Page 7 of Twisted Trails (Rogue Riders Duet #2)

A startled laugh bursts from me, and I shove at his face. He catches my wrist mid-motion and presses a kiss to the inside of it before stepping back, giving us both a moment to breathe.

I feel a little better, but it won’t last because he still doesn’t know everything.

“I slept with Finn.” The words fly out like they’re on fire, and I have to throw them somewhere before they burn me from the inside out.

Way to be careful about the delivery, Crews.

Luc freezes. No blink. No breath. Just buffering.

“Okay,” he finally says slowly. “When?”

“Just before the race.”

His brow furrows, the beginnings of storm clouds in his eyes. “Is he the reason you crashed?”

I hesitate, because technically, yes. Probably. But I shake my head. “No.”

Unsurprisingly, he’s not convinced. “I swear, I’m gonna?—”

“You’re going to do nothing, ” I cut in quickly. “If you’re hurt or pissed, which you have every right to be, then be pissed at me, Luc. Not him. ”

His eyes search mine, tired, confused, and holding a flicker of hurt. “I’m not pissed. I’m just… I don’t understand. Are you together now?”

“No.” The word leaves me on a sigh. “He thinks it was a mistake.”

Luc’s face darkens. “He what ?”

“Yeah.” My voice is smaller now, shame curling up inside me alongside the hurt. “I’ve had a crush on Finn since I was thirteen, and when he’s around, my brain just short-circuits, and I do stupid shit.”

Luc lets out something close to a laugh, but there’s no joy in it. “I know that feeling.” Then he blinks. “Wait. Since you were thirteen ? He was twenty-three then. Did he?—”

I shake my head fast. “ N o. He never saw me as anything but Dane’s kid sister. I think he still somehow sees me that way. Everything that happened, it was me. I pushed. I was stupid and…”

“You’re not stupid.” He cups my cheek, his thumb brushing just below my eye. “Even if the heart makes us that way sometimes. I’m stupid for you, Petite . Maybe one day, you can be stupid for me .”

I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I am stupid for you. I’m just still stupid for him too. Can you understand that?”

Luc drops his gaze, his jaw working, like he’s thinking of something or someone. I hold my breath, but he’s silent long enough that I have to let it out in stuttering exhales. But then he presses a soft, steady kiss to my lips.

“I guess I can.”

I don’t know what I expected him to say, but his answer sinks into my chest. Something eases in me, like maybe I haven’t ruined everything , even as a little spike of jealousy rises too.

Who did he just think of ?

The air between us hums with all the things we haven’t said, but the vulnerability is heavy, so I take a step back, and his hand falls away. I clear my throat and tighten my grip on the towel.

“You have to go,” I say, finally finding my voice beneath the blush threatening to incinerate me. “I stink.”

Luc tilts his head, his easy grin back on his face, like I said something adorable instead of humiliating. “You so don’t stink.”

I squeak as he leans in suddenly and nips the spot just under my jaw, hard enough to send a sharp jolt down my spine and heat straight between my thighs.

“Luc!” I gasp, part scandalized, part desperate as I clench my thighs together.

“What?” He chuckles, nose brushing the spot he just assaulted. “You asked me to bite you.”

“I didn’t mean right now! ”

He kisses the same spot lazily. “Timing is subjective.”

“Great. Philosophy in the bathroom. That’s definitely what I need.” I push at his chest. “Thanks for the bite. Now get out.”

“Nope.” He stays right where he is. “I’m gonna help you.” He cuts off my mounting argument with a look. “You need to keep that hand dry, non? How do you plan to wash yourself? Your hair? Let me help.”

I want to protest, but the words tangle with how badly I actually do want him here.

“Luc…” I start, white-knuckling the towel. “You just found out I don’t have a dick. I’m not sure we’re at the ‘you get to see my lady parts’ stage of the relationship yet.”

I mean it as a joke—mostly—but Luc doesn’t laugh.

His gaze sharpens, his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to smirk. “ Relationship, huh?”

I groan. “Don’t start. You know what I meant. ”

“Yeah,” he says, his smile spreading now, cocky and sweet all at once. “I do. And firstly …” He leans in and grazes my cheek with his lips, voice dipping lower. “I already saw everything when I walked in, and I really enjoyed the view.”

I roll my eyes, but he’s not done.

“And secondly…” he continues, pulling back and straightening his shoulders, “… like I told you, I’m a multi-purpose friend. I can help you take a shower when you’re injured without the funny business.”

I snort. “Last time you said there would be no funny business, we almost fucked.”

His grin turns wicked. “So it wasn’t just me, hmm?”

I scowl at him, but the expression slips away when he peels off his shirt.

Which would be fine.

Except it’s Luc.

And he’s built like a goddamn statue. Arms, chest, thighs, that V .

A six-pack, no, eight -pack, what the actual hell .

His torso is sculpted like he’s carved out of trouble.

Lean muscle, broad shoulders, the faintest trail of hair disappearing into the waistband of his sweatpants.

Then those go, too, and he’s left standing in nothing but black boxers.

And yes, my eyes follow that trail all the way down to where those boxers are doing a very poor job of hiding the fact that this man is very much a man.

My gaze snaps back up to his heat-filled eyes.

“I’m keeping those on for your sake,” he says shamelessly. “But say the word, and they’re gone if you need a better look.”

“Nope. No.” I back up a step, pointing a finger at him. “You’re not going to shower with me, Luc.”

All flirtation drains from Luc’s face like someone flipped a switch.

“Hey, if you don’t want that, I can go grab Dane or my maman .

I think Piper is around somewhere too. I’m sorry, I just wanted to help and not make you think I just want to fuck you.

You’re injured, and we have to talk about a lot of things before anything happens, so if you don’t want me here, I get it. I?—”

His words tumble out fast and clumsily, his accent even more pronounced than usual, and my heart aches because he’s still here.

Even after all the lies and secrets.

And I can’t listen to one more word of his sweet, over-apologetic rambling, so I reach out and press a finger to his lips, making him freeze.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’d love for you to help me, Luc.”

He smiles against my fingertip, then grabs my wrist, pulling my hand away from his mouth and kissing me softly before sighing, a brush of lips and breath.

“Nothing I’d rather do, ma Petite ,” Luc murmurs as he lets go of me and steps into the shower first.

He doesn’t look back to see if I’m watching, but I am.

I watch every second of it when he turns the water on and adjusts the temperature with casual confidence. When he stands under the spray, the water hits his skin and drenches his hair before running down his chest in lazy trails, clinging to every ridge and dip of muscle.

He steps out of the spray and smiles as he holds out his hand to me, the gesture landing somewhere in the center of my chest.

“Come here.”

I swallow hard.

Shit.

This is going to be bad.

Even though he’s still here, he hasn’t really seen me yet.

Not the parts that don’t look like they belong to someone anyone wants.

The scars, the too-muscular thighs that don’t curve the way girls’ legs are supposed to.

The new scrapes from the crash are angry against skin that was already marred to begin with.

I don’t look hot, I look like an aftermath, but I need this shower, and I need the help.

I need him .

So, with my eyes closed, I let the towel fall to the floor.

For a second, there’s no sound but that of water hitting the shower floor, then I hear him suck in a sharp breath.

I open my eyes, expecting flinching or maybe even disgust, but instead, his eyes are locked on my chest. His tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip, and a twitch in his boxers pulls my gaze lower.

He’s hard.

Even with all of me visible, every scar lit in perfect detail by the glow of the bathroom lights, he’s still hard.

His voice drops low, breathier now, as he repeats himself. “Come here, ma Petite. ”

My body hums with something half-terrified and half-starved, as I place my good hand in his outstretched one, and his fingers curl around mine like it’s sacred.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, scanning me. “How the fuck did you manage to hide them?”

I laugh but cringe a little too. “It hurt, okay? It really hurt.”

He turns me gently so my back is to his front, and the water comes down on my stomach, perfectly warm.

Luc reaches for my injured arm and slides his palm slowly from my shoulder to my elbow.

The touch is so tender that it makes my breath catch.

Then, carefully, he bends my arm and lifts it, guiding my wrist to rest over his shoulder.

Once he’s sure I’m steady, his hands find me again, gliding over my body with slow intent.

The water clings to my skin, and so do his hands, mapping me out with a reverence I don’t know how to receive.

I can feel his eyes on me as he reaches for the soap and lathers it slowly between his palms, the scent of lavender blooming between us. He pulls me back against him, chest to back, skin to skin, and I gasp.

He’s still hard.

But he doesn’t grind into me like he did when we were dancing. He sprawls his hands on my stomach, then starts to wash me from there outward. His fingers trace each rib, each curve, each scar as he kisses up my shoulder, sighing every so often.

When his fingers find the long scar near my breast, I shudder when I remember the ghost of another touch.

Finn’s, right on that same spot.

I hate myself for thinking about him now.