Page 316 of Eight of Swords, Part One

Lachlan groans, ‘You’re such a brat, oh my God, Jules. This is insane, do you realise how crazy that sounds? Do you only want me to love you for that?’

‘What else do I have? I’m not like you or Roman. I don’t have a talent. I’m not tough. I’m not brave. I know I’m beautiful, but you don’t care about that.’

‘OK, first of all, I definitely do care and if you think I’m unaffected by how fucking gorgeous you are, then you’re just wilfully ignorant.’

Jules huffs, unconvinced, but silent.

‘Secondly, Roman isn’t like me. He’s not a trained killer. We have nothing in common and, despite his bravery that night, it was stupid of him to leave the others and help us. He could have easily been killed. And thirdly, no talent?’ Lachlan echoes with scathing disbelief. ‘No talent? You’ve got past me more times than I can count. You defy expectation at every turn. Look at me.’ He puts every ounce of sharp emphasis he has behind his next words, needing them to land. ‘You are exceptional.’

Lachlan waits until a tiny smile breaks over Jules like a wave no longer resisting the moon, can’t hold out for long, and then he leans in, untypically reckless, to steal a kiss under cover of darkness.

Jules gasps, surprised. ‘Lachlan.’

‘I love you when I shouldn’t,’ he intones. ‘I love you despite trying my best not to. You’ve changed my perception of love, you and Mimi. Different ways. You, love of my fucking life, have nothing to be jealous of. Nothing. OK?’

Jules frowns. It’s cute because he’s drunk. ‘What about Danya?’

Lachlan sighs. ‘Fucking hell, kid.’

‘Not a kid, don’t call me—’

‘Then stop acting like one. If you want a real comparison, then sure. Danya is like me, that’s a fact, but I’m not in love with Danya Yashin, or anyone but you, so please do me a huge favour and believe that my heart of stone has been well and truly melted into magma by you and your sister only, OK? Please.’

‘It’s hard for me to believe that you love me.’

‘I’ll prove it every day. Just maybe let’s drop the sulking down to a nice healthy eighty-five percent.’

Jules smiles again, definitely against his will. ‘Shut up.’

‘Can only think of one way you could shut me up.’

Alistair is coming out again, so Lachlan stands up again, but not before he drops a secret kiss to Jules’ shoulder and whispers that he loves him.

The old man is stripping off as he walks, trailing clothes.

‘Bedtime, Julian,’ he says for the first time ever.

Jules looks surprised but is clearly relieved to go. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Sleep well, both of you.’ Alistair walks naked into the dark seas. Lachlan escorts Jules into the mansion. It’s exceedingly quiet inside.

The glass makes for a highly effective form of insulation. Lachlan can’t hear anything from outside. With each step up, Lachlan starts to feel increasingly tired, dizzy, disconnected from the world.

Jules’ room is cool and pleasantly dark. The boy collapses heavily onto his bed, doesn’t even shower first. It’ll be full of sand in the morning. ‘Stay?’ he requests on the back of a sleepy breath. ‘Please?’ Lachlan pulls over a chair, but Jules makes a sound of whiny disapproval. ‘For cuddles.’

Lachlan has no reason to say no.

‘Mmkay,’ he says, pulling off his jacket and kicking off his boots but everything else stays on. The room is spinning slightly. His head is fuzzy. Five minutes of rest will be good, maybe even half an hour. ‘Cuddle delivery,’ he tells the boy who crawls into his arms, head on Lachlan’s chest.

‘Love you so much, Bodyguard. Makes me crazy. I’m sorry.’

‘Never need to be sorry with me,’ Lachlan whispers, kissing his hair.

A dead sleep claims him the moment his eyes fall shut.

He doesn’t even hear the storm.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR