Stepbrother Thief(69)

“Do you have any eights?” he asks me, and I shake my head, listening to the soft murmur of the rom-com we've got playing in the background. Probably not the best choice of movie, but it was that, a raunchy comedy with the word sex in the title, or porn. So … pretty much stuck between a rock and a hard place. I hate that that phrase makes me think of Gill, of being trapped between his rock solid body and the hard mattress beneath me.

“Go fish,” I tell him and watch as he draws a glossy card and adds it to his hand.

“I got this,” he says, pointing at his left arm with his handful of cards and smiling, “about two years after I left. Getting ink was one of the few things that made me feel alive again. I liked the pain, the whole artistic process of it.” I study the wicked fox tattoo with its double tails and the dark gray shadows that make up its eyes. The piece is big, wrapping around the raven and the skull that decorate Gilleon's bicep. The more I look at his sleeve, the more I like it.

“Got any fives?” I ask and he grunts, passing over a single card. I grin and slap the four of them down on the table. “Any queens?”

“Just one,” he whispers and goose bumps break out across my arms. I take the damn card without meeting his eyes and add it to my hand, ignoring the innuendo in his words. “Tell me about Mathis,” Gill asks randomly, continuing our trend of quid pro quo. I feel like Clarice Starling in The Silence of the Lambs, only worse because Gill's ten times scarier to me than Hannibal Lecter. Gill has love in his eyes and that's the most dangerous thing there is.

“He was nice, cute, available.” I study my cards and let my eyes drift over to Gilleon. He's watching me, of course, studying my face for clues. “You're sure he's alright?” I ask, feeling guilty again for what happened. Gill's no lightweight; that punch he threw must've hurt.

“He's fine. You can even call him if you want. Like I said, we don't have to worry about the authorities, and Karl already knows you're with me.” Gill grumbles this last bit and then grits his teeth. I'm not sure if the expression's for Karl or for Mathis.

“Sevens?” I ask and Gill shakes his head.

“Go fish.”

I draw a card and get what I'm asking for, flashing it to him with a smile.

“Tell me why Karl Rousseau hasn't flipped his lid over a hundred million in diamonds,” I say, praying that Gilleon will finally give in and forget about being so close-lipped. “I mean, that's a lot of money, Gill. I don't know anything about jewelry heists, but that's got to be up there on the top ten list of hauls, right?”

“It is,” he admits with a shrug of his powerful shoulders. “One for the history books. Well, if anyone knew about it that is. But nobody will ever find out. Karl and Max, they'll make sure of that.”

“But why? Gill.” I sit up a little and drop my cards into my lap. “I understand why you're always so stingy with information, but this, I feel like I should get to know why.” Gill sighs and sets his cards aside, reaching for the pint of beer that's sitting next to the phone. I grab mine, too, and take a sip. It's a little bitter for me, but alcohol is as alcohol does.

“I thought this evening was supposed to be about mindless conversation?”

I narrow my eyes, fingers wrapped around the frosty glass in my hands.

“Compared to you and me, this is mindless conversation.” I take another sip of my drink and set it aside. On the bed next to me, a half-eaten burger and a pile of cold fries sits on a silver tray. I pick one up and dip it in ketchup, slather it in the stuff. There's not a lot of ketchup in Paris, and I missed it. “So. Are you going to answer the question?”

“I'd rather talk about you,” Gill says, deflecting my words, the same way he's done since the moment he walked back into my life those few months back, his sapphire dark eyes closed and shuttered, hiding his emotions away from the world. I'd thought that the boy I'd loved, the one who'd picked the lock to my bedroom door that very first day and curled up on my bed, was gone. But … I look up into Gilleon's eyes, such a richly brilliant blue that I feel like I'm falling straight through the sky when I stare into them.

“Answer my question first and I'll tell you whatever you want to know,” I say, sliding the fry between my lips, watching as Gilleon's pupils dilate and he mimics me by running his tongue across his lower lip. He shakes his head and turns away, towards his own empty plates. I got one burger and barely managed to eat half while he ordered three and finished them all. Thing is, there's not an ounce of fat on this guy; it's all hard, sculpted muscle. Guess he just needs a lot of energy to run that beautiful body on.