Page 102 of Rogue Riders Duet

“Petit.” He breathes out, his voice laced with something I can’t name. “What did he do?”

His blue eyes search mine intently, trying to read the whole fucking story that’s written across my face.

He’s too close for comfort right now, and I shove his face back with my palm, pushing him off me as I scramble to my feet.

Luc stands just as fast, towering over me and looking like he can’t decide whether he wants to punch someone or burn the room down.

“Noth…” I start, but he turns his glare on me and interrupts me before I finish the word.

“Don’t. Don’t deny it. This sure as fuck doesn’t look like nothing.”

There’s venom in his tone, but I don’t know if it’s meant for me or the world in general. I’m too tired to sort it out, and I doubt Finn told him anything if they ran into each other.

“I can’t deal with your shit right now, Delacroix,” I murmur in my deep voice as I step to the left to move past him, but he moves, too, easily blocking the way with one long-legged step.

I pivot to the right, but he lifts his arm, bracing his palm against the wall so his forearm becomes a barrier, trapping me.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” I snap.

“Better than you?” he says without missing a beat, raising a cocky eyebrow. “Non.”

I glare up at him. “What are you even doing here?”

He doesn’t relent even an inch. “Just came back from the club. Doesn’t matter.” His eyes continue searching mine, and his expression softens slightly. “What’s going on?”

I shrug. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are.”

“You’re wasting your time,” I mutter, brushing my face with the back of my sleeve, trying to erase the evidence.

He breathes out slowly, his eyes softening even more. “Then let’s waste it right.”

I brace myself instinctively, body rigid, but his hands are gentle as he pulls me forward until I fall into him and the hug he is offering.

His arms wrap around me like it’s nothing, and he’s done it a hundred times before.

But he hasn’t.

No one has. Not like this.

I don’t know what to do for so many reasons because if I lean in and accept it fully, he might feel my chest and figure me out. If I accept it emotionally, I might start sobbing again.

So, I just keep my hands awkwardly between us, palms pressed flat against the front of his hoodie, and focus on nothing but his rapid heartbeat.

His breath brushes the top of my head before he rests his chin there like he’s gearing up to stay here for a good long while.

“Breathe, Petit.”

I want to tell him to fuck off, to release me, to stop acting like he cares, but he’s so warm, and he smells like lavender oil.

And I’m just hurting inside and out and so fucking tired.

So, I lean in, just for a second.

Luc squeezes me and hums in approval before he shifts, bending down just enough to get his arm under my knees, the other still behind my back, and then lifts me clean off the floor.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I sputter, instinctively locking my legs around his waist to keep from tipping backward. I should’ve known better than to expect Luc to stay still. My hands grab fistfuls of his hoodie, too startled to be graceful about it.