Page 4

L ex sank into the leather seat and let his head fall back against the rest.

It wasn’t as bad as he expected. Not even close.

Everything smelled expensive: the leather seat polish, that lemon-clean disinfectant they probably checked with a white glove, and Morgan’s daytime cologne—ginger and orange, like Christmas baking.

Even the air had that filtered crispness that screamed luxury.

Maybe they literally passed money through the vents on nice jets.

God, it was fucking cool.

He fumbled with the seat belt—found the latch, snapped it into place with more force than necessary, then stared out the window like he hadn’t already peeked out half a dozen times, watching the tarmac.

Concrete. Painted lines. The weird boxy machines rolling around like bugs. People tinier than ants .

His leg bounced. Twice. Then a third time—until Morgan’s hand settled on it.

“I’ve never been on a plane,” Lex muttered.

“Never?” Morgan asked, not even glancing up from the email on his phone. “What about last year? New York isn’t exactly close to Ohio.”

“I drove. Eight and a half hours. Longest road trip of my life .” Lex snorted. “Don’t recommend doing it solo unless you’re trying to suffer.”

He shifted, rolling his shoulders back. The leather creaked again.

Leaning forward, he fiddled with the vent above his seat. The plastic felt flimsy, but the air conditioning was on, at least. Summers here were all wet heat, the humidity so bad he’d end up soaked before he got out the front door.

He cracked his knuckles. Pop. Pop. Pop. Like breaking tension would help keep his skin on.

The cool factor spiraled fast into oh shit, what if we crash? and Lex had the sudden, terrible urge to bolt down the aisle and fling himself out the door.

He wanted Morgan to say something else. Anything . Wanted him to pay attention, to offer one of those rare smiles, or even a cold, “Stop fidgeting.” Something. Just to occupy the space.

But Morgan just kept tapping out the email, one hand still gripping Lex’s thigh.

“What did Kate mean,” Lex asked after another minute, “when she said ‘don’t do something you’ll regret’?”

Morgan glanced over, and finally he put down the fucking phone. The hand moved off Lex’s thigh, and then both palms were on either side of Lex’s face. Calm. Cool. Just his thumb brushing slow circles over Lex’s lower lip, like he was testing for weakness. Or claiming something. Or both.

“What do you really mean,” Morgan started quietly. “What do you want?”

The words came faster than Lex expected. “I want to go to the bar again.”

They never said it out loud. Not what the bar really was. But it wasn’t a place—it was ritual. Blood in the dirt. Morgan off his leash.

It didn’t matter where they were, or who they were with, it was something for them . And between the consultancy business, charity functions, meetings, newspaper articles… Lex would take anything that gave him that sense of exclusivity.

“We were there three days ago,” Morgan said, as if that mattered.

“I know.”

Morgan’s pause dragged. Then: “Fine. But this time, you’re picking our plus one. I’ll show you how.”

Like it was nothing. Like handing Lex a blade and telling him to go nuts.

Morgan never let Lex choose. Not when it counted. Not when it was about blood.

That was a lot of responsibility, and god knew he was up for it. Morgan’s choices and methods were so very, very Morgan and a change of pace would be fun. Different.

Lex swallowed the grin clawing its way up. Bit the inside of his cheek, hard. Getting too excited, too early, was just another way to let Morgan knew he won .

Not yet.

The plane started to taxi, engine rumbling low beneath them. A constant, vibrating growl that built in his bones. The floor shifted. Tires bumping over concrete.

Lex’s stomach swooped like it was trying to escape through his spine. He laughed—a little too loud, too sharp.

Morgan pressed a kiss to his lips and settled back in his own seat, focused on the phone again.

But he did leave his hand on Lex’s leg, palm up.

An invitation and lifeline, wrapped up in one, without ever saying a word.

Lex didn’t hesitate. He laced their fingers together, squeezing, and laid his head on Morgan’s shoulder. Warm. Solid. Thankfully not moving, unlike every other thing around Lex.

Which email was he working on, anyway?

As of this morning, all pre-approvals for the London acquisition have been processed. Contracts are under final review by legal, pending confirmation of terms—

Jesus. A computer would sound more human than Morgan did at work.

Lex’s eyes glazed over and his brain hit static. He couldn’t keep concentrating on the email if his life depended on it.

A minute later, once they’d lifted into the air and the outside world dropped away, Lex leaned closer.

“Also, I want matching phone backgrounds.”

Morgan blinked. Looked up, the overhead light catching the sharp line of his jaw. Lex watched the gears in his head turn.

Morgan squinted hard enough that his lashes nearly touched his cheeks .

“ What ?”

“You told me to ask for what I want.” Lex shrugged. “I saw it. I want it.”

Morgan twisted in his seat, staring down at Lex like he couldn’t decide whether this was a joke or a threat. “ Of what? ”

The tone was killing Lex. He’d never heard Morgan this… confused . It was almost cute. If anything about Morgan could ever be called cute.

“Us.”

“I haven’t taken a photo in over a decade, Lex. You’d be hard-pressed to find a single one on my phone.”

“Then we’ll take some while we’re there,” Lex said, trying not to grin or talk too fast. “We can go to Big Ben. Or on that double-decker bus. Or maybe Tower Bridge. It’ll be a fun detour.”

“You sound like a tourist,” Morgan said flatly, but he didn’t argue. Didn’t look away.

“Never any harm mixing business and pleasure.”

Lex could swear— swear —he saw the corner of Morgan’s mouth twitch. Not a full smile. Just the ghost of one. Gone when he blinked.

And Lex knew, with absolute certainty, that he was going to make Morgan take those pictures. Even if he had to duct-tape the phone to Morgan’s forever cold, manicured hands.

They were going to London.

Together.

Just them.

And it was going to be fucking perfect .

The car rolled into the underground garage with a low, echoing hum.

It was clean in an overly clean , rich way.

Polished concrete. Rows of designer cars.

Lights embedded in the ceiling instead of hanging, casting everything in sterile silver-blue.

The kind of place where wealth whispered instead of shouted.

A definite departure from the gaudy extravagance of the plane. Somewhere more familiar.

Comfortable.

“I really enjoy parking garages,” Morgan murmured.

Lex slapped his shoulder before the sentence even finished. “I had a good feeling two seconds ago! Don’t make me remember that.”

Morgan didn’t flinch. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“ Of course it is .”

Morgan gave him the barest smirk, and Lex shoved open his door before Morgan could wax poetic about how Lex sounded inside the trunk or whatever went on in that head of his.

The air outside was warm. Not hot. Not sticky. Just nostalgic in that summer-camp kind of way. It hit Lex like a memory: bare feet slapping across the broken dock, lake water dripping down sunburned shoulders. Wet grass and tipped over canoes.

His damn annoying cousin nipping at his heels.

They rode the elevator up in silence.

Or, Morgan was silent .

Lex kept sneaking glances at the mirror in the corner, adjusting the collar of his shirt, tousling his hair. Did he look hot enough? Cool enough? Expensive enough? His reflection stared back: messy in a way that fit Ohio , not London.

It was overkill.

He didn’t need to look different.

But while he was here? May as well improve every damn thing about himself.

Shopping was necessary.

Maybe a week in designer jackets would wedge some of that bone-deep, d on’t-fuck-with-me confidence back into his spine.

Maybe he’d walk like Morgan.

Maybe he’d feel like Morgan.

Maybe, just once, someone would look at him like he was the one to be afraid of.

The elevator dinged—soft and chimed, too elegant to announce itself any louder.

Lex stepped out first.

And stopped.

“ This is where we’re staying?” he asked, neck craned back until it cracked.

The lobby stretched in every direction. It was more glass than wall—floor-to-ceiling panels that reflected the best views of the city.

Recessed lighting glittered across polished marble.

Mirrored columns blinked like they were watching.

There were art installations hanging from the ceiling, angular and huge.

Heavy-looking. Some abstract thing probably worth more than Lex’s entire life .

“You picked it out. Don’t you remember?” Morgan asked, voice already teasing.

Lex rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. “Morgan, I was gone . I don’t remember shit.”

“I can always cancel the reservation.”

“No—no, it’s really cool. I like it. It’s…” Lex turned slowly in place, sneakers squeaking on the floor. The windows swallowed the skyline, everything below soft and far away. All of it dressed in black and accented by the huge chandelier. “Doesn’t it remind you of—”

“Our ancient house?” Morgan said. “Yes. Hence my surprise.”

Lex didn’t know what to say to that. For a second, he just stood there, blinking into the lights.

Honestly, he was going to say museum, but yeah—it did look like their house.

Not the layout, exactly, but the feeling.

That same kind of hush.

Like the walls were waiting for something to start.

“Home away from home, I guess,” he muttered.

Lex didn’t say anything until he had both feet inside the suite.

He didn’t want to get his expectations too high. The last place he stayed had been so disappointing it still haunted him when he drove by—he’d spent months wondering what made the carpet sticky and why no one had cleaned the hair out of the shower .

But this place was fucking ridiculous .

High ceilings.

Full kitchen.

A separate goddamn sitting room with one of those couches that looked too clean to be comfortable, and a wet bar. Fully stocked with the pretty jeweled bottles Morgan liked.

There were built-in speakers, floor-to-ceiling windows in the second bedroom, and a fireplace.

And the bed— jesus .

Lex bolted straight for it, not even bothering to take off his shoes until he was halfway across the room. Then he kicked them off, one at a time, sending them skidding across the floor with satisfying thuds.

He threw himself backward onto the mattress, groaning loud enough for the neighbors to hear—if they were lucky enough to be this close to heaven. “ Holy shit , Morgan. This mattress is actual porn.”

Morgan chuckled. “It’s a mattress. I don’t think it’s anything close to what you’re making it out to be.”

“It’s better than our bed,” Lex groaned again, limbs splayed like he was trying to merge with it. The comforter was made of butter . “I’m taking it home.”

“Do you want it shipped?”

“Maybe.” Lex chuckled. He rolled onto his stomach, face half-buried. “Man, I’ve got good taste.”

“Next time I need you to pick out something, I’ll remember our procedure.”

“No. No. That’s not what I said. ”

Lex sat up, bounced a little—testing the springs—then ran his palms over the sheets like a raccoon in a glitter factory.

He could be here for hours, looking at everything. Taking it in, one amazing piece at a time. The room bathed in evening light filtering through the windows. The soft hum of the city beneath them, too far down to be real.

Hell, nothing felt real, but in the best way possible. As if someone had reached into his memories and carved this entire suite out of his childhood wishlists and daydreams.

He didn’t need a food or water.

He didn’t need anything .

Especially not while Morgan was watching him like that—still leaning in the doorway, still smiling his rare smile, like he had no intention of moving. Like he was perfectly content watching Lex.

“This one’s ours,” Lex said, softer now. “I want to keep it.”

Morgan tilted his head. “You already told me to ship the bed.”

“Not just that.” Lex hugged the pillow to his chest, fingers digging in. “The whole fucking city.”