And the isolation wasn’t even our biggest problem. Sooner or later, the Council would look for me. The elders would wonder why I hadn’t found the rogue. They’d question why I hadn’t checked in—and they’d dig until they got an answer.
Everything would change if Caleb developed a gift. Rogue or not, he’d have standing. Magic would take him from liability to asset.
But I couldn’t make one appear. And I’d die before I let him feel like a failure. He didn’t need additional pressure. No, what Caleb Lawson needed was the thing he’d been denied.
He needed to be loved.
So I loved him. I showed it in every way I could think of. Feeding and training him. Thrashing him at Madden. Pretending not to notice when he cheated at cards, then tying him to my bed and taking my revenge until we were both wrecked and sated.
On the first day of our fifth week in France, I pulled two bicycles from the coach house and packed a picnic lunch.
He appeared in the courtyard at a quarter to eleven, squinting in the late December sunlight with his hair still damp from the shower and his feet thrust into a pair of my running shoes.
“There you are,” he said, a disgruntled look on his face. “I didn’t see any breakfast, and I wondered—” He stopped, his gaze locking onto the bicycles standing side by side. He wore one of my flannel shirts and a pair of dark lounge pants with cuffs that showed his ankles. Seeing him in my clothes did all sorts of inconvenient things to my dick.
“I thought we could do something different today,” I said.
He frowned at the bicycles. “Something different besides eating breakfast?”
I gestured to the rugged tote I’d strapped to the back of my bike. “I packed brunch.”
“A picnic?” He walked a slow circle around the bicycles, rubbing a palm over his mouth.
“This nice weather isn’t going to last,” I said. “People fly from all over the world to cycle across the French countryside.”
He stopped circling and looked at me. “This might be the gayest thing I’ve ever done.”
I folded my arms. “I’m pretty sure deep throating my dick is the gayest thing you’ve ever done.”
One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Did you read that dad joke on the internet?”
Laughter bubbled in my throat. “I’m not as well-versed in internet culture as you, but I haven’t seen many dad jokes about deep throating.”
Caleb grinned. Then he stretched his arms over his head. His shirt rode up, exposing his taut abs and the waistband of the boxer briefs I’d laundered after he left them on the bathroom floor.
“True,” he said, voice lazy. “I guess deep throating is more of a daddy joke.” He deepened the stretch, revealing more golden skin. “My favorite kind of daddy.”
A snort broke from me before I could stop it. I headed for the door, pausing long enough to pinch his ass. “Get on the bike, college boy. I’ll grab us some jackets.”
Ten minutes later, we pedaled down the narrow road that carved a path between the hills. Gravel crunched under our tires. The sun glinted off our handlebars and chased the worst of the chill from the air.
Caleb cast me a curious look. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” I said.
“That’s an ominous answer for a man who’s already kidnapped me twice.”
I gave him a look. “Is this as fast as you can go?”
The mischief fled his eyes, replaced with the competitive glint I knew all too well. He straightened in his seat and glanced at the road.
“Try to keep up, Grandpa,” he said, pumping his legs and shooting ahead.
Laughing, I gave chase. And I let him lead because the view was far more spectacular than the countryside. His shouldersbunched under my shirt. Wind ruffled his hair, which was the color of wheat in the sun. The tight, round globes of his ass shifted against the bicycle seat.
“You coming, old man?” he called over his shoulder.
As soon as I can arrange it.
