Page 25 of Dukes of Peril

Nick is right, no one in this town hates Lionel Lucia as much as I do, and with DKS supporting me, I’m going to be the one that kills him.

Sy said seven o’clock.

This is why I’m sitting on the bottom step of the staircase leading to the loft, stuffing my feet into boots, wondering why the hell Nick is still in the shower.

“Why is Nick still in the shower?” I ask Archie, who is determined to chase the laces on my shoes. “Ow!” I snatch my hand back from his claws, glaring playfully. “You’re a menace, just like the rest of them.”

His big eyes look up at me. “Mew.”

I tighten the knot and pick Archie up, pressing my nose to his head. “I know. You’re not a menace, you’re the sweetest baby I’ve ever met.” I kind of regret having to leave him again so soon. We only just got home this morning, and most of that was spent wrangling the DKS boys, trying to feed the DKS boys, and then cleaning up after the DKS boys. Point being, much of today has been about the DKS boys, and after a lengthy late-afternoon nap, I’m ready for much needed downtime and the illusion of normalcy, however flimsy it may be.

The Archduke squirms out of my arms and darts off, disappearing into Nick’s bedroom.

“Hey,” I say, leaning into Remy’s dark, hushed room. The door is open, but he’s just lying on the bed, shirtless, exposing the dark lines of art inked across his shoulders, curled up in a ball. “Sy says we’re leaving at seven. Do you want to–” He’s asleep, I realize, a pillow clutched to his chest.

I’m prepared to wake him up, though. He finally stopped vomiting, and I’m pretty sure he needs food. From across the living room, Sy’s door opens. Still trying to decide if I should wake Remy up, I explain, “Well, Remy’s asleep, Nick’s in the shower, and I’m fucking starving, but I guess we can wait—"

I turn and the sensation in my gut is somewhere between a sucker punch and a burst of butterflies fighting to escape.

Sy is in a suit.

And not just a suit, but anicesuit. It’s dark blue, with a crisp white shirt that highlights his warm brown skin, and a skinny black tie. His curly hair has been wrangled into control, the top half tied at the back.

“Jesus,” I mutter, resting my hand on the doorjamb for support. Either all the sex I’ve been having with Nick is fucking with my hormones, or Simon Perilini is seriously revving my motor. I live in a house with three incredibly attractive men, and at least two of them are athletes who treat their bodies like temples. I’m accustomed to their muscles and sexy bodies, but they’re usually clad in workout clothes or, at best, ratty jeans.

This?

This is too much.

“You look…” I gape at him, trying to think of a word that doesn’t drip with subtext. “Nice. Really nice.” He adjusts his tie, blue eyes fixed to mine, and I struggle to find my bearings. I look down at my basic sweater and basic jeans and basic scuffed boots. “I didn’t know we were having a formal dinner. I just thought–I mean, I can change if you think…” My words cut off when I look downward.

He’s holding flowers.

The bouquet is being clutched at his side, half hidden behind him, as if he were about to tuck it away like a gun. The flowers are light blue, but in different types. Hydrangea, bluebells, periwinkle. The soft femininity of the colors contrasts with the striking masculinity of the dark blue he’s wearing, and for a moment it stuns me speechless.

“You don’t need to change,” he says, awkwardly shifting his weight. “You look fine. Good. Great.” Clearing his throat, he explains, “I guess I didn’t tell you we were going to Stock and Barrel. That’s, uh, on me.”

Stock and Barrel is an upscale place on the water. My father took me and Leticia there once, for Leticia’s sixteenth birthday. It’s not a place to go hang, it’s a place to go on a—

“This was going to be a date,” I realize, the color draining from my face.

Now, it’s Sy’s turn to be speechless. He’s frozen with his hand still halfway into his tie, blue eyes caught on mine. “Was that not obvious?”

“No,” I blurt, and then, “I mean, maybe. I just assumed when you asked, that you meant, well, all of us. As a group.”

Sy looks around the room shiftily, brows crouched low. “It doesn’t… have to be,” he mutters, moving to stiffly place the flowers on the end table.

Last night, when he’d asked me, things had just been so fuzzy. Nick’s cum was hot inside of me, and I was still in a weird fog from the whole… running for my life…thing. It never would have occurred to me that Sy might want to take me on a date.

Frozen, I begin to panic, because I have no idea if that’s something I’d want to do. Being the Duchess–being their Duchess–has only meant a few things. Weird, spontaneous, and overly intense orgasms, life-threatening situations, and hurt.

A lot of hurt.

More than a little of it at the hands, and cock, of the man in front of me.

But the more I think about the hurt, the more I remember why it cut so deeply. Sy was my safe harbor for so long. Comfort when I needed to heal, instigation when I needed to fight. He rescued me once, pulled me from the darkness and into his warmth. I’ve seen the sort of man Sy can be, the good and the bad, and weighing them up against one another, I have my answer.

“Let me change into something a little less comfortable.”

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