Page 89 of Lucas
Oblivious to my inner turmoil, Lucas waves me toward the house. “Meet you back here in ten. I’ll go grab us some gear.”
I go and change into workout clothes, my mind awhirl as I tug on form-fitting black leggings and a stretchy tank.
By the time I return to the pool, Lucas is hauling a large duffle out of the shed. He stumbles when he catches sight of me, his gaze raking over my figure with blatant appreciation.
I cross my arms over my chest, fighting the urge to tug up my neckline.
Lucas smiles. “Relax. You’re going to do great.”
I trail after him as he leads me to a small outbuilding I’ve never noticed before. He opens the door and reveals what looks like a miniature bike shop, complete with gleaming top-of-the-line mountain and road bikes of all styles.
“Why do you have so many?” I tilt my head.
He shrugs. “Some for spares in case oneneeds repair. Some are for the road, some for trails. Plus, Liam sometimes comes over and rides with me.”
I nod, trying not to let a flare of hurt show on my face. In the weeks since our agreement, I’ve had no contact with his family beyond polite chitchat at the wedding rehearsal. I know Liam’s come to the house a few times since then, but Lucas never invites me to say hello.
It seems the Valeurs prefer to pretend their new daughter-in-law doesn’t exist. I may bear the family name now, but they’ve made it crystal clear that, in their eyes, I don’t belong. I don’t belong anywhere.
Maybe I never will.
“Earth to Ava.” Lucas waves a hand in front of my face, startling me from my melancholy musings. “You with me?”
“Sorry.” Shaking off the fog, I refocus on his face. “What were you saying?”
“I was just explaining the different bike types and features, but I guess it wasn’t riveting stuff since you zoned out.” He flashes me a crooked grin. “First things first—safety gear.”
Crouching down, he unzips his mystery duffle and starts pulling out various pads and straps. “You’ll want to wear these. I had some smaller sizes lying around from God knows where.”
My breath hitches as he kneels before me, long fingers skating over the bare skin of my calf as he secures a protective pad in place. Even that light, impersonal touch sends my nerve endings haywire.
“This might be overkill for a quick spin around the grounds, but better safe than sorry.” His warm breath washesover my thigh as he adjusts another strap. “I’m not taking any chances with you.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. The sight of my imposing, strong-willed husband crouched at my feet, so careful and protective of me, has unsettling flutters taking wing in my belly.
In short order, I’m trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey in kneepads and elbow pads.
“And, of course, a helmet.” He collects a sleek white helmet from a hook and holds it out, sizing me up. “I think you’ll need the small.”
My cheeks flame as he steps close, fitting the helmet over my ponytail. His knuckles skim the hinge of my jaw as he fiddles with the chin strap, his woodsy, male scent filling my nostrils.
“There. All set.” He takes a step back, arms crossed over his broad chest as he surveys me. “How does everything feel? Not too tight?”
“I feel like an overstuffed sausage, but I’ll live.” I wrinkle my nose, sticking out one massively padded leg. “This isn’t exactly flattering, though. Even my worn old sweats are more attractive.”
Something hot and assessing flares in his vivid blue eyes as they make a slow sweep down my body. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he murmurs, his tone sending a shiver down my spine. “There’s nothing wrong with the view from where I’m standing.”
I swallow hard, my mouth desert-dry. What is he doing? It’s unnerving. And thrilling.
Part of me wants to bask in this new, fizzy feelingunfurling in my chest. To flirt back and see how far I can push him.
But the other part, the dominant part hardened by a lifetime of conditional love and abandonment, shies away from his intimate tone and heated looks. I take a step back, needing distance.
“Well, I feel ridiculous,” I mutter, avoiding his penetrating stare as I fiddle with the strap of my helmet. “Let’s just get this over with before I change my mind.”
Thankfully, he allows the charged moment to pass without comment, handing me a lightweight silver mountain bike with a smile. “Your chariot awaits. Let’s take her for a spin, hmm?”
The next hour passes in a blur of fumbling, false starts, and no small amount of frustration as I struggle to master the simple task of pedaling in a straight line without wobbling.
