Stepbrother Thief(79)

Gill's mouth twitches into a small smile.

“I've been okay with the way it's been working out,” he says, voice darkening into a sensual purr that makes me seriously question my desire to come in here. Between one heartbeat and the next, the amusement in his face fades, almost as quickly as it came, leaving Gill frowning down at me while some sort of internal struggle goes on behind his eyes.

“How can telling me really hurt the situation, Gilleon?”

“I don't want you to hate me, Regina,” he says, the words cutting deep, striking a chord in me.

“I don't hate you, Gill,” I say with a sigh, but he's already shaking his head, turning away and looking down at the floor as he tries to gather himself together.

“Not now, but you will. If I tell you, you will.”

I purse my lips and stand up straight, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Why don't you give me the benefit of the doubt, Gill? Try me, see what happens.” I watch Gill's back, the purposeful rise and fall of his chest, like he's doing his best to contain his emotions. “Two days ago, our daughter called us Mom and Dad for the first time,” I say, and that catches his attention. He turns around, his heavy boots loud on the floor beneath his feet. “Three days before that, I watched you do something unspeakable, something that should have me running for the hills. But I'm not, Gill. I'm right here. I'm still right here.” I drop my arms as he moves close to me, lifting his hands up and sliding his fingers down the long sleeves of my white cashmere sweater. I swallow hard as Gill's right hand plays with the black lace-up ribbon detail on my shoulder.

“Maybe you should be running, Regina? Maybe you should get as far away from me as you possibly can? Take Solène and go. Hell, take that old man with you, too. Just go and forget everything about me.” He slides his hands down my upper arms to my elbows, rubbing his thumbs against the soft fabric and making me catch my breath. If there's one thing Gilleon's an expert at—besides robbing jewelry stores—it's being sensual. Sensual. I can't get enough of him.

“Why come back into my life like this and then tell me to go?”

“Because if you don't, I won't be able to control myself,” he whispers, leaning down and brushing his lips against mine. The kiss only lasts for half a second before Gill's pulling away and I'm reaching out—again—and grabbing onto his arm. The last time I reached for him, I sucked his dick. This time …

“Maybe that's your problem, Gill? Control. Stop trying to control everything. Let go. Live a little.” My nails slide across his bare skin, across the hard bulge of his bicep, and I watch in satisfaction as goose bumps follow the lines of my fingertips. I drop my hand, fully aware that Gill's standing between the bed and the door, blocking me in with my thighs pressed back against his mattress.

I curl my hands into fists, determined not to let this situation get out of control.

“You asked me to dinner again, so let's go, let's talk, let's figure this all out.”

He's just staring at me now, staring with that sapphire blue gaze of his, eyes half-hooded and lips gently parted. Gill looks anything but gentle right now though. He caresses the stubble on his jaw with one hand and then pauses, taking in a deep breath and then reaching down and curling his fingers under the hem of his T-shirt.

“I'd fight an army for the privilege to take you out, Regi.” Gill gives me a rough smile. “But I'm not going out like this. Let me shower and shave first.” And then he rips his shirt up and over his head, tossing it onto the bed next to me.

Gill's body is built like a god's, like some artist's impossible goal of perfection, chiseled over years from a block of unyielding stone. Only I know that if I touch him, his skin will be warm, hot even, that the softness of his lips will make up for the roughness of the stubble on his face. I try not to stare at the rounded swell of muscles in his tattooed arm, at the way the ink of his tattoos climbs up and over his shoulder, the face of a panther staring back at me from his right pec.

I feel lightheaded and sweaty, like an addict staring down their drug of choice. It's not fair that he can do this to me.

“That's a dirty move, Gilleon,” I say, pointing at him. “Real dirty.”

He watches me, just like the jungle cat inked on his body, as I move carefully around him and reach for the doorknob, sweat beading on my forehead and lower back.

“I'll meet you downstairs at six?” I ask.

“I'll be there, Regi.” Gill smiles and nods briefly before reaching down to unbutton his pants. I don't stick around long enough to see that show.



#

“If I'd known we'd be moving to Paris, I would've started taking French in junior high, before German.” I pause and take a sip of my coffee, looking at my stepdad over the rim of my mug. “Well, maybe instead of Spanish. My German teacher was actually kind of cute.” Cliff laughs and shakes his head, his salt and pepper hair catching the light from the chandelier hanging above us.