Darius snorted. “Because making sense has been such a priority in your relationships.”
“Shut up,” Kit mumbled, wrapping around Darius’s arm like a clinging monkey. “You know what really doesn’t make sense? Why does James live so far out of town?”
Darius, meanwhile, had spent his entire adult life doing the sensible thing. Don’t get too attached. He had emergency plansto protect his sister and parents if necessary, but every new connection was a new risk. No precautions in the world could guarantee Darius wouldn’t bring trouble home with him after a job. Assuming any potential partners could accept the blood on Darius’s hands in the first place.
Except Kit was already trouble.
Darius slid his hand over Kit’s thigh. Patches of denim and warm bare skin alternated beneath his palm. “You don’t like being so far away from your murderous blond schoolboy?”
Kit squirmed under his touch. “I’m not just into blonds.”
“What a relief. I look terrible in wigs.” Damn Miranda dragging him into cosplay. Better change the subject before Kit asked questions—Darius would admit to murder before he admitted that. “Let’s talk about real estate after Blondie’s off probation.”
A sensible excuse. If Kit recognized it was dodging the question, he had the grace to let Darius get away with it.
Maybe Kit was just preoccupied too. Still clinging to Darius’s arm, he sighed. “Am I doing the right thing? Can this even work?”
Darius twisted half around. The hallway was empty. He pressed his lips against the top of Kit’s head, a quiet promise of a kiss.
“I don’t believe in fate or higher powers,” Darius said quietly. “But I believe in patterns. Momentum. Acceleration. People who are missing something will be drawn to what they need. You’re something special, Trouble. As soon as you landed in San Corvo, it was inevitable that the four of us would be drawn to your side.”
“Special isn’t always a good thing,” Kit murmured.
“I’ve never been too concerned with good.”
Kit’s light form had never felt so solid against him. “Four, huh.”
Darius’s laugh rumbled through them both. “Yeah, he’s a stubborn bastard.”
“You’re all stubborn bastards.” Kit disentangled himself only to slide into Darius’s lap. He toyed with the wings of Darius’s collar. “Good thing I am too.”
Kit leaned in, and Darius would have been perfectly content to kiss him breathless in the silence. But an indignant voice rang down the hallway—
“I’m responsibly securing our prisoner, and you’re making out on the couch like teenagers?”
And somehow, that made the kiss even better.
Heat poured down Kit’s back at the sound of James’s voice. “To be fair,” Kit gasped as Darius’s soft lips tickled beneath his jaw, “Iama teenager.”
“And we’re very bad men.” James leaned over Darius’s shoulder and the back of the couch. His thumb brushed Kit’s kiss-tender lips. The touch held Kit in place just as firmly as Darius’s grip on his ass, and lingered as James tore his hungry gaze away. “On second thought, keep going.”
“Wasn’t waiting on your permission,” Darius murmured into Kit’s throat, each word a delicious, teasing rumble.
Kit’s hips jerked with the sensation—and James backed away enough that Kit could meet Holden’s eyes across the living room.
Holden leaned against the doorway. The predatory watchfulness was new, but not surprising. He wasn’t pretending to be normal anymore. He wasn’t uncontrolled and desperateeither. Just watching, intent, as Darius slowly eased Kit’s shirt up and over his head.
Covered in nothing but callused, wandering hands from the waist up, Kit felt exposed. Seen. Absolutely filthy. He was going to leak through his skinny jeans if he kept them on for too much longer.
“Doesn’t he look pretty in Darius’s lap?” James asked Holden. Not quite casually.
A small smile warmed Holden’s face. Just for Kit, like the other two didn’t exist. “Kit’s always pretty.”
“You’re right about that much.” James’s grin widened. “Shame about that ‘look but don’t touch’ rule, huh.”
“Oh, so I’m allowed to look?” Holden asked, as Kit arched up against Darius.
Fuck, those huge hands felt so good palming his ass. Even better with every sensation intensified by the men watching from across the room.
