CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE #2
‘I seemed what, Bodyguard?’ Jules asks, indulgent and patient. Being here agrees with him. The ocean air brings out the best in him, Lachlan thinks. ‘He was reminding me to spend time with Savannah at the beach party tonight.’
Lachlan doesn’t like that at all.
‘Did he give you a specific agenda?’
Jules glances around to make sure they’re alone. ‘Just photographs and spending time. It’s her actual birthday tomorrow so this party is just the warmup.’
‘Heard.’
‘Heard? Bodyguard, you need to unwind.’
Lachlan rolls his eyes. ‘The fuck is unwinding?’
Jules pours blended ice into a glass, drizzles lime and alcohol over it.
‘Let me give you a massage.’
‘No.’
‘Have you ever had one?’
‘No.’
‘Are you open to a new experience?’
‘No.’
‘Are you stuck on a loop?’
‘Very funny.’
‘OK well I’m gonna take a nap, so you’d better come stand outside my room and keep me safe, hmm?’ he sighs loftily, taking his drink with him and heading up the floating staircase (idiotic design). Lachlan follows, of course.
He’s Jules Penhalyx’s shadow.
Full shadow capacity.
It’s quite literally his job.
It’s definitely his job to go inside, scope around, sternly check that those balcony doors are locked tight. It’s his job to do that.
Less so is it his job to close the door behind him while Jules pushes his jacket off his shoulders, kissing his neck.
It’s not really his job to let Jules unbutton his shirt and put his palm over his heart while they kiss, quiet and desperate.
And he’s definitely not being paid to lightly push Jules on the bed he so strategically moved into the corner, pull down those swim shorts and suck his soul out through his cock, to keep Jules’ come in his mouth and then share it with kisses when ordered, whispered, everything quiet, all time stolen, it’s not his job, but God damn if it isn’t his reason for being when Jules gets on top and Lachlan keeps a loose hand over his mouth, and they only have a few minutes but Lachlan is Mr Five Seconds Flat so it’s not really a problem, and he fucks Jules from the bottom and Jules’ come spatters lightly over his chest and Lachlan fills the condom, kissing, kissing, kissing so much he’s dizzy and telling Jules how much he loves him, all the things he’d do to keep him safe and it makes Jules moan in a low, dangerous way, makes him beg to hear more things just like that as he rocks back and forth on Lachlan’s still hard cock, both hands planted over his heart, like it’s his to protect in turn.
Full shadow capacity has a little wiggle room for interpretation, after all.
?
The party on that first night stresses Lachlan the fuck out.
It’s a new level of adjustment, having to stand there and watch everyone get drunk on a beach so open it’s practically begging someone to take a shot.
The staff construct a massive fire, they set up music, a fully functioning bar as well as a gorgeous sailcloth pavilion.
A private chef station, staff in neutral linen, barefoot-friendly teak decking rolled out over sand and lounge islands instead of chairs; the adults treat it like camping.
Like they’re living wild off the land when in fact the sand was combed for hours first.
They’re so blind to the danger they put themselves in and it makes children of them in this way.
Hopelessly optimistic and trusting, spoiled overgrown brats unable to accept any refusal or adjustment of their fun.
Lachlan keeps his bitter opinions inside, but he’s not friendly with anyone, too focused on watching the water.
He wishes Danya was here, although he’d never ask for it because he wants his best with his little girl and just the thought of her makes Lachlan’s heart ache.
He hopes she’s OK and that Blaire and Vasily are making a fuss of her, knows they are.
Lachlan touches his tattoo whenever he thinks of her.
A photographer showed up around four hours before the party started.
Lachlan hasn’t vetted him. This isn’t his set up. The guy could be anyone.
The photographer comes with a big bag full of equipment that Lachlan wasn’t allowed to search, despite asking twice. Lachlan knows he’s rapidly pissing Kessler off, but he simply does not care.
Lachlan isn’t here to make friends.
On the beach, Lachlan tries to keep his gaze angled away from the fire to avoid becoming night-blind but it’s a losing battle, Jules is sat right by it, and he needs eyes on every thirty seconds at least. The photographer, a man named Elias Wake, lurks nearby, capturing what he called moments.
Lachlan watches him with unearned dislike.
In total, there are ten people on the island. Jules, Savannah, Roman, Mikhail Sorrenko, Alistair Penhalyx, Ariadne Alderwyck, Richard Vale, Thomas Whitlock and the Delacroix twins; Prescott and Madeline.
The twins are new people Lachlan’s not met before and after being in their presence for less than a minute, he hopes he never has to see them again.