Page 54 of Twisted Trails (Rogue Riders Duet #2)

“If we’re doing this. If we’re putting this together, I want you in it.

Would you want to sign with us, Mason?” His eyes go wide, and it makes me insecure, so I just keep on talking.

“I mean, we won’t have a big pit at first. We would have to share the physio and mechanic.

It’s not a legacy team yet, but it could be in a few years, when we get some more sponsors going and?—”

Mason grabs my upper arm, pulls me to him, and buries his face against my neck. “I would love to kiss the shit out of you right now.”

My breath catches. “Is that a yes?”

“ Yes. Yes, I want to sign with you guys,” he says into my skin. “That was the dream from the start, to be on your team. I don’t fucking care what the name is or how big the bus is. I just want to ride on your side. ”

I hug Mason back tightly, grounding myself in the warmth of it before whispering near his ear, “But don’t tell anybody yet, okay?

” He pulls back and nods. “Finn doesn’t know yet.

I just needed to know what you guys thought first. My dad is still doing paperwork, so it’s not officially official yet.

I want to make sure we’re sure when we tell him. ”

“I’m a void,” Mason promises, but when he glances over at Luc, something in his jaw ticks.

I turn to see that Luc looks like someone just insulted his rat, his baguette, and his mother in one sentence.

Mason clocks the mood shift and clears his throat. “I’m gonna finish the track walk with Greer and the juniors. Might get some local intel. This is his mountain, after all.”

And then he just walks off.

I blink after him, confused and a little annoyed.

Sir. Why are you leaving me alone with a brooding Frenchman?

He’s our boyfriend. This is a group project.

I turn back to Luc, who is now full-on pouting, stormy expression still locked in place, but with the unmistakable pushed-out lower lip.

“What’s with you?” I ask, folding my arms.

“Nothing.” He crouches and leans down to inspect the berm we’re standing next to.

I squint. “You never look at lines, what the hell are you—” My mouth stops working. “Wait. Are you mad at me?”

“No,” he says flatly.

“So you don’t want the team to happen after all?”

“I never said that,” he mutters, not looking at me.

I huff, take a few steps, and drag my hand down my face. “Then what is your fucking problem, Luc?”

He glances around, sees we’re still alone on the stretch, then grabs me. One second I’m upright, the next I’m squealing—high and uncomfortably feminine —as he hauls me up and over his shoulder.

“Luc! Put me the fuck?—”

He’s already stalking off the trail, boots crunching over undergrowth, and then we’re in the trees. There are still faint voices that echo from the track, but no one is in sight. Just branches, shadows, and bark I already hate.

I fucking hate trees.

Luc sets me down and barely gives me a second to breathe before he backs me into a trunk, heat rolling off him in waves, all tall limbs, muscle, and rage.

“You want to know my fucking problem ?” he growls, hands planted on either side of my head. “I just told you I’d get you on my team. That I’d make everything happen for you.”

“Jesus, yeah, and that’s nice of you, but I don’t need you to—” I start, but he cuts me off.

“That’s my fucking problem. You don’t need me? Why don’t you want me on your team, huh? You want Greer and Mason, but not me?”

I blink, startled. “What the hell are you talking about?”

But his eyes, they’re not angry. They’re hurt .

Shit , did I just fuck this up?

“Luc, you’re on the biggest, most stacked team in the circuit,” I say quickly.

“You’re pulling six figures. You’re a superstar.

People throw money at you to sign. I’d never ask you to give that up to join my half-baked idea.

Our team isn’t even real yet. We don’t have sponsors.

We don’t have a logo. We don’t have shit. ”

“ Petite .” His voice dips low as he steps in. His thigh slides between mine, pushing Pierre against my pelvis.

Fuck.

“I don’t give a fuck about money or status,” Luc whispers, teeth catching the shell of my ear, his tongue flicking over the spot he just bit. “I want you . And Mase. I want to be on your team. I always was, from the fucking start.”

His thigh rocks up, grinding the pecker against my clit, and I whimper.

“Do you want me, Alaina Crews?” he murmurs against my skin.

“I always want you, but?—”

“I’d drop my contract tomorrow. Go privateer, whatever it takes.

You and him, that’s all I need.” His hands slip down to my hips, thumbs tracing just above my waistband.

“And you think we won’t get sponsors if you’ve got Luc-fucking-Delacroix front and center?

Alaina Crews rising from the dead with Mason Payne and me at your side? ”

I shudder, my spine arching into him. “Luc?—”

“We’d own the circuit, bébé ,” he growls, mouth dragging along my jaw. “Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” My brain is short-circuiting. No thoughts, just yes.

“I’ll sign my name on you tonight.” His hips roll into me, fingers brushing the edge of my binder through my hoodie like he knows. “Over your heart. Your thighs. Your neck. Between your legs while you’re moaning my name.”

I’m trembling now, my whole body aching, and I’m seconds away from begging him to strip me down and take me right here, trees be damned.

“I ask you again,” he rasps, mouth ghosting over mine. “Do you want me, Alaina Crews?”

“Yes,” I breathe out. “God, yes. Please sign for us, Luc.”

He pulls back so fast I startle, still dazed and leaning back against the tree, panting.

“Was that so hard?” He smirks, smug as hell, like he didn’t just obliterate my entire nervous system.

“What the fuck ?” I hiss, legs shaking. “Luc! ”

He kisses the tip of my nose like a menace. “I’d love to sign for your team next season. Merci for asking.”

And just like that, he turns to walk away.

“Oh, and, Petite ?” he calls over his shoulder. “Fix your boner before you get back on track.”

I glance down.

Pierre is caught all wrong in my shorts, tenting them like he’s trying to fight his way free.

God. Fucking. Dammit.