Page 22 of Perfectly Leashed
Carefully turning his head, he found Luca’s face inches away, dark lashes resting against olive skin, lips slightly parted, and stubble shadowing his jaw. Even asleep, the guy looked stupidly handsome.
But what made Darcy’s stomach drop was the fact he was sprawled across the guy’s injured shoulder like a human blanket.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.” He scrambled from the bed, nearly face-planting on the hardwood floor. His hands flew over his body, checking frantically. Jeans, check. T-shirt, check. Socks, mysteriously missing but whatever.
Relief flooded through him until he glanced back at Luca’s bare chest. Jesus. All that golden skin stretched over lean muscle, the kind of definition that came from actual work instead of a gym. A thin line of dark hair disappeared beneath the waistband of gray sweats riding low on his hips.
Stop staring, you pervert.
Ripping his gaze away before he did something stupid, like drool, Darcy dug his phone from his back pocket. The screen showed 6:47 AM.
“Crap.” He had thirty minutes to get across town and collect four dogs who would probably drag him through three neighborhoods before noon.
Next to him, the bed creaked. Luca turned over, patting the empty space where Darcy had been sleeping. Those gray eyes opened and locked on him immediately.
“Where are you going?” His voice held a rough edge, the kind that promised dark things in the dead of night and left you aching for every one of them.
Darcy had never heard anything sexier in his life.
“Dogs. Walk.” He cleared his throat, hoping that snapped him out of his daze. He grabbed his shoes from beside the bed, hopping on one foot as he tried to pull one on. “I’m already running behind.”
As hard as Darcy tried to calculate how long it would take to get to Princess Consuela’s house from Sin’s, his brain was too groggy this morning.
“I’ll come with you.” Luca swung his legs over the side of the bed without so much as a wince.
“Are you insane? You got shot yesterday. You should be resting, not walking dogs with the guy who apparently used your injured shoulder as a drool pad all night.” Darcy paused in his shoe-tying. “Sorry about that, by the way. I don’t usually…I mean, I’ve never woken up in someone else’s bed before.”
“Nothing happened, lucerito. I don’t take advantage of drunken men.” Luca was moving with that same easy confidence he’d shown with the dogs. No grimacing, no favoring his wounded side. Just smooth, controlled motion that made Darcy question whether the shooting had actually happened. “And you didn’t hurt my shoulder.”
“You’re not coming with me.” Darcy gestured vaguely at Luca’s torso while trying to ignore how the movement made those abs shift. “You’re injured and...”
“What?”
“Lacking a shirt,” he finished weakly.
With a smirk, Luca made his pecs bounce, chuckling when Darcy squeaked. He had a feeling he was completely hopeless when it came to dog whisperer.
Chapter Six
Luca’s shoulder felt remarkably better this morning. Shifter DNA had already started knitting muscle back together overnight. There would still be a scar, but he’d collected enough of those over the years that one more wouldn’t matter.
Stretching carefully, he tested the range of motion and found only a dull ache where agony had been the night before.
“Ready?” He grabbed his leather jacket from the chair.
Outside Sin & Steel, he watched Darcy circle his Harley like it might sprout teeth and attack. Chrome gleamed in the morning sun, the blood-red paint job catching light like liquid fire. Beautiful machine, but clearly not what his lucerito had expected.
Darcy’s mouth fell open slightly before snapping shut again. “Don’t you have a truck or car we can use?” The question came out strained, like he was trying very hard to sound casual. “Or maybe a bicycle?”
“My truck’s still on Hawk’s Ridge with a flat tire.” Luca swung his leg over the seat, settling into the familiar leather. He needed to make the call to have it towed to the tire shop the next town over. There were too many valuable tools stored in his rig that would cost a mint to replace. “Besides, we’re already running late, and you still need to grab your leashes. This is the only way we’ll make it in time.”
“Right, the leashes.” He rubbed his neck, eyes darting between Luca and the motorcycle. “So this is happening. Me, on that death trap, going fast enough to qualify as vehicular suicide.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Not that bad?” Darcy’s hands flew up. “I could get decapitated by a low-hanging branch. Maybe spontaneously combust from friction burns. Do bikes explode? They probably explode.” His voice pitched higher with each scenario. “Collision with a semi-truck, obviously. Getting my shoelaces caught in the spokes and losing a foot. Attacked by angry geese—”
“Angry geese?” Luca bit back a grin.
