Luke all but mewled, leaning into Roman’s touch, loving it and hating it. Why did this man affect him so easily? His proximity, his voice, his scent, his words.
Roman kissed behind his ear. Goosebumps broke out on Luke’s skin. He whined, needing—needing this, needing to be touched, held and reassured.
“Shh. How about you get in my lap, love? You’ll feel better.”
Luke should have laughed in his face. Did Roman really think he didn’t know how fake all these gentle touches and soft-spoken words were? Roman was just using his moment of weakness.
But he didn’t laugh. He didn’t resist when Roman pulled him on his lap. He buried his face against the top of Roman’s chest, where his shirt was unbuttoned, the faintest tufts of chest hair tickling his nose, and breathed in and out, losing himself in the scent of a man, a healthy, fit man in his prime. A strong hand stroked his back, pulling him closer to the wide chest. It felt so good, despite the warning bells ringing in the back of his mind.
Little by little, Luke’s shaking subsided, his breathing evened out, clearing the fog surrounding his thoughts, and he started feeling self-conscious and embarrassed by his clingy mini-breakdown. God, it had been years since he’d had an anxiety attack. He had thought he had outgrown them for good. Apparently not.
Luke pressed his cheek against Roman’s chest. “Now what?” he said.
“Now you will tell me what kind of person Luke Whitford really is. Not the one you try to be. The real one.”
His brows furrowing, Luke snorted. “So you can use it against me?”
“I have nothing against you, Curly,” Roman said, tugging on a curl. “I have a problem with your father. He will pay for what he did. Not you.”
“Then why am I here?” Luke said skeptically.
Roman took a moment to answer.
“Yes, I’m going to use you to achieve my goals,” he said. “But I can give you my word that once this is over, you’ll be back home, safe and unharmed.”
A criminal’s word should have meant very little. But Luke had a feeling Roman wasn’t one to give his word lightly. It helped that Roman wasn’t even bothering to deny that he was going to use him against his father.
“Why do you think I don’t care about what happens to my father?”
“Do you?” Roman said.
Did he?
Luke thought about it—thought about the cold, distant man who had been mostly absent for most of his childhood.
“I don’t hate him,” Luke said. “I just don’t know him. He’s basically a stranger to me. So if you’re hoping to get some dirt on him from me, don’t waste your time.” Luke laughed a little. “You probably know him better than I do.” He smiled to himself, remembering all his failed attempts to get to know his father. “You asked who the real Luke Whitford is,” he said quietly. “The thing is, I’m not sure. I’m a people-pleaser. I try to fit in every room I enter. In hindsight, maybe I did try to please my mother and be something she wanted, the same way I later tried to please my father and be the tough, manly heir he wanted—I don’t know. I guess I’ve always just wanted to be enough.” But never was. I wish I could find someone who would love me the way I am and wouldn’t want to change me.
He didn’t say it. Because the man he was talking to wasn’t his friend, no matter how easy and good it felt to talk to him. The fact that he was sitting on Roman Demidov’s lap, telling him his most intimate thoughts and letting the man pet his hair, was weird enough. He shouldn’t—couldn’t—trust this man. He shouldn’t take comfort from Roman’s hands or words, or the steady beat of his heart against Luke’s ear.
“I don’t know why I told you all of this,” Luke said with a small laugh. “I don’t know what I’m doing in your lap. Please do something evil soon. It’s freaking me out how nice this feels.”
Roman chuckled. “Maybe that’s my evil plan,” he said.
For all Luke knew, it could be.
It was a relief when Roman’s phone went off. Reaching out, Roman pulled it out of his discarded jacket and answered, “Demidov.” His voice was noticeably colder. Luke wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“Horosho. Ya budu tam skoro,” Roman said and hung up. He lifted Luke off his lap and put him back on the bed, as if he weighed nothing. “I have to go.”
“Evil deeds to do, people to kidnap?” Luke said with a crooked smile.
“Something like that,” Roman said, looking at his smile for a moment before leaning down and biting his cheek, teeth sinking into the flesh.
Luke yelped, more from surprise than any real pain.
“Um,” he said, touching his cheek and trying to read Roman as the Russian stood up and slipped into his jacket. One glance at Roman’s crotch confirmed that Roman was half-hard. Luke looked up to find Roman watching him with an inscrutable expression.