CHAPTER 255: CHAPTER 255: NOT ENABLING

Trevor waited inside the doorway, leaning a shoulder against the frame as Lucas crossed to the wardrobe. The drawers slid open without protest, Windstone’s efficiency had already reached even here, neatly folding away anything worth keeping, quietly discarding what Trevor had long decided didn’t belong.

Lucas stood in the spill of morning light, pale skin catching the gold in a way that turned every smooth line of him into something artful. The curve of his spine as he reached into the wardrobe and the easy, unhurried stretch of long limbs that had no business being that elegant this early in the day, it all tugged at Trevor’s control in ways he didn’t particularly want to rein in.

He told himself to look away, but didn’t. His gaze traced the play of lean muscle under skin, the faint shadow of collarbone, the clean elegance of each movement. Even the act of buttoning his shirt, slow, measured, fingers working from hem to throat, felt like it had been staged solely to test him.

Lucas didn’t have to look to know. He caught it in the subtle shift of Trevor’s scent, the weight of attention pressing warm and unyielding against his back. His mouth curved, faint and knowing, as he smoothed the fabric into place.

"You’re staring," he said at last, glancing over his shoulder with just enough lift to one brow to make it mockery.

"I’m looking," Trevor corrected, voice lower now, almost lazy, but the edge in it betrayed exactly where his thoughts were.

"And?" Lucas prompted, tilting his head as if inviting the verdict.

Trevor’s eyes narrowed fractionally, the corner of his mouth lifting in a way that was almost a warning. "And I’m reconsidering whether we’re leaving at all."

Lucas’s laugh was soft, the kind that invited rather than deflected. He hummed under his breath, the sound low, almost amused, before stepping closer.

Without warning, his arms slid up over Trevor’s shoulders, a fluid motion that carried him right into his space. He rose onto his toes just to reach that high, the faint shift of balance pressing their chests together.

Trevor’s hands came up automatically, one settling at the curve of Lucas’s waist, the other tracing the small of his back with a touch that was far too possessive to be casual. His scent deepened, warmed, and was edged in something that had nothing to do with leaving the house.

Lucas’s green eyes caught the shift, the faint darkening in Trevor’s gaze. "You’re thinking about it again," he murmured, not accusing, not even teasing, just stating the truth like it was an observation of the weather.

"Can you blame me?" Trevor asked, voice dropping as his fingers flexed slightly against Lucas’s side.

"I could," Lucas said, his mouth curving faintly, "but I want that family you promised me."

For a moment, Trevor didn’t answer, just studied him, the edge of hunger in his gaze tempered by something quieter, something that felt like the weight of an unspoken vow.

"You’ll have it," Trevor said finally, the words low and soft, as though sealing a pact between them. "But not now. You are not going to cope by trying for a child at eighteen. Your mind might be twenty-five, but your body is not. Let’s find a nice gift for your upcoming birthday instead."

Lucas groaned and let his head fall against Trevor’s chest. "Why do you have to be so right?"

Trevor’s hand smoothed over the back of his neck, thumb brushing lightly along the hairline. "Occupational hazard."

Lucas made a faint sound that could have been agreement, or just resignation and stepped back enough to button the last cuff of his shirt. "Fine. Let’s leave before I change my mind and lock myself in here."

Trevor’s mouth curved, faintly satisfied. "As you wish." He guided him toward the door, palm warm at the small of his back. They had only taken a few steps into the corridor when the sharp, measured tread of approaching footsteps broke through the distant murmur of Windstone’s voice downstairs.

A man in a perfectly cut charcoal suit appeared at the end of the hall, his pace brisk and his stance that of a man with power. Stephen Collins, one of Trevor’s secretaries, and the only one trusted to bring bad news without first softening it, came to a stop a respectful distance away.

"Your Grace," he said, inclining his head. "Apologies for the interruption, but one of the coastal military treaties is in jeopardy. The other party is threatening to withdraw before signing."

Trevor’s gaze sharpened, the warmth from a moment ago cooling into something far more dangerous. "Which one," he asked, voice flat, "and when are they trying to lie to me again?"

Stephen didn’t blink; his black eyes were used to this kind of shift. "The Bayline agreement. Their representative is claiming new terms were never discussed, and they’ve requested a meeting in under an hour."

"They are really pushy..." Trevor’s gaze cut briefly to Lucas, the steel in his tone softening by a fraction. "Lucas... you can come with me."

"To a military meeting where only you and Caelan have clearance?" Lucas’s brows lifted, dry amusement threading through his voice. "No. I can wait for you."

Trevor’s jaw flexed, the faintest sign of resistance, but Lucas stepped back just enough to make the decision for him. "Go. I’ll be fine. Windstone will glare at my snacks and I’ll pick a movie you’d hate just so I can tell you about it later."

The corner of Trevor’s mouth twitched despite himself, but he didn’t argue further.

He turned toward Stephen, who was already holding out a dark blazer with the silent efficiency of someone who knew the weight of every second. He slid into it without breaking eye contact with Lucas, the sharp lines of the cut settling over his frame like a second skin.

When he stepped forward again, it wasn’t with the quick impatience of a man being dragged into a crisis, but with the deliberate, unhurried gravity of someone ensuring his absence was felt.

His hand caught the side of Lucas’s jaw, thumb brushing over the faintest curve of a smirk before he bent, pressing a kiss to his mouth that was firm enough to leave no question and brief enough to promise more later.

"Be good," Trevor murmured against his lips, the kind of parting order that was half-affection, half-warning.

"I will," Lucas said, green eyes glinting with quiet mischief. "If Windstone lets me have nuggets and fries."

Trevor’s mouth curved, but he didn’t rise to the bait. "Tell him I said yes."

"Dangerous words," Lucas murmured, already picturing the butler’s expression when he passed on the message.

Trevor gave one last, lingering look before stepping back toward Stephen, who fell into stride beside him. The echo of their footsteps faded down the hall, leaving Lucas in the quiet hum of the manor, where the only battle ahead was convincing Windstone that fried food counted as a balanced lunch.