Page 30 of The Light Within

Cinn huffed. Nothing felt particularlyluckyabout his current situation. “You could’ve asked my permission to read it, then.”

“I wanted to read it first, just in case.” A guilty frown tugged at the corners of Julien’s mouth. He closed the space between them, standing so close vulnerability was visible in grey eyes that begged for understanding.

“In case of what?”

Soft fingers slid between both sets of Cinn’s. Julien tugged Cinn’s arms from their fold, then he interlaced their hands, bringing one to his lips to press a feather-light kiss against it.

Julien dropped his voice to a whisper. “In case you needed protecting from any bad things.”

Cinn must have been going mad, because his brain stopped fighting Julien’s twisted logic. Or perhaps all rational thoughts were being manipulated by Julien’s cologne—he was wearing Cinn’s favourite one, the one that carried a hint of cinnamon that made him smell deliciously divine.

Julien pressed his thigh against Cinn’s, dropped one of his hands to press it against the fridge, caging Cinn in.

“Let me protect you from the bad things,” Julien breathed into Cinn’s ear before brushing his lips across its shell, and Cinn leaned back further against the cool metal to stop himself from losing control.

“I don’t need your protection,” Cinn tried to snap, but it came out as a low, soft whisper.

Julien pulled back to look him in the eye. He cupped Cinn’s cheek. “Oui, you do,mon amour. Just like I need yours.”

Goddamn it. Those fucking eyes. Those fucking dimples alongside that sad fucking smile.It was enough to convince Cinn, at least for a moment.

Cinn pressed their lips together, feeling the warm exhalation of Julien’s relieved sigh as it ghosted across his cheek. Their bodies shifted, slotting into an alignment that felt as natural as breathing. The kiss deepened as Julien’s eager lips sought, and Cinn’s responded. The weight of the fridge toppled backwards slightly as Julien pinned Cinn against its cool surface, sliding his leg against Cinn’s as he held his chin in place, moulding their mouths together.

Cinn pulled away, breathless. “It’s cheating when you use your French on me,” he grumbled.

The gleam in Julien’s eyes radiated both amusement and desire. He leaned forward once more—

A cough, and what was possibly a retching sound from the doorway. Their heads shot around to see Darcy hovering under the arch, unimpressed, with Elliot behind her, mouth twitching in…suppressed laughter?

“We left you so you could talk, not topple over my fridge.”

When Julien relinquished Cinn by stepping back, the appliance lurched forward, landing on the tiles with a soft thud.

Oh dear.

Cinn’s gaze roamed over to Elliot, stomach tensing. Surely he hadn’t liked seeing Julien with his tongue down Cinn’s throat? But Julien’s oldest friend seemed only entertained.

Darcy moved into the middle of the kitchen, spotlit by her wrought-iron hanging light. “Now that you two have clearly lost all self-control around each other… Julien, I want to restate the fact that, in the event of divorce, Cinn gets custody of me.”

Cinn’s cheeks burned, but it was his heart that felt the warmest of all.

“And me,” said Elliot, slouched against the archway. “Sorry, Julien. I just can’t live without his cookies. I’m sure you understand.”

Making friends had never come easily to Cinn. Back in his school days, he’d always been conscious of how much quieter he was than his classmates. It wasn’t that he was shyper se, it was just that the other children were louder, always shouting over him, whenever he tried to speak. Eventually, he stopped trying. Then, it had seemed pointless bothering to connect with others in his numerous foster homes, like trying to plant roots in shifting sand.

Cinn swallowed down the thick lump in his throat, moving to the sink to busy himself with the dishes.

“We’ll come for Christmas,” Julien declared, raising his voice. “But just because we’re in England does not mean I’ll do any of your silly traditions. I’m not doing the hideous jumper thing. Or the song thing. And I’m certainly not eatingChristmas pudding,” he spat, as if the words were acid on his tongue.

“Any other demands, your highness?” asked Darcy. “Let me get my notepad.”

Cinn snorted, placing the last china mug on the drying rack, stacking it exactly how Darcy liked.

“Why, yes!” Julien clapped his hands together in mock delight. “Please write down that we must havefoie gras.”

Elliot made a disgusted sound, which Cinn concurred with—he’d never had any desire to try the overfed goose liver on bread that only rich snobs ordered.

“Absolutely not. It’s barbaric,” Darcy replied.

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