Page 32 of Duke
Heaven help me.
I jump at the thud that sounds overhead. Duke goes still, looking up.
“A tree?” I ask.
Duke waits a beat before responding. “Probably just a branch. I’ll check it out.”
Dropping the plates in the sink, he heads for the front door. I follow him and turn on the porch lights. He ducks outside, and I find myself praying for the first time in years that he makes it back okay. I stand on the porch while Duke disappears down the front steps, and I marvel at the sound of the wind. It’s an eerie wail that’s low-pitched but also very,veryloud.
The snow is coming down with such ferocity that it blurs the world around us. Even here, tucked safely beneath the eaves of the roof, the wind whips my hair into my face.
“You okay?” I shout. “Duke?”
A beat later, I breathe a sigh of relief when he jogs up the steps, his hood up and his cheeks pink. His glasses are fogged over.
“Just a branch,” he says, pulling back his hood. “Rolled right off the roof, no problem.”
I let him hustle me inside. He locks the door behind us and wipes his boots on the mat before taking them off.
“Yeah, but what if the whole tree comes down?”
“It won’t.”
“But what if it does?”
He gives me a look before pointing to the sofas by the fire. “Would you go sit? I promise we’ll be fine.”
“Famous last words.”
“Sit.”
“Make me.”
I’m a little drunk and a lot nervous, and I guess the combination turns me into a brat.
“Oh, Lordy.” He puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head. “You’ve done it now.”
“Done what?”
He bends down. “Pushed me too far.”
“What? Du—oh!” I yelp when he wraps his arms around my legs and abruptly hoists me over his shoulder, Viking raider style.
A literalhoist. What a funny little word for the way he takes command of my body, his arm a steel band around the backs of my thighs. Blood rushes to my head.
His ass—that perfect, delicious, muscular ass—is quite literally in my face. I arch my back in an attempt to create some space between us and, I don’t know, keep me from biting one of his butt cheeks.
I amtempted.
“Duke!” I don’t recognize my voice. It’s squeaky. Desperate sounding. “Duke, Jesus, put me down! What the hell? You’ll hurt yourself.”
“Aw, Blue, you ain’t got nearly enough faith in my deadlifting skills.” He strides into the living room, my body undulating in time to his steps. “You pick something for us to watch while I finish cleaning the kitchen. Got it?”
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
He chuckles. “You say that now.”
I don’t know what to do with my hands. I decide to plant them in the middle of his back so I can half sit up. It seemed like a safe idea, but now I can feel the way his muscles tense as he moves. They’re rock-hard. Just like the rest of this man.
