Stepbrother Thief(86)

“Six-thirty?” I ask, retreating back into the bathroom and grabbing my phone. Holy crap. It really is as late as he says. Which means … I was in the shower for that long? Our conversation must've affected me more than I realized. “Oh my God.”

“Regi,” Gill says, drawing my attention back to the doorway. He's leaning against the doorframe, his massive form filling the entire space. I notice that he's shaved his face again, leaving a stark contrast between the conversation we just shared and now. Dark and light. I watch him tilt towards the latter and wonder if I have the strength to catch him. “Are you sure you're alright?”

“I'm fine, Gilleon,” I say, making myself smile. “If it's okay, I'd still like to go out tonight. I think I could use a night away, you know?” And if we're going to have this conversation, I want it to happen in public. Everything gets toned down in public. I don't think I can survive another moment like the one we just shared.

I take a deep breath and turn away, reaching up to rub the fog off the mirror. As soon as I do, I see that Gill's standing right behind me.

“Shit, Gill,” I gasp out as one of his strong arms encircles my waist and pulls me close. “Stop doing that.” I reach down to pry him off, but I find that I can't do it. Instead, my fingers curl around his wrist and my eyes close of their own accord. It feels too good to do this, to fall back into old habits. And it's easy, so easy. When Gill touches me, I can almost imagine that it's still that day, the day that my life stopped. I imagine for a moment what would've happened if he'd been there waiting for me, if I'd handed over the bag of baby goodies and smiled shyly at him. So different … everything would've been so different.

I open my eyes up and move away. He lets me go, waiting as I turn around and look up into those bright blue eyes of his.

“I said I loved you,” I tell him, the words making me feel queasy. It's not easy to look somebody like Gilleon in the face and admit the most private thing in your heart. “I didn't say that we were a couple again. I didn't say that I'd take you back.”

“But you want to?” he asks me, taking a step closer, his boots squeaking on the wet floor. I back up, not because I'm afraid of Gilleon, but because I'm afraid of what I'll do if he touches me again.

“I haven't heard the whole story, Gill,” I admit, because that's a huge part of all this.

“But if you do, if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I'll spend every second of the rest of my life making it up to you.”

Shit.

“You can't just barge in here and say things like that,” I mumble, running my hands down my damp cheeks, knowing as I do that they're tinged with a hint of pink—and I can't blame any of that color on the warmth still clinging to the bathroom. “I'm not a teenager anymore, Gill. I need more than blushes and butterflies.”

“I give you butterflies?” he asks with a small smirk, running his knuckles down my bare arm, knocking stray droplets of water from my skin with the motion. I shiver, can't help it. Gill's touch is … well, it's always made me feel like this. I spent the second year after he left trying to prove that it wasn't true. At the time, I'd only ever slept with one man, only ever kissed one man, so how did I know? But, as I soon discovered, nobody could make me feel like this, touch me like this, love me like this. It was a heartbreaking conclusion to have to come to; the one man I wanted would never be mine again.

Only … he could. Right now, the only person standing between us is me. Part of me wants to throw up my hands and say forget the past while the other part … can I ever really forgive and forget? Those scars will always be there, but can I live with them and with Gill at the same time?

“You know you do,” I tell him, unashamed. I take another step back, trying to put some space between us and end up bumping into the countertop. Gill follows me in, leaning down and brushing some wet strands of hair from my forehead.

“Listen to the rest of the story, Regi, and give me a chance. That's all I'm asking. When you know everything, all of the reasons why and how, then think about it. If you decide you don't want me, then I'll let you go.”

I snort and shake my head, trying not to let his nearness affect me. He's dressed in boots and jeans, and here I am in just a towel, warm and damp and wet from the shower. I feel a certain vulnerability standing before Gilleon like this, but I like it. I like it even though I shouldn't, even though I know he's dangerous, that he's teetering on the edge. I think I could save him, I do. Under normal circumstances, I'd be rolling my eyes: women who seek damaged men in order to fix them, usually not a story that ends well.