Daring Duke: Love Letters #4 Read online

  Fuck, if Duke had just stayed out . . . if he hadn’t come home frustrated, swiping through Grindr . . . .

  But he had. He’d heard the heavy grunts coming from Rohan’s room and stilled.

  He’d always assumed Rohan lived a straight life. Only in his wildest dreams did Rohan stick his cock in a guy’s ass.

  The grunts were curiously low.

  Too low . . . .

  Duke had quietly opened the door.

  God, he had never gotten so hard so fast. Before he knew it, he had his phone on record, imagining all the nights he’d jerk to Rohan fucking this guy. This guy he’d pretend was him.

  He filmed Rohan as he made the man come with a yelp and followed him.

  And then Rohan had caught him.

  Duke hated himself for causing raw, frustrated anger in Rohan. Hated himself more for building a wall between them.

  Now his cousin was back to stay, acting every bit the guy of his dreams. Tempting him with memories of the past, with his determination to make him behave, with his damn “make a wish.”

  Duke threw himself on Rohan’s bed, shoved his pants to his thighs, and gripped his aching cock.

  He was all kinds of wrong.

  “Bianca . . . .”

  Rohan had spent all day negotiating terms for an impending SmallQ acquisition. He was ready to leave the Greenville office.

  First he needed to make sure Bianca was okay.

  “I feel guilty,” she said. “You’re doing too much for me.”

  “It’s a win-win.”

  “It will never be enough to pay you back.”

  Bianca’s ex-husband had abused his power, his money, and his status. He took Bianca’s kids because he could, not because he wanted sole custody. The thought still angered Rohan. “I did what I had to.”

  Bianca had worked as his personal assistant in London and was the kindest person he’d ever met. He’d initially thought that he could make a relationship with her work, but they’d quickly realized they were destined to be friends. Nothing more.

  Good friends, though, and Rohan tried to help his friends.

  Help he could. Money, he had.

  What better way to spend it than helping Bianca secure joint custody of her kids?

  “Are you sure you can come over Christmas? We can always wait.”

  “It’s not a problem. I don’t have the kids this year for Christmas, so it’s doing me a favor. Do you need me to bring any of your things? The quilt you made?”

  Their eyes connected as she mentioned Rohan’s attempt at sewing together patches of old T-shirts into a soft blanket. He’d left it in the UK, mostly finished, too upset to complete the last panel. “I suppose you should bring it.”

  “I will,” she said, grinning. “So unexpected from a guy like you. Your family is lucky.”

  “I don’t know. All this travel . . . . Sometimes I feel like I’m failing them. Casey.” Duke.

  Duke, whom he had thought about all day. Specifically, their reunion the day before.

  His wild sandy hair had been a constant reminder of the damn journalist who’d knotted it while driving Duke to his knees. Duke’s bright hazel eyes had flashed with unfinished arousal, despite his spitfire remarks, almost as bright as when Rohan had caught Duke recording him . . . .

  His blasé attitude.

  God, he was a brat.

  Holy hell, the brat was beautiful.

  He shoved the thought aside and refocused. Prioritizing, he told Bianca about the café rejecting Casey’s job application. His throat felt raw by the end of it. “I should invest in a café, give her the job of her dreams.”

  “She doesn’t want you creating a job for her. She wants her independence. Whatever she decides to do has to come from her.”

  “But—”

  “Support her, be there to guide her. If you want to take control of something, maybe that should be your own happiness.”

  Nice thought in theory.

  He pivoted the conversation.

  Bianca sighed. “Will you really live in the closet the rest of your life?”

  “I will.”

  “Does anyone in your family know you’re gay?”

  Rohan roughly threaded a hand through his hair. “Duke.”

  “Only one person you can open up to?”

  And better if he didn’t. “SmallQ is most popular in the Bible Belt. If they found out who’s running the company, my career is over. Can’t let anyone else know.”

  “You’ll never be happy that way, Rohan.”

  “Yeah, but enough other people will be.”

  * * *

  “Do I look good?” Duke asked from the passenger seat of Rohan’s car. It had been a silent ride out of the city, save the churr of tires.

  Frost-capped buildings gave way to frost-capped trees and sunset-glittering pastures. Everything outside dazzled, while inside the car, Duke choked on the smell of new leather and the agitation radiating from his cousin.

  Rohan hummed, and his assessing gaze swept over Duke again. Midcalf lace-strapped boots. Jeans. Tight black sweater. Dark gray scarf draped over his shoulders, too warm in the car to keep knotted at his throat. Rohan lingered at his face and Duke flashed Rohan a raised brow over his shades.

  “You’ll do,” Rohan said with the twist of his lips.

  “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

  Another head-to-toe gaze. “Those jeans are so tight, it’s like you’re trying to drive me crazy.”

  Duke’s pulse danced. “Am I turning you on?”

  The car braked roughly, snapping Duke forward. Rohan caught himself and steadied his speed. “Really, Duke?”

  Duke feigned nonchalance. “Hey, you said I’m driving you crazy.”

  Rohan breathed in through his nose and out his mouth. Pinned him with an exasperated look. “I meant you didn’t dress to see your parents. You dressed to get hit on. What drives me crazy is that you did it on purpose.”

  This was true. He shrugged. “I put on clean clothes. Ran a comb through my hair. Maybe you should have been more specific.”

  “You’re quite the piece of work.”

  A twinge of fondness lurked behind his words. It almost made Duke preen.

  Instead, he folded his arms and pouted. “Let’s just get this weekend over with, Rohan. At least I’m not wearing dad jeans and a sweater that might as well have ‘suck up’ written all over it.”

  It was a lie. The jeans fit perfectly low on Rohan’s hips, and the warm blue tones of the hand-knitted sweater softened his gray eyes. Even if he had worn dad jeans, he would have looked good. Hell, his cousin could dress in a sack and GQ would request him to model for the cover.

  Rohan scolded him with a frown. “You know that Casey made this sweater for me.”

  Casey? No, he hadn’t known. He’d never have been such an insensitive prick if he’d known. He loved Casey. Everyone loved Casey.

  He burned with shame, and this time he didn’t suppress it. His voice sounded deservedly chastised. “How, um, is Casey?”

  “She misses you. She said that you haven’t been back for months.” Rohan side-eyed him, and Duke glanced out his window.

  “Will we stop in at your family home over the weekend?” Duke asked.

  “Why haven’t you visited your mom and dad?”

  Duke shrugged.

  Rohan sighed. “What did you do? Crash their plane? Insult their international business partners during dinner? Tell them to fuck off in front of their investors?”

  Duke didn’t want to go into it. “Sure, why not. The boy without a conscience,” he said tersely. “You know better than anyone.”

  Rohan shifted gears, speeding up on the backcountry roads.

  The suppressed anger on Rohan’s face told Duke he was thinking of that damn video.

  Duke wished he could ignore it, but the taut silence seemed to thicken in the car. Rohan believed Duke had taken that compromising video to blackmail Rohan into giving him a job in SmallQ when the rein
s were passed to him.

  Duke didn’t give a shit about SmallQ.

  “What?” he said when he caught Rohan glancing at him a third time.

  Rohan laughed mirthlessly. “Living with you will be a treat.”

  Not as much as this weekend would be.

  They drove past the frozen lake at the back of his house that he used to skate on as a kid. Rohan used to join him when he visited. Taught him how to aim a puck into the goal.

  Duke snuck a glance at Rohan. What did he remember of their past? Did he care?

  The Lexus slowed as they neared the farmhouse mansion. Illuminated with spotlights, it stood out in the dark evening.

  Wheels crunched up the gravel drive to the old-fashioned red-and-white barn. The barn that had witnessed the last time he’d spoken to his parents.

  Rohan cracked the door open and a hit of fresh soil, manure, and smoking wood swamped Duke. “Come on, out.”

  Duke sank into his seat. “Yeah, soon.”

  Rohan left him and trudged their suitcases inside. Duke watched how easily his mom and dad welcomed his cousin inside. They glanced at the car, saw him, and continued speaking with Rohan.

  Duke’s chest twisted. He couldn’t make himself leave the car. His phone jumped along the dashboard with a text.

  Rohan: Get your butt inside.

  Duke: I’m a chicken, okay? The biggest. Can we go home?

  Rohan: Give me a good reason.

  Duke: Because.

  Rohan: You almost convinced me.

  Duke: Why didn’t I drive myself here?

  Rohan: Because.

  A small laugh pebbled through his nerves, quickly dying when Rohan reemerged. Porch lighting emphasized his strong build briefly before Rohan stepped into the night. His silhouetted figure approached the car with measured steps.

  That farmhouse smell smothered him as Rohan opened his door. The inside car light popped on. “Come inside?”

  Duke folded his arms and flashed some “fuck-off” dimples.

  A sigh. “When did you decide it would be more fun between us to play difficult?”

  When I fell in love with you.

  Duke looked away from those curious, imploring eyes. He aimed for haughty as he said, “Play difficult? I am difficult!”

  “Fine,” Rohan said, leaning into the car over him. The buckle clicked open and his belt slid across his chest. Rohan freed Duke’s arm. “Let’s do it your way.”

  A curl of sweet breath fanned over Duke’s jaw and he pressed himself back into the seat. Not too hard, because he wanted what was about to happen. Hard enough, though, because he really shouldn’t want it.

  Rohan scooped Duke into his arms and heaved him out of the car. Duke squirmed. But he didn’t want Rohan to drop the arm branding him under his knees, or the one tight at his back.

  “Jesus, you’re heavy.”

  “Fuck you, it’s the boots.”

  “What are they made of, lead?”

  Duke bit back a sigh and reluctantly slid free. He’d barely taken a step on the gravel when Rohan snagged his wrist and whirled him back. Rohan’s smile was all wolf. He bared a sliver of his teeth as he broadened it. Duke had no time to question what nefarious thought had provoked the wicked gleam in Rohan’s eyes.

  Rohan bent and hefted Duke over his shoulder. Breath burst out of him in a heavy grunt.

  “Can carry you much better like this.”

  Duke’s face slammed into a firm back, and he grappled Rohan’s hip to push distance between them.

  Rohan’s broad shoulder dug into the crease of his crotch enough to bruise.

  The whole world had tipped upside down, swallowing all apprehension of being back here.

  He squirmed, cursing Rohan with everything he had. “Let me down or I will bite you.”

  A rumble of laughter rippled from Rohan through Duke, followed by the smart smack of his hand against the bottom curve of Duke’s ass cheek. “I don’t think you’re in a position to threaten me. But by all means”—he punctuated his words with another stinging snap—“bite me.”

  Shivers invaded his limbs.

  Get off him. Quick.

  Luckily, they reached the porch and Rohan set Duke down. His legs wobbled.

  Rohan steadied him. Rubbed a comforting hand down one arm.

  “It can be like this all weekend,” Rohan said. “The rest of the year, if it has to.”

  He meant it as a warning. Like slinging Duke over his shoulder was something Duke would want to avoid.

  He beat back the heat rising to his face, settling his shades more squarely on his nose. Rohan pinched his sunglasses and drew them off. “It’s night.”

  “Yeah, but . . . .” Now he had nothing to hide behind.

  Rohan folded his shades and hung on his sweater. His gaze washed over Duke’s face. “Much better.”

  He smiled, and Duke’s heart skidded to a halt until his mom pulled open the door.

  Chestnut hair mounted a head with streaks of white. Hazel eyes like his own blinked at him tolerantly. “Duke. It’s been a long time.”

  Rohan frowned. He hadn’t believed one hug and a few shared smiles would solve whatever issues Duke’s parents had with him, but he’d thought it would make them happier.

  Instead, Henry and Natalie didn’t seem thrilled at Duke visiting. Pleasant enough, but not about to throw him a welcome home party.

  What had happened between them?

  The wine came out, and Duke happily helped himself. In the time it took Rohan to sip one glass of the dry Pinotage, Duke had downed three.

  He stared hard at Duke, willing him to slow down. Duke brazenly stared back and poured another glass.

  Rohan pushed out of his chair, claiming a quick visit to the bathroom. As he rounded the table, he paused at Duke’s side and said in a low voice, “That’s enough, don’t you think?”

  “As if.”

  Rohan pinched the stem. Duke looked at him intently, daring him to take his wineglass away. Rohan lifted the glass to his lips and drank.

  “Maybe speak about your feelings instead of drowning them in wine?” Rohan said.

  “I’m feeling like another drink.” Duke reached for his glass and Rohan moved it away.

  Rohan glanced down the table, but no one paid them attention. In fact, no one had paid Duke a second glance since sitting to dinner. Not even the neighbors they’d invited over.

  Uneasiness twisted his stomach.

  Before he could ask what was happening, Henry called to him. “What do you think, Rohan?”

  Rohan immediately stepped back from Duke’s side and resumed his seat. He set Duke’s glass next to his as he quickly engaged in business talk.

  He conversed politely but couldn’t shake the nagging feeling he’d made a mistake making Duke come here. He’d wanted to help set things right, believed in forgiveness and moving on, but something was off.

  He glanced at Duke. What was going on in his head?

  * * *

  Duke stared at his starter plate, feeling remarkably like a teenager again, trapped at this overly polished table with its artisan food, not caring a jot what was happening on Wall Street. Next his father would ask what he’d decided he wanted to do with his life.

  Like then, he still had no answer.

  Beyond the flickering candelabra, Rohan watched him. Their gazes snagged, and Duke thought he caught a hint of regret in Rohan’s eyes.

  Rohan turned and answered Dad’s question, addressed to him. “I’d like to make an announcement at Christmas. Give our partners and investors time to absorb the idea of me taking over control of their investments.”

  “Investments at home and abroad are in great hands,” Dad said proudly. Duke snapped his head toward the foreign sound.

  His dad leaned back in his chair at the head of the table, raising his wineglass as a sign of respect and good wishes. He gave Rohan a pleased nod and sipped the Pinotage. Silver hair gleamed under chandelier light as he turned toward their neighbors, prais
ing Rohan’s leadership and initiative that would carry SmallQ safely into the hands of a new generation of users.

  Duke wondered what his dad would say if he saw their competition, QuickLine, on Duke’s phone.

  Rohan was right. He was a little shit.

  Might as well live up to expectations.

  Without so much as a word, he disappeared into the kitchen. Their cook, Chantelle, startled, and he waved her on to continue whatever miracle she was creating for their main dish.

  “Just after the wine,” he said, grabbing an open bottle and sloshing some into the first glass he could find. Plenty of countertop space, so he jumped up and hooked her into conversation. “Tell me all the gossip. Who’s having affairs in this week’s Lawrence-Decker drama?”

  That elicited a laugh and a loose tongue.

  He’d always gotten on best with the help. Particularly Chantelle. He rhythmically tapped the cupboard doors with the backs of his heels, and he laughed loudly at exaggerated retellings.

  She stopped talking suddenly, dark brown eyes darting over Duke’s shoulder.

  Footsteps. He knew exactly whose they were.

  The telltale prickle at his nape gave it away.

  He refused to turn around. A thrill wormed through him, and he palmed the triangle of counter between his legs. Addressed Chantelle with a smirk. “You remember my cousin.”

  “Rather hard to forget a face like that,” she said with a secret smile to him.

  He returned it.

  “No need to stop regaling me with stories. Rohan won’t tell. He won’t do anything that might scratch his reputation before SmallQ is officially his.”

  Chantelle clearly didn’t intend to play along with this game.

  A tight, deep laugh had his skin rippling with goose bumps. “Is that right?”

  He looked over his shoulder. Sipped his wine, insolently staring.

  He was stupid, tempting Rohan like this.

  Rohan calmly walked around the kitchen island, leaned against the counter opposite him, and spoke to Chantelle. “Does he often sneak in here during dinner?”

  Rohan had often visited when Duke lived here. But apparently Duke’s disappearances from the dinner table hadn’t been obvious.