“Where’s she going?” Lucas’s voice boomed and he made a move to follow me, but Dante stopped him.
“To try and help you. Now sit down and shut up.” Dante sounded completely exhausted.
I rummaged around the bathroom, surprised at just how ordered it was. The first aid kit was located under the sink, and I grabbed it before joining the boys back in the bedroom where Luc had started to strip down to his boxers. I flushed red and Dante looked exasperated at his friend and his behavior.
“What happened, D?” I asked, avoiding looking at Luc in his semi-naked state.
“It’s not really my place,” he said to me quietly. “He’s just dealing with a lot at the moment, but he never usually gets this bad.”
I know Dante wouldn’t divulge any more information no matter how hard I pried. This pair was as thick as thieves. No one else came to the house and made themselves at home the way that Dante did. Although, I guess Amber could be added to that list now.
“D, why don’t you rest up here,” I suggested to him. “I’m sure Lucas won’t mind. I can clean him up and if I need anything, I’ll give you a shout.”
He looked grateful as he said, “Are you sure?”
“Honestly. I’m not sure how much help you would be with one arm anyway.”
“Thanks, Mia.”
Dante took a few steps away from me as I moved to hug him. Behind me, I could feel the warmth of Lucas’s body behind mine. An imposing figure that made me feel smaller than I was.
“I don’t fancy him breaking my other arm,” Dante told me, gaze sliding over to Lucas. He shot me a half-smile before he left the room.
A large part of me wanted to continue being angry at him for humiliating me this morning. I had planned to keep as much distance between us as possible, but he obviously needed help and I couldn’t call Lydia now. Turning around, I was faced with a wall of muscular, tattooed chest. The anger was a ball that knotted in my stomach.
“Lucas…”
“Why don’t you call me Luc?” he asked me.
“Sorry?” I was taken aback by his question and how earnestly he’d asked it.
“Why don’t you call me Luc?” he repeated. He sat down on the edge of the bed, his bloodshot eyes focusing on me as he continued to slur. “You call him D. You have Dom and Lyds but you call me Lucas.”
I hadn’t realized that I’d never shortened his name. Things between us were in an odd limbo, unlike with everyone else, where I felt I’d found my feet. I knew where I stood with them, but the lines remained blurred and unclear where Lucas was concerned. There were moments like the flowers, the kiss, and last night where I wondered about the Lucas behind all the temper and business. And then there were times, like when he implemented his rules and stalked through the house in such a bad mood that even the staff steered clear of him, that I felt sorry for the woman that would chain herself to him until death did they part.
“Call me Luc,” he insisted, looking up at me.
“Okay, Luc,” I said, the name sounded foreign in my mouth. “I need to clean you up. It’s going to sting.
He swayed slightly as he sat there, but, thankfully, he didn't resist. I opened the rubbing alcohol and dropped some onto a cotton pad before sitting on my knees in front of him. His eyes followed every one of my moves in a wolfish manner.
“Let me see,” I said. Gently, I took his face in one hand and wiped the cut on his lip. Luc hissed and pulled back. “Luc, I need to clean them.”
Hesitantly, he moved back towards me. I cupped one side of his face with my hand and he covered it with his own, dwarfing it, warm and rough against my skin. I reached out tentatively and started cleaning the cuts on his lip, cheek and eyebrow while he hissed and groaned in pain but didn’t move again.
Luc’s body was one that called for attention, taut muscles and hard lines that would please anyone who laid eyes on it. I tried my best to not get distracted, but the colors and shapes of his tattoos kept drawing my eye, and I despised myself for craving feeling him against me again.
“There,” I said, leaning back to assess my handiwork. “It’s the best I can do for now. I’ll take a better look at the damage tomorrow.”
I went to move my hand away from his face, but Luc kept hold of it.
“Don’t go,” he said to me.
I froze and looked at the floor. Drunk Luc was a lot more vulnerable than his sober counterpart. “Luc.”
“Please.”
Lucas Foster had rarely said a word of please or thanks since I’d been in this house. I looked up at him and felt my heart wrench at the sadness etched across his face. Beneath the big, bad man I wondered what kept him up at night. What had happened in his life to pull that much despair to the surface? The knot of anger I held had started to unfurl.
