He glances at the cigarette in my hand and smells the air. “Clove?”
I nod.
“Makes sense.”
“Does it bother you?” I reach for the ashtray to put it out.
“No. I actually kind of like it. You sort of smell like Christmas.”
I laugh. My eyes fall to his pants. They’re the same ones he was wearing before and not the sweatpants I’d set on the counter for him. I lift an eyebrow.
“They were salvageable,” he mutters, clearly embarrassed. “Mostly.” I notice him tugging his sweater down a little in the front, and I am desperate to know what he’s hiding.
“Well, now I feel underdressed,” I tease. I changed into a pair of low-slung black sleep pants and left my shirt unbuttoned.
He shakes his head in amusement, but I don’t miss the way his eyes rake down my body. I stub out the clove in the ashtray, forcing my hand to steady, and bite my lip. “Hungry?”
Luc’s cheeks darken even more, and I’m pretty sure I hear the slightest intake of breath when I step forward. He doesn’t move an inch as I take the few steps to cross the balcony. My hand brushes over his waist as I pass him and walk into the suite.
Walking over to the small table set with our dinner, I wink and pull out a chair for Luc. He shakes his head, either amused with himself or with me, and takes a seat. I walk away for a moment to refresh our drinks, taking several breaths to calm my racing heart and libido. I nearly trip over my feet as I’m walking back to him, though. He’s so fucking gorgeous. The dark blue of hissweater makes his eyes look even deeper than I remember, and goddamn if it doesn’t fit him like it was made for him. It makes me want to rub myself against him like a cat.
I’ve already done that, so I set the drinks down and lift the silver domes from our plates. Steam curls up from perfectly seared salmon with lemon-herb sauce, roasted potatoes, and sauteed green beans with heirloom carrots.
Luc looks surprised, or maybe a little confused. I let out a little huff of laughter, realizing that he probably thinks I have some hidden server or had someone in here while he was in the bathroom. It’s been nearly forty-five minutes since he arrived, and the food is still hot.
I tap the hidden warming tray beneath the plates. “I wanted to be sure everything stayed warm enough in case you were delayed or I had to talk you into not running for the hills.”
“It looks amazing.” He grins and digs in hungrily, which makes me feel a little guilty for distracting him earlier, but not guilty enough to stop wishing we were still tangled up on the couch.
“The chefs here are amazing,” I tell him. “Very accommodating, too. I told them my guest is an athlete who prefers to eat clean, and they took it from there.”
His face blanches.
“Don’t worry,” I add quickly. “They don’t know who my guest is. No one saw you except the pilot and my bodyguards. And the hotel staff sign strict NDAs. You’re safe here.”
That seems to help, but there’s still a shadow in his expression.
“You still look worried,” I point out.
He sets down his utensils, wipes his mouth with a napkin, and takes a sip of sparkling water. I can’t stop staring at his mouth. The way his tongue darts out to catch the bead of moisture on his lip, the way his Adam’s apple shifts as he swallows.
“How do you live the way you do?” he asks. His voice isn’t judgmental. He sounds genuinely curious. “How do you deal with being constantly on display, with people hounding you for every personal detail?”
I go with honesty. “For the most part, we’re used to it. But sometimes… yeah, it’s hard. Especially when something personal gets leaked. People judge fast. Sometimes it’s warranted. Sometimes it isn’t.”
“Like how?”
I take a breath. “Like when I made a personal decision not to attend my dad’s funeral, and the media spread wild stories about me going on a drunken rampage.”
“That’s awful.”
I huff a sardonic laugh. “I didn’t even know the guy. The idea of mourning his death around a bunch of people I don’t know made me uncomfortable. Not to mention the circus it would have caused at the funeral itself. No one needed that.”
Luc’s brows are furrowed, but he nods with understanding. “That makes sense to me.”
Shrugging, I take a long sip of my drink. “To be fair, I did go and get shitfaced the day I found out about it. There might have been an incident with a bathroom mirror.” When I blink down at my hands, I can still see the blood on my knuckles.
“It’s not fair that you didn’t get the privacy you needed to process that. I can’t imagine if it had been like that when my mom passed away a couple of years ago. All I had to deal with was a little speculation over why I’d missed a game. If reporters and photographers had followed me home to her funeral, I would have been sick over it.” The pain in his eyes reflects that he loved his mother very much. I’m glad he was allowed to mourn her passing in peace.
