Stepbrother Thief(7)
Gill scoots in the other side, his long legs bumping mine for a moment before he adjusts himself. That small touch is enough to heat my blood and force me to take a deep breath to calm down.
“They should be landing in …” Gilleon checks his phone and his lips twitch in amusement. I wonder what it is that he's looking at and then forcefully remind myself that it's none of my damn business. “About an hour or so. My partner will pick them up at the airport and bring them here. I'll make sure they have your room number.”
“Partner?” I ask, just before our waiter stops by and asks us for our drink orders. Gill gives me a feral grin and lets me sweat out the question while he pauses to order.
“Johnnie Walker, Double Black if you've got it.” He leans his elbows on the table while the waiter glances over at me.
“Dirty martini, s'il vous plaît,” I say and get a sexy smile from the man. I smile back and tuck some hair behind my ear, watching as his gaze lingers on my lips as he walks away. When I glance back at Gill, he's still grinning at me.
“I can see your charm is as powerful as it ever was,” he tells me and I shake my head, sliding one of the two water glasses our waiter dropped off over to me.
“You're one to talk,” I tell him, letting the surrealism of the moment wash over me. I robbed a jewelry store yesterday, flew on a private plane to the States, and now I'm sitting here with my stepbrother, a man I loved and lost, a man who's dangerous as hell and twice as sexy. “Did you see the look our hostess was giving you? Like she wanted to chop you up and eat you for breakfast.”
I take a sip of my water and lean back, draping my left arm along the back of the booth. Across from me, Gill sits all loose and languid, his blue eyes half-lidded and his mouth set in a bemused imitation of a smile. Even though I know it's all for show, even though I've been duped before, I almost fall for it, almost let myself relax around him.
Almost.
“So you were saying … partner?” I ask, not bothering to hide my curiosity. What I do hide however is my jealously. I have a tremendous amount of pride and a serious wallop of dignity that I'd like to keep, thank you very much.
Gill takes his time, snagging a sip of his water and then mirroring my position by crossing his legs and throwing his tattooed right arm over the back of the booth. Nothing he does—nothing—is ever unintentional, but I can't figure out what it means, so I tuck the thought away.
“My business partner,” he breathes, taking a big breath and then running his tongue across his full lower lip. I won't let my eyes follow the motion. “My … partner in crime, so to speak. But that wasn't really your question, was it?”
“Says who?” I ask, realizing we're both asking a lot more questions than we're answering. Our drinks arrive, and I make sure to order another, letting my fingers linger on the back of our waiter's hand before I turn back to Gill and study his freshly shaved face. Yesterday's stubble is nowhere to be seen. I'm not sure which look I like better. Apparently, Gilleon Marchal looks good in everything.
“Why are you really here right now? It's not to check on me, so don't lie about that.”
“I thought you were forever the optimist, ma belle petite fleur?”
I purse my lips. My beautiful little flower. Really? Did he just say that? I pretend not to notice.
“I'm an optimist who dabbles in realism. So.” I take a breath and lift my martini to my lips. When the glass comes away clean, I frown. I miss my Ruby Woo lipstick already, that bright red smudge that somehow says I'm here to the whole world. “Answer my question and I'll forgive you for knocking my boyfriend out cold.”
“He came at me first,” Gill says, tossing back his Scotch. His demeanor's changed since yesterday, some of that careful intensity dialed back a bit. I study the gentle slope of his jaw, the rounded squareness of his chin, the perfect proportion of his shoulders, his chest. Most men with Gill's strength are like walking mountains of meat, upside down triangles made of fucking ham or something. Ech. But my stepbrother … he's got a leanness to him, a look that my dorky childhood friend, Leilani, used to call 'a ranger's body'. You know how in some video games, there's the big guy in the shiny armor? All wide ass shoulders and overblown chest? See, that's the meaty kind of guy I'm talking about. Gill is like the ranger, the archer, the one in the green tunic with the bow. Strong, but not overdone.
Damn him for it.
“He came at you, but you still punched him in the face and dropped him like a sack of potatoes. He was only trying to protect me,” I add, letting that guilt over Mathis bubble up in my belly. I won't let the words what have I done run through my mind, but really … what have I fucking done?! I take another breath and give a coquettish wink to our waiter when he drops off my next martini.