Chapter 10

Elena loved pretty much every part of that wedding, from beginning to end—the happiness, the family, Jess’s dress, the way Damien fought so hard not to become completely overwhelmed in public, the dancing, the fellowship. But maybe her absolute favorite moment of the second day was when Damien gave a speech.

It was a simple one. “I want to thank you all for coming. It means a lot to Jess and me that you would celebrate with us. People came from all over. Quebec.”

Clapping at the table that held the family from Quebec.

“Argentina.”

A cheer for Damien’s uncle, Raoul’s father, over there getting a fresh glass of champagne for the toast.

“New York.”

A group of Jess’s friends all cheered together.

“But one person came from farther than most. So far away that we were afraid he couldn’t come. I want to thank Lucien Rosier, my cousin, home from the Legion.” He turned and looked straight at Lucien, caught with his arms folded near the great tent door.

So tough-looking, so out of place still, even today when everyone else was in casual clothes, too. It was that air of hardness, of a long time fighting and the war not over yet. He didn’t move when Damien drew attention to him, his expression carefully controlled, but Elena saw his biceps swell with his effort to handle it all. She might be a little over-focused on his biceps.

Damien lifted his champagne glass. “We’re glad to have you back,” he said simply.

Elena erupted into cheers, leading her table, the whole room joining in, until she had to hug herself because she really didn’t know Damien well enough to hug him.

No one here was her actual family. A familiar situation, so she didn’t dwell on it, just gazed happily at Lucien, as he tried so hard to handle guilt and love and hope. The Rosiers are awesome, she thought. I’ve got things started now. He’ll be all right.

It was late in the afternoon, the sun casting the shadows of one set of hills on the other across the valley, when she realized almost all but the closest of family was slowly dispersing back to their daily lives and it was time for her to go, too. She said good-byes and congratulations again, gathered her things, stopped by the bathroom, and headed out to her car.

And found Lucien leaning against the leather seat of his motorcycle beside it, waiting for her.

She stopped still a meter or so in front of him. His folded arms as he waited made his biceps swell even bigger, and he looked tough and hard and…patient. She wanted to sneak her fingers up under the edge of his sleeve and trace that tattoo that peeked out. See if it was just a rose or if it had someone’s name above it, too.

The name of the last woman who had been convinced he was steady and strong and the kind of guy she could count on forever.

“Come for a ride with me?” he said.

Oh, not again. “You know, you’ve been doing very well,” she said encouragingly. “Your family is so happy to see you. You don’t need to keep escaping.”

He studied her with that faint air of exasperation. “Might want to go for a ride with you, though. Have you looked at yourself in a mirror, ever?”

She frowned at him. “Men are so shallow.”

Lucien eyed her a moment. And then yawned and stretched hugely, reaching his arms high overhead so that his T-shirt pulled up to reveal ridged abs, then locking his hands behind his head and flexing his arms back, so that his biceps curved hard and his T-shirt stretched against his pecs. Slowly, he relaxed back against the bike, letting his hands fall to hook his thumbs in his jeans.

Elena snapped her jaw closed, over a surge of so much hunger it was embarrassing.

“I’m glad you’re so profound,” Lucien said.

She narrowed mean eyes at him.

“I like that in a woman, when she looks past the surface to see if, deep down, our souls match.”

“Oh, shut up.”

He smiled at her and held out a hand, fingers curled invitingly. “Come for a ride?”

“Why can’t you just stay with your family?” She flung out her hands, beyond exasperated.

“I need a break.”

Yeah, she could understand that. Kind of. She’d never really had a family welcome her home with delight, but if she had, it would have felt so wonderful that…maybe she would have sat down on the gravel and cried.

She bent her head and slid a sullen glance up at him. “And I’m easy?”

“No, you’re a pain in the ass.” He said it like a caress. “But yes. You make me feel”—he hesitated and used a military term—“at ease.”

She beetled her brows at him for a moment. “Fine.” She held up a hand. “But only because I’m perforated with compassion.”

“And I’m taking advantage of it,” he muttered. “Right. This is worse than holding a puppy hostage.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He handed her a black-and-flame helmet. “From my dirt bike days as a kid. It was still in the old barn.”

“Does it have spiders in it?” She inspected it, but the inside looked completely free of even dust.

Lucien tweaked a lock of her hair. “No, bella. I checked that for you.”

Had he really? She smiled up at him, and his blue eyes gazing back at her looked so damn trustworthy. Like a guy who wouldn’t be so careless as to hand a woman a helmet full of spider webs. Which was a really important and vastly underrated measure of reliability, if you asked her. She took a step toward him, so utterly sucked in by this kind of attention that it scared the hell out of her.

“Fast or slow?” he said, as he slid the helmet on her head.

“I don’t know. I haven’t ever ridden a motorcycle before.”

Those warm, steady blue eyes. Callused fingers fastened the strap under her chin. “We’ll go slow,” he promised.