Stepbrother Thief(68)

“Bien sûr.” Of course. “That sounds like a good idea. I could go for some chocolate, too.”

“What? Did you lose your expressionless mask back at Pike Place?” I cringe at the words falling from my mouth and realize that I've let mon visage laid creep back over my features again. I smooth away the scowl and take a deep breath. “Désolée. Sorry. I just … You showed up in Cliff's kitchen without a single shred of emotion and now you're all over the place. I'm having trouble understanding you, your motives, your emotions.”

“Let me make that all clear right now,” Gill says, one hand on the phone, the other curled tightly around his knee, fingertips digging into the denim of his jeans. “I have one goal, one motive. Regina, I want you back.”

I groan and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, standing up and moving towards the window and the darkness swimming outside of it. I'm sure it's raining again, but it's hard to tell if the moisture on the glass is just from earlier.

“You can't be serious,” I say, and the whisper of bare feet on carpet is the only indication I have that Gill's moving toward me. I have just enough time to spin around before he slams his palms on either side of my head, flat against the glass of the sliding doors.

I suck in a sudden breath, the heat from his body radiating off of him in waves—part of it lust, some of it anger, a good portion of it something else. Love. Maybe. I don't know. I look up at Gilleon, right into his blue eyes and feel his breath teasing my face as he struggles to control himself.

“I'm dead serious,” he says, leaning down and taking my bottom lip between his teeth. I groan as Gill's knee slides forward and dips between my legs, rubbing up against my throbbing, aching heat.

Shit.

“Stop it,” I snap, putting my palms on his chest. Only I can't push him away because his body feels too good, too warm, too familiar. “Didn't I tell you to leave me alone? I don't want to get back together with you, Gilleon. You left me alone with a baby in my belly and a ring on my finger, so fuck you. Fuck off. Casse-toi.”

“I wish I could,” he tells me, his mouth still way too close to mine for comfort. “I tried once or twice, really tried. I knew you'd be better off without me, but I can't help it. I have a lot of fight in me, Regina, a lot of strength. But you know what I've figured out? You're the only thing worth fighting for.”

I duck under Gill's arms and head for the bathroom, hating how open and vulnerable I feel in these stupid pj shorts and tank top. I want my jumpsuit back, my earrings, my heels. I want to go down to the lounge and flirt with a cute bartender, anything to get my mind away from Gill and out of this headspace.

He catches me on my way in, curling his fingers gently around my bicep. He doesn't make me stop with force—although he could if he wanted—but instead gets me to freeze by his touch alone.

“I know that what I did was unforgivable, and I'm not asking you to forgive or forget, but I also know what I want, and I won't stop until I get it. Regina, you're mine, and I'm yours. That's how it's always been, no matter how much distance I put between us. I need you, Regi.”

I want nothing more than for Gill to pull me back, slide his fingers up my inner thigh and under my loose pajama shorts, but I control myself. Finally.

“I'm going down to the lounge. You can join me if you want, but obviously, this whole evening isn't working out well for either of us. I need to get out of this room.”

Gill lets go of me suddenly and steps back. I turn to find him with his palms up and out in surrender, dark hair falling into those bright eyes of his.

“If I promise to behave, will you stay?” He tries to smile, some of that old humor leaking into his expression. “Just burgers, cards, and an overpriced in room movie.”

I narrow my eyes at him.

“You'll let me call Solène and Cliff?” Gill shakes his head and his smile turns apologetic.

“They're safe, I promise, but we're not if we give away our location.”

I sigh. I hate that he's the expert here.

I reach back and run my fingers through my blonde hair, letting the loose strands flutter around my face.

“Okay. Okay, Gill. I'll stay, but please, no more confessions. I've heard what you have to say, no need to repeat it. I get it.” I swallow, but my throat's gone suddenly dry. Damn it. “We can talk, but let's start with mindless conversation. If things get too serious again, I'm leaping off the goddamn balcony.”



“So tell me when you got the fox?” I ask, tossing over my kings and wrinkling up my nose as I count Gill's cards. That asshole is too good at reading people—he's got five sets of cards lying in groups of four on the nightstand between us. Me, I've got two. Gilleon is absolutely winning this game of Go Fish.