I’d expected no hand outs; I’d asked for no short-cuts. I’d accepted that my life path had changed forever. What little I had, I guarded with a fierceness that knew what it felt like to lose what was most important.
I’ve lost him.
He was precious and I’d lost the war.
All over again.
Forcing myself to stay proud of my rag-tag achievements rather than dash around and try to improve on what couldn’t be improved upon, I said, “You can see no one is here. No monsters in the corners. No kidnappers in the kitchen.” I looked at the door behind him. “You don’t need to stay.”
He didn’t respond; his jaw gritted as he glanced at my threadbare couch, scruffy dining table, and the kitchen that barely fit a fridge and oven. Compared to his impressive warehouse with its industrial shelving and priceless painting equipment, my tiny one bedroom was depressingly sad.
Stalking through the small space, he didn’t say a word as his fingers traced the bench top that still held my dirty coffee cup and empty wine bottle.
I would’ve been embarrassed if I wasn’t so emotionally exhausted.
His boots carried him over the ugly carpet as he peered into the postage stamp-size bathroom and the bedroom next to it. The cream and navy floral bedspread I had was rumpled and needed making, but the gauzy fabric I’d hung from the ceiling to drape on either side gave it a slight Moroccan feel.
Marching back toward me, he muttered, “There’s no art anywhere.”
I scanned my walls, noting the bareness, the barrenness after the huge graffiti in Gil’s place.
I shrugged. “I’m not an artist.”
“You were with dance.”
I flinched. “Were being the keyword in that sentence.”
He studied me. His green eyes so piercing it was as if he could see the rehabilitation and surgeries I’d endured. The fact that I’d just been thinking about the loss of something so dear made the pain all the more acute.
His voice hovered around a whisper. “Do you miss it?”
Breaking eye contact, I kept my scarred and tattooed back straight as I kicked off my heels and padded into my bedroom. “Would you miss painting if you couldn’t do it?”
I made the mistake of looking at him, standing on the threshold of my room. He leaned against the doorframe with his ankles and arms crossed. His nonchalant pose couldn’t disguise the wash of unease and quick slip of horror.
I waited for him to make some flippant comment. Instead, he glowered at my carpet. “I wouldn’t survive. Pure and simple. It’s the only thing that keeps me going these days.”
My heart bucked in my chest. I struggled with something to say, but in the end, I had nothing. All I wanted to do was tumble to my bed and close my eyes.
“Gil...I—”
He moved toward me, backing me up until I was trapped against the wall and him. His gaze caught mine so intensely, the hair on the back of my neck pricked and instincts screamed on high alert.
His hands cupped my hipbones, his thumbs tracing small circles. “How did you survive, O?” he breathed. “How did you pick yourself up after what happened?”
I froze, my insides melting from his touch and my heart fracturing from his question. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged as if he didn’t really understand himself. “Your parents basically disowned you since you were a child. Your dreams of being a dancer were destroyed. You don’t seem to have stayed in touch with people from school...you’re alone. Yet you’re not fucking up your life like I am.”
“How do you know what I’m doing with my life?”
“You’re so strong. Strong enough to push me away, even when I tell you you’re in danger. Strong enough to give me everything you have, all because you’re selfless. Strong enough to forgive me, even though I’m the reason you’re in trouble.” His nose nuzzled mine. “I need to know how you can do all that, endure everything you have, and still be good...because I...I’m really fucking struggling.”
My heart restarted, defibrillated from its forlorn fatigue all because I was stupid when it came to this man. Stupid and flawlessly forgiving. “Whatever you’re dealing with...you don’t have to do it alone.”
“God, there you go again.” His chest rose and fell as his breathing turned shallow. His eyes darkened, and the tiny space of my bedroom vibrated with connection. “You’re still willing to offer me salvation after everything I’ve done.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” His teeth bared. “You coped on your own.”
“Yes.”
“So why the fuck can’t I?” His eyes blazed, locking onto my lips. His temper dragged lust into the mix, swirling two potent chemicals in my bloodstream. “I’m useless. I’m failing everyone I love. I—” His forehead pressed onto mine. “I’m failing you...just like always.”
My stomach dropped and my core clenched, answering his summons, dragged into his need despite myself. Just as I knew it would. Just like it always would.
“Gil...” I shook my head as he placed one hand on my wall, caging me by my wardrobe, leaving the other one digging into my hip.
“You were so popular at school.” His fingers pulsed with ownership. “Until I stole you from them.”
I couldn’t heal the agony glowing in his gaze but I could offer a tiny bit of redemption. Pressing a hand over his heart, I whispered, “Until I chose you over them.”
He swallowed hard. “Why are you so alone now?”
God, what was the point of these agonising questions? “I’m not alone. You’re here.”
“And all I’m doing is making shit worse.” His hand caressed the side of my waist, over my breast, and settled above my heart—just like I touched him. “I wish I could be different. I wish we could be different.”
“We can be...if—”
“Stop.”
I didn’t like the weakness he conjured in me. I didn’t like the endless torment in his stare. What changed from the cruel body painter who’d said touching me was a mistake to this broken man unable to let me go?
Why did he care all of a sudden? Why did I grow angry that he did?
Steeling myself against his touch, I said, “I think it’s best if you go. We can talk later, when we’re both a bit more stable.”
He flinched. “Was it hard?”
I blinked, unable to keep up with his subject changes. “Was what hard?”
“Earning money. Keeping this place after your accident?”
Okay, this is too much.
Whatever was happening between us wasn’t the white-hot chemistry that’d gotten us into trouble with paint and orgasms yesterday. It wasn’t the raw, vulnerable truth that appeared when we’d kissed in the shower.
This was different.
This was...conversation.
This was learning about one another, discovering secrets, sympathising with past struggles.
This was talking.
And talking was so much more dangerous than any sex or kiss.
Ducking under his arm, I padded toward my bed, sucking in a shallow breath. He spun to face me, spying the duffel I used to use for my dance practices. Grabbing it, he tossed it on the bed.
I frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Packing.”
“I told you I’m staying here.”
Bending to open the middle drawer of my tallboy, he selected a pair of pyjama bottoms, a hoodie, and fluffy socks before moving to my sparse selection of office clothes in the wardrobe.
I chased after him, yanking a black blouse out of his grip. “Stop it.”
“Three days. I’ll figure this shit out by then...I promise.” He snatched a skirt from a hanger.
I snatched it back. “I can’t afford to spend three days at your place.”
“Why the hell not? It’s not like I’m going to charge you rent.” He reached for a shell pink shirt with cream piping.
Ducking in front of him, I stopped him from stealing yet another garment of
mine. “I can’t be in your space, in your bed without being seriously hurt.”
He froze, his gaze snapping onto mine. “You’re afraid I’ll raise a hand against you?”
“No.” I laughed sadly. “You’d never hurt me in that way...apart from the other day with the police.” I sighed. “I’m talking about other kinds of pain. We’ve only been back in each other’s lives for a few days, and look at the mess we’re already in.”
He stiffened. “It’s a mess I can fix by not touching you anymore.” The words seemed to choke him.
“It’s a mess that will only get more complicated the longer we spend together.” It physically tore out my heart but I forced, “You don’t want to be with me—you’ve told me over and over again—so it’s not fair of you to demand I spend time with you...not when I can’t stop wanting—”
His lips crashed on mine, silencing me. His tongue dove past my lips, consuming me.
Unbridled angst and energy flowed between us.
I kissed him back—weak and hungry.
His fingers shot through my hair, keeping me pinned as he leaned into me, squashing me against the wall. His hips rocked into mine, wedging his erection against my belly.
God, I didn’t stand a chance.
“How are you this brave when you have no one?” He kissed me vicious and deep. “How does loneliness not eat you alive?”
I arched my mouth away from his, breathing hard. My lips tingled, my body damp and ready for anything he wanted to give me, but his question had been horribly cruel.
My hands balled. “I’m not lonely.”
“I am.” His eyes searched mine. “I’m dying a little every day because of it.”
“You can’t say things like that.”
“Things like the truth?” He traced his thumb over my cheekbone. “Tell me how you did it. Tell me what I should do. Fuck, O...tell me how to stop—” He leaned to kiss me again, but I slipped under his arm and pushed his weight away.
He was a master at making me care. A magician at making me believe he cared in return.
I’d once again lost all my power because Gil had kissed me when I’d wanted space. He’d encroached on my home when all I wanted was time apart.
He sucked up all the air and suffocated me of all my choices.
And still I couldn’t say no.
My chin tipped up as true anger filled me. Anger at not knowing a thing about him, his past, his present, his secrets. Anger that was done waiting for answers.
Questions crawled up my throat and burned my tongue. I spat them out as if we’d been having a fight, not indulging in an explosive kiss. “Enough. No more.” I slashed my hand through the air. “You don’t get to ask a single thing about me...not unless you’re prepared to trade.”
“Trade?” His nostrils flared. The passion between us slipped into something lethal.
“You say I’m lonely.” I looked him up and down tauntingly. “Yet you’re the saddest person I’ve ever met.”
His entire body tensed, filling with threats. “Olin...be careful.”
“You ask if I struggled. But you won’t tell me what you struggle with.”
His throat worked as he swallowed. “I’m warning you.”
“Justin said something happened—”
“Justin?” His snarl made me slam my lips together. “What the fuck did Justin say?”
Shit.
“Nothing. Only that—”
“Justin doesn’t know anything about me.”
“He knows something happened. Just like I know—”
“Neither of you have a fucking clue.”
“You say that as if you’re proud that you’ve kept two people who care about you in the dark.”
“Proud, no. Grateful, yes.” His eyes flashed. “You don’t need to know. You can’t know.”
“You’re right. I don’t need to know. No one needs to know anything about someone. But we were friends once, and we’re playing with fire now. The logical step is to learn about each other.”
“It’s not logical. Nothing about this is logical.”
“I agree.” I winced from the pain in his voice. “There’s nothing logical about you knocking me out for calling the police on a legitimate crime. There’s nothing logical about why I keep forgiving your attitude. There’s nothing logical about asking me to stay with you for three days without any other explanation other than my life is in danger.”
“That’s the best reason to obey me.”
“But not the easiest.”
“You used to trust me.” His voice was measured and cold.
“Yeah, and look where that got me!” My anger soared, pushing my voice up an octave.
His deepened into danger. “What the hell is going on here?”
“What do you mean?”
“How did this happen?” He waved his hand back and forth between us as if he could physically touch the burning, bleeding battle we’d created. “How did we go from kissing to being at war?”
“I’ve reached my limit. I want to know what you’re hiding.”
He cocked an eyebrow in a measured, chilly move. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to tell you anything—”
“You think I’m the crazy one?”
He nodded, crossing his arms. “Certifiable.”
My mouth fell open.
He wanted to play that game? Name-call and ridicule to avoid discussing topics about himself?
Fine.
“Who’s Olive, Gil?”
I braced myself for an explosion. I willingly poured gasoline on the fire. I was jealous of his dream. Jealous of another O. An O he obviously cared about, adored, loved, missed.
He missed that girl with every molecule of his body, and if I wasn’t that girl he dreamed about, then I was wasting my time.
I refused to put myself through the agony. I utterly prohibited myself from falling any further if there wasn’t the tiniest, slimmest chance that I might win in the end.
That I might crack Gil’s arctic shell.
That I might earn his complicated love.
But I wasn’t prepared for the lashing, slicing silence that cloaked him, shutting him down piece by piece. His face went dead. His body carved from glaciers. Only his eyes glowed, and they glimmered with a thousand poisonous emeralds. “Where did you hear that name?” His voice was measured and methodical, terrifying in its iciness.
I’d faced his wrath. I’d fought his passion. I’d submitted to his commands.
But standing before him while the temperature plummeted and his jaw ticked with snow, I didn’t know how to breathe. Didn’t know what to say or how to fix this.
I’d screwed up.
Majorly.
And I didn’t fully understand why.
Goosebumps darted all over me as I sidestepped toward the living room. “Forget it. I made a mistake.”
He stared at me as if I was a stranger, letting me inch away from his frigid fury.
But then, he stalked toward me.
I raised my hands in surrender, backing away. “Gil...don’t.”
His brow tugged over furious eyes. “Where did you hear that name?”
“You had a nightmare. The night I stayed at your place.” I dodged around the dining room table. “I overheard you.”
For a second, sheer relief shone on his face, but it was followed swiftly by more rage. “You spied on me?”
“You kidnapped me.” My fingers latched around a scruffy wooden chair, using it as a shield.
“I’m protecting you.”
“I don’t want protecting.”
“Well, too fucking bad!”
My head cocked. “What are you protecting me from?”
He shuddered as if I’d asked the hardest question in the world. “Everything.”
“Not everything.” My heart pounded as I studied his unreadable pose. Give him a sword and he looked ready to smite me down.
He froze, predator still and ready to pounce. “What the hell doe
s that mean?”
I’d picked this fight. I couldn’t back down even though my knees trembled. “You might be protecting me from things I don’t know, but you’re doing a terrible job of protecting me from you.”
His teeth gnashed together. “I’m not the dangerous one.”
I laughed cynically. “You’ve always been the most dangerous one. To me.”
“What do you want from me, Olin?” His sigh was endlessly heavy. “You push me until I snap. You taunt me until I retaliate. You’re not supposed to be in my life, yet you barged in anyway.” His eyes flashed. “This is your fault. You made it all so fucking complicated.”
“You’re blaming me for all of this?”
He nodded, moving forward and stopping in front of my chair-shield. “All of it.”
“Including the mess you’re in with the guy who beats you up?”
His eyes snapped closed while he inhaled patience as his shoulders slouched in defeat. “No. That’s on me.”
“What’s on you?”
He smiled sadly. “A punishment I can’t bear.”
I stopped breathing. “What punishment, Gil?” Inching out from behind my chair, I dared put my hand on his rigid forearm. “You know you can talk to me, right?” I wanted to ask him if I was the O he dreamed of. If I still haunted him like he haunted me.
But I was a coward.
He shrugged me off. “Like I told you before, I can’t.” He looked at the ceiling with the most distressing, heartsick look. The melancholy wrapping around him slithered from apartment corners and sank painful fangs into his soul.
I couldn’t stand to see him so broken. Because that was what he was. His anger and arguments scared me, but it was what lurked beneath his threats that scared me more.
Gilbert Clark was almost at his wits’ end.
He was exhausted and drained and living in misery, and I had no idea how to help him.
“I’m still here for you, Gil.” I stepped into him, wrapping my arms around his tense frame. “Even if you try to push me away. Even if we fight or say things we don’t mean. If you truly need help...I’m always here.”
The Finished Masterpiece (Master of Trickery Book 3) Page 29