Stepbrother Thief(75)

I pause, my breathing frantic, my heart pounding in my chest. I lean back and use the weight of my body to close the door behind me, flicking the lock with my right hand.

“I'm sorry, Gill,” I say, even though I'm not precisely sure why I'm saying it.

“For what? Taking me at face value? No, I get it. I'm a lowlife, the worst kind, a man who abandons his soon-to-be wife and unborn child. A man who kills other men in cold blood and doesn't bat an eyelash. I know the kind of man I am, Regi.”

Gill stares right back at me, his breathing slowing, his voice surprisingly calm and reasonable, but I can see the tension in his muscles, the way his shirt strains across the tightness in his chest.

“But I can't stand it, seeing that information reflected in your face, in my dad's face. I know I'm a bad man, but seeing you both come to that realization, it hurts.”

“I don't think you're a bad person, Gill,” I say as he takes a step forward, effectively pinning me against the door with his presence. He's not touching me, but I couldn't move if I wanted to. I lick my suddenly dry lips and notice Gill's eyes following the movement. His gaze continues downward, to the circle of cleavage revealed by my shirt. When he lifts his hand and traces his finger along the edge of my breast, I find it very hard to breathe, my breath catching sharp in my chest.

“Regi,” he says, and his voice is everything I ever wanted it to be—gentle, affectionate, loving. It's strange, seeing him dressed to the nines to kill, guns everywhere, a knife hilt showing at the top of his boot, and then hearing that soft sound scrape past his lips. “Regi, if I could never tell you another secret, never say a single other word about it, about why I left or why I came back, but I told you that it was all with good reason, would you believe me?”

I wait to answer, my breathing growing heavy in tandem with his, our foreheads close, eyes locked. Gill slides his hand inside my shirt, right underneath the cup of the ridiculous U-plunge bra I had to wear to get into this silly shirt. It has a hole cut right out of the middle of my chest, giving me side boob action and a back covered only in white mesh.

I feel so exposed right now.

I groan as Gill's strong hand caresses my breast, his grip a little tighter than it probably should be. But I don't pull away. I don't want to pull away, and that's the problem.

“Gilleon,” I say, reaching up and curling my fingers around his wrist, tugging on his arm until he releases me and takes his hand back. His eyes darken and the skin on his forehead gets tight, but he doesn't say anything, waiting for me to respond. I can't think straight with his rough fingertips grazing my nipple. “If you don't want to tell me why you left, you don't have to. I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to do. It won't mean anything to me if I have to pry an answer out of you.” I take a deep breath and reach up to adjust my shirt, the memory of Gill's hand still tingling across my skin. I can't help but notice the bulge in his pants, the tightness of the fabric as it pulls across his arousal. Between my legs, I feel an answering heat, a throbbing that refuses to let up, even when I pull my gaze back up to Gill's face.

“Leaving me,” I start and then have to take a big breath to steel myself. “There was no reason good enough, Gill. None. I … I'd love to hear why, so maybe I can understand, but to me, it won't change anything. I can't ever forgive you for that, Gilleon. I can never trust you again.”

He closes his eyes tight and then opens them back up, running his tongue over his lower lip and dragging his hand down his face. I watch in horror as he shuts down completely, defenses sliding back into place as he turns away and takes a few steps towards his half-open closet doors.

“Gilleon, please,” I say, but I'm not even sure what I'm asking with that plea. “Don't close up on me. We can work things out, so you can have a relationship with Solène. And your dad, I'm sure he'd love to spend more time with you. Despite everything he said downstairs, I know he'd like that.”

“And what about you, Regi?” Gill asks, sliding his shoulder holster off and laying it down on his desk. The powerful movements of his shoulders, his biceps, the slide of black and gray tattoos over his skin, it's all mesmerizing to me. “What would you like to happen?” He turns around to look at me, his stoic facial expression chilling me to the bone.

“I …” I reach up and touch the pendant hanging around my neck.

A knock at the door gives us both pause.

“Can you please open up?”

It's Solène.

Gill turns away, lifting his booted foot up onto the chair and reaching down to undo the leg holster that's wrapped around his thigh.