the damn room, is his rat, and I can barely hold back the shudder threatening to race through me as I wrinkle my nose.

Luc follows my gaze and scowls. “Why do you hate my son?”

“I don’t hate him.” I cross my arms. “It’s just… his naked tail is so gross.”

“Yeah, well, he thinks you’re gross too.” He frowns like I insulted his actual bloodline before he scoops up Toulouse and cradles him dramatically to his chest. “Don’t listen to the meany, mon amour,” he croons, pressing a kiss to the top of the rat’s head. “You are beautiful. Perfect. A king.”

I snort.

He sets Toulouse down gently in his little cage, then flops back onto the bed and pats the mattress again. “Voilà.”

I don’t move. “I really shouldn’t sit in your bed. I’m sweaty and gross.”

“I so don’t care,” Luc says with a shrug. “But if you do, take a shower.” He nods toward the en suite.

“I’m not showering in your room. With you in here.”

“Why?” He raises an eyebrow. “Oh… I bet you shower naked. You hoe.”

A laugh escapes me, and right now, it feels like a small miracle.

Luc abruptly stands and crosses the room in two easy steps, like he’s not making a decision so much as following gravity.

Stopping in front of me, he’s close enough that his warmth rolls off him in waves, hitting my chest first. Then it spreads, sinking into the space between my ribs before curling low in my stomach.

His hands find my waist again, fingers pressing just enough to make me shiver as he pulls me in. I know I should fight it, but I don’t. I’m too tired.

And I like him holding me too much.

As he leans in, I feel every inch of him, his thigh brushing mine, the heat of his breath skating down my throat. He lowers his face to where my collarbone dips into the slope of my shoulder, and his nose brushes the skin there, just above the hoodie’s neckline.

My knees grow weak, and I reach out, one hand curling lightly around his bicep, the dense muscle tense under my touch, the other drifting to his forearm, anchoring myself to him.

“You don’t stink,” he murmurs, lips grazing the sensitive skin beneath my ear. “You smell like me.”

Goose bumps rise along my arms, spine, and the back of my neck.

Then he bites me. Not hard or painful, but a soft, sharp nip right at the edge of my jaw, just beneath my ear, where my pulse is stuttering like it skipped a beat.

I gasp, hips jerking forward a little, unbidden. His teeth drag slightly before he pulls back, and then he does it again.