CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The regret comes in stages.
At first, Lachlan tells himself what’s done is done.
Let the chips fall where they may. He did the right thing, made Jules happy and himself too, if he’s being completely honest. He tells himself it was inevitable.
He convinces himself that loving Jules and showing it is a good thing considering the loveless cage he was raised in.
Over the next few weeks, as May creeps toward June, Jules doesn’t avoid Lachlan, but he doesn’t corner him either. They’re respectful, friendly, a little something electric between them whenever they catch one another staring.
Lachlan is even delusional enough in those first weeks to think that maybe this has improved things between them.
That’s how fucking stupid he really is.
Early June brings another heatwave. Searing, humid and hard to bear in parts of the house, so Mimi is outside more often than not, frequently enough that Lachlan assigns Danya to her personally whenever he can’t be eyes on.
They have control of the skies above. The Estate has several miles of no-fly airspace, but there’s no denying how much more exposed Mimi is outside than in, so Danya is always nearby whenever Lachlan is not.
Danya and Lachlan are becoming friends.
Lachlan can’t help but like the Russian.
He’s uniquely charismatic, bulletproof against insecurity and aside from Blaire, he’s becoming the person Lachlan would trust to take care of Jules and Mimi if something happened to him.
So when Danya brings Lachlan the newest piece of what will later become a very large problem, Lachlan takes it seriously instead of personally.
They speak brusque, rapid-fire Russian in the showers after sparring.
‘Your middleman,’ Danya tells him, means Carrigan, ‘is drifting.’
Lachlan frowns while washing himself. ‘How so?’
Danya considers his answers. ‘You are the moon and the moon holds sway, but your middleman does not answer to the moon.’
‘If not the moon, then what?’
‘Sun.’
Lachlan switches the subject, but at the end of the shower, he quietly tells Danya, ‘Make sure everyone has good sunglasses,’ and Danya drops a wink.
Lachlan likes that he understands right away.
The heat of a searing summer sets in.
?
The first crack of regret forms when Jules begs to go out for a night swim on a truly sweltering Friday. Danya offers to chaperone, but Lachlan goes instead, has Danya take over his rounds for an hour.
Jules strips off and dives into the deep, glorious freshwater pool while Lachlan watches, scanning around, checking in.
At first, it’s fine.
Jules swims, basking in relief from the heat but it’s not long before he rests his arms on the side of the pool at Lachlan’s feet and says, ‘Come in with me?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘It’s really good.’
‘I’m sure, but no thank you.’
‘Come on. You can take five minutes.’
‘No.’
Jules rolls his eyes, swims a little more.
He does a few laps underwater.
Then only underwater, starts coming up for air later and later.
Lachlan is well-versed in the boy’s bullshit, despite the pleasant lack of it lately, so when Jules stays under down by the deep end longer than he should, Lachlan considers the lack of any big bubbles and the fact that Jules seems to be keeping himself under by the ladder.
He also knows Jules can hold his breath for at least a minute.
So Lachlan is counting seconds.
When he gets to one-thirty-six, he pulls off his boots, still counting. When he reaches one-fifty-one, he removes his rig, jacket and shirt off.
He steps onto the edge.
At two minutes, he dives in.
The water is cool, not cold. He opens his eyes, blinking to adjust.
Lachlan reaches Jules quickly, pulls his seemingly lifeless body until they both break the surface. Jules remains unresponsive. There’s a moment where Lachlan is genuinely terrified that he actually drowned, got caught on the ladder, accidentally inhaled.
But only for a moment.
Because when he gets Jules against the side of the pool, Jules spits water at him, beaming. ‘Got ya!’ he crows, so smug Lachlan could slap him.
‘You little f—’
Jules crushes his lips against Lachlan’s, arms around his neck, trusting and expecting Lachlan to tread water for the both of them. Jules’ mouth is wet and he opens it right away this time, makes warm, sloppy kisses between them.
And for a split second, Lachlan so badly wants to give in that it wrenches his organs, viciously twists what’s soft inside.
He wants to kiss him back, steal time in the water, love him the way he knows Jules needs to be loved, no matter how fucked up it is in the cold light of day, because this isn’t the cold light of day, this is a lazy summer night under the moon in a heatwave and Lachlan loves him and Jules kisses him like he not only knows it, but loves him more.
Even so, the split second passes.
Lachlan pulls him off, holds him above water.
‘No.’ He wants to make a steel wall of the word that this boy cannot scale.
Jules doesn’t seem upset or surprised, cocking his head with a smug grin, as he lifts a wet hand to play with the bodyguard’s hair, wrapping himself around Lachlan with serpentine grace.
‘Like you don’t want me, Bodyguard,’ he whispers hotly, knowingly, hips rolling and revealing things Lachlan would rather were not revealed in blind discovery. ‘Like I won’t be your good boy when you finally snap and fuck me so hard I—’
Lachlan stops treading water, sinks them both.
It’s all he can do to shut him up.
But Jules doesn’t let go, even underwater.
He clings harder like a greedy little octopus.
He fully takes advantage of the fact that they’re now more hidden than before, kissing Lachlan again, his thigh slipping between Lachlan’s legs.
Kissing underwater is strange. Lachlan has to either kick up toward the surface or let them both drown, but there’s a brief, dangerous moment where he falters and kisses Jules back.
When he drags them to the surface, he tries to shove Jules away, but the boy is wrapped around him completely. Jules moans loudly against his mouth, wanton desire bleeding into the sound as he clumsily drags his tongue over Lachlan’s lips. ‘Want you to fuck me in the water,’ he whispers.
Lachlan’s regret spikes several notches. ‘Absolutely not. Let go.’
Jules laughs and, denied Lachlan’s mouth, settles for kissing whatever else he can reach instead.
Lachlan should say something cruel enough to end this.
Should compare Jules to his father. Should do something.
Anything. But there’s a terrible, hideous part of him that likes it far too much to stop immediately.
Some monstrous sliver of Lachlan Tanner basks in the wild attention of this boy he loves, in the blossoming feelings of desire.
That sliver swells and takes control when Lachlan gets him by the waist, holds him against the side of the pool, rough texture that grinds against skin, and then kisses him properly as if to say, this is how you do it, see?
And his mind goes quiet, and his soul knows peace, and the love he holds for this boy evolves stronger and stranger and worryingly out of control, until Lachlan tears himself away, breathless, instantly sick with shame that trickles down his spine.
Jules is a kid, a child, nineteen is nothing.
He climbs out, grabs his stuff and calls for Danya to take his place.
Lachlan hears Jules singing softly to the moon every step away.
?
It happens again.
Stolen kiss in the blind spot of the third-floor landing.
And again.
Up against the car when Lachlan collects him after two hours of borrowed freedom with nightclub music pulsing, tequila on Jules’ tongue, and the smell of another man’s cologne all over him.
And again.
In Jules’ bedroom, hands in Lachlan’s hair, panting harshly, the first time Lachlan picks him up under the thighs and holds him against the door, they could fuck like this, but they don’t.
And again.
CQC training in broad daylight when Jules pins Lachlan, absolutely anyone could see, he kisses him and whispers, ‘Say you love me,’ while grinding down and gasping to feel Lachlan’s arousal against his own, ‘love me till I feel it.’
It’s July, and it’s out of control.
Lachlan fully regrets the night he kissed him.
He shouldn’t have let it happen.
Outside this weird bubble of addictive shame, his life is so fucking beautiful and wholesome that Lachlan can hardly stand it.
He gets to push his princess on the swings and eat breakfast with her while they work on sign language, and she tells him about her dreams, and he always echoes back what she says to keep her talking because he could listen to her forever.
He and Blaire are a powerhouse team and close friends too. They work together so seamlessly, everything intuitive and natural. She takes care of him; he takes care of her and the sight of that necklace makes him warm inside.
He wishes to God he felt anything for her even remotely like what he’s starting to feel for Jules. To fall for Blaire Montbelliard would be a gift from the universe. He loves her so much, he’d die for her too, but it’s not… this.
This terrible, hungry thing growing inside him like a mountain with a mouth and a hunger only stars can satisfy. Each time it happens, Lachlan tells himself never again, he’ll stop Jules next time, be so firm, be mean about it, be cold, shut it down.
He tells himself that and he believes it.
And then it happens again and he lets it, welcomes it, closes his eyes later in bed and makes himself come replaying it in his head, knows he’s fucked.
It’s so wrong no matter how he reasons with himself.
It’s especially wrong because he’s Julian’s bodyguard.
He’s there to protect him.
Jules is Lachlan’s height now and it’s still only kissing, as if that makes any difference, but it would take nothing for it to become more.
It would happen seamlessly, he knows.
Kissing, touching, pants down, hand over Jules’ mouth, it’d be less than a minute and then Lachlan would be ruined.