With effort, I force my gaze up the long line of his body so that I can look into his eyes.
“Of course,” he says, his voice a rough whisper, like he can sense what's on my mind. “You can ask me anything.” Gill's lips twitch in amusement. “But I might not be able to answer all of it.”
I take a deep breath, drawing the sharp bite of chlorine into my lungs. It's that smell, I think, that triggered the memory. They say scent's the most powerful reminder there is. I can totally believe that—Gill's spicy sweet scent still gets under my skin like nothing else.
I keep my eyes trained on his, even if they'd rather wander elsewhere. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. What happens if I get fooled a third time? Where does the blame lie then?
“About six months after Solène was born, I started swimming at one of the public pools late at night, on a favor from the manager.” I wet my suddenly dry lips. Mon Dieu, this is harder than I thought it would be. It should be a simple question, an easy ask and an even easier no for Gilleon because there's no way in hell he could've been there, right? But it's not. This is one of the hardest questions I've ever asked in my life.
I notice right away the sudden tension in Gill's powerful shoulders, the way his blue eyes darken and his breathing turns rapid.
There's no way. There's just no way.
“I tripped and fell in the pool,” I say, unable to stop the words even though I think I already have my answer. “And somebody saved me, gave me mouth-to-mouth. Gill … was that you?”
The silence that follows my question is more than enough to confirm my suspicions.
I feel my eyes go wide and my fingers curl around the edge of the lounge chair.
“Gilleon,” I say, feeling my own breathing picking up speed. “How could you? How could you have been so close and still have said nothing to me? I was aching, Gill. I was bleeding, and it wasn't just from hitting my head on the cement.”
“I'm sorry, Regi,” Gill growls, anger riding up and over him. Not at me, I don't think, but it's there. At who, at what, that's what I need to know. I watch as he rakes his fingers through his wet hair and lets the towel fall around his shoulders. “I couldn't be with you. I shouldn't even be with you now, but I couldn't take it anymore. Being separated from you was killing me. It was fucking killing me, Regina.” He fists a hand over his heart and closes his eyes, taking a step back like he needs to find some space for himself, a moment of alone time to process this. I don't let him dodge the questions, reaching out and curling my fingers around the waistband of his shorts.
The contact between us ignites in an instant, my fingertips grazing the smooth, hard planes of his belly as I swallow hard against the surge of emotion that rises up in me.
“Why run away only to come back? I don't understand, Gill, and I want to. I need to.”
“I love you, Regi,” he says with a sigh and a shake of his head. “I love you, and love is selfish.”
He breathes out, a rough, harsh sound that makes my fingers curl tighter around his waistband. Down below, an aching begins, hot and fierce, and I can't seem to get it under control. Gill either for that matter—the bulge in his shorts is painfully obvious.
He stares down at me for a long moment and then tries to pull away again. I won't let him. Against my better judgment, I reach up with my right hand and grab his waistband. Without even thinking about what I'm doing, I tug his shorts down, letting the hard, rigid length of him spring free. He sucks in a harsh breath, but doesn't fight me as I run my hands up his hips to his belly, my eyes dropping to his cock instead of his face. Believe it or not, it's easier to look at.
I cast a quick glance at the door to the pool area, but I don't see anyone. I know this is wrong, that it's highly inappropriate, that I'm probably making a really poor life decision, but I can't help it. I wrap my fingers around the long, thick length of him and lean forward, flicking my eyes up to Gill's face one last time before I put his cock in my mouth.
He holds his breath for a moment, like he can't quite believe this is happening. To be quite honest, I'm sort of in the same boat here, so I hold my breath, too, curling my fingers into a fist around his shaft and squeezing while I dip my head low. My lips meet my hand before I pull back, the left coming up to cup his balls. Like our previous two sexual encounters, this is just a quick flash, a bandage to cover the wounds we're both suffering from. I don't revel in it or try to drag it out, it just is what it is.
I'm taking the initiative here, taking hold of Gill—quite literally—and there's no excuse this time. There's no pleasure in this for me other than the fact that I'm getting off on getting him off. It's like a compulsion at this point, an unstoppable force. As much as I want to blame my body for this one, pretend this is all just some animalistic rut, I can't. I can't keep lying to myself.
I want Gill. Bad.
I pull back with a gasp, sucking in the air I just refused myself, and find my eyes drawn up to his face again. He's staring down at me, openmouthed, almost slack-jawed, his eyes hooded and dark, fists curled tight at his sides. I can see every muscle in his body quivering with need right now, with a violent rush of adrenaline and desire that's taking every ounce of his self-control to hold back.
Gilleon licks his lips like he's about to say something, but I cut the words off by taking him back in my mouth, gliding along his hard flesh with my tongue until he fists a hand in my hair. He tangles his fingers in honey blonde, but he doesn't hurt me, doesn't even bring a lick of pain to my scalp. I can feel the power there in those inked up fingers of his, the possibility of pain. He could hurt me bad right now if he wanted. Hell, he could kill me. But he won't.
I love the feeling of him holding back like that, but I can't help but wonder what it would feel like if he didn't, if I got to see the full force of him, feel the full force of him.
I lean back again and tilt my head to the left, licking down the side of his shaft and listening to his breath as it hitches then stops before turning into a harsh pant. The tip of my tongue traces across his balls as I pump my fist, listening to the sounds he's making as I try to judge the level of his pleasure. A groan breaks past his lips, almost like he doesn't have the willpower to hold it back anymore. Sliding my tongue back up, I take him in my mouth again and move until I feel his entire body go rigid, muscles standing at sharp attention under his warm, wet flesh. He tastes like chlorine, like a long ago memory that I'm only now just starting to understand. I move faster, squeeze harder, and listen in satisfaction as a growl escapes his throat before he comes inside my mouth.
Leaning back, I swallow the salty sweet taste of him, reach down and pick up my book before rising to my feet and starting for the door.
Gill adjusts his shorts and follows after, the sound of his wet feet loud on the concrete.
“We're not gonna talk about this?” Gill asks as I lean back into the pillows and shuffle the brand-new deck of cards I grabbed from the lobby gift shop. I keep my gaze on them and not on my stepbrother. I can't look at him right now, and the only way I seem able to keep going is to not mention the fact that we keep ending up in … questionable situations.
“About the blow job?” I ask, hoping that if I mention it first, it won't be as embarrassing. I don't look up, but I can hear the tight smile in his voice.
“I'd love to talk about that, actually, but I was referring to the rest of it, to the swimming pool and you falling in, to me being there. Don't you want to know why?”
I keep shuffling, bending the stiff cards with my ferocity. All I can see right now are the glossy images of spades and clubs, diamonds and … hearts. Fucking hearts. If there was a manual override switch for the brain to push back the tender feelings of that particular organ, I'd be using it right now. I need to get my head together, my thoughts in order. I think the most important thing is to find some distance from Gilleon. Since that's not an option right now, we're going to try a different tactic. Me and him, we're going to watch a movie, eat our shitty roo
m service food, and play Go Fish.
“Gill, I don't just want to know why; I need to know why. But truthfully, I'm a little pissed off right now. You were there, right there, right fucking there, and you didn't even let me come to enough to see your face.”
I stop shuffling and look up at him, trying to judge his reaction.
Gill looks right back at me and purses his lips, dark hair still wet but thankfully covered head to toe in clothing. I don't think I could take even an inch of bare chest at this moment.
“There's so much,” he says, but I'm already shaking my head.
“One thing at a time,” I tell him. “Answer me, please. I deserve that, at least, don't I?”
Gill stands there for a long moment and then reaches down to grab his shoulder holster, tucking the gun we snuck to the pool back into it. He made me carry the damn thing in the Saint Laurent. I'm keeping the purse as payment for all of this shit.
“When I first left, I was trapped, Regi. I couldn't have come to see you, no matter how I felt about the matter. After about a year, he let loose on the reigns enough that I was able to sneak away now and again. That night at the pool, that was the first night I got to see you since the day I left.”
“Who's he?” I ask, still looking at him as he moves between the beds and sets the guns on the nightstand between the two.
“Karl Rousseau,” he tells me without hesitation. “After that first year, I kept a close eye on you. I couldn't be with you or even talk to you, but I watched.”
“Do you know how creepy that is?” I ask, my voice raising as I toss the cards onto the white bedspread and watch them splay out into a sea of scattered symbols. “You watched me? So you stalked me then? You're a stalker?” I can't keep the edge of anger and confusion out of my voice. “I don't get it, Gill. I'm sorry, but I just don't. Stalking is for people too disillusioned to realize they'll never get what they want most. You had me, Gill. You had me—hook, line, and sinker. I was yours. So why run away and then come back just to watch?”
Gill lets me finish my rant as I sigh and lean forward, putting my face in my hands.
“It's all I could do, Regina, the best I had to offer. I wasn't allowed to be with you; Karl wouldn't let me.” I'm shaking my head again because I have no clue what's going on here. Allowed? Nobody ever allowed or disallowed Gilleon Marchal to do anything. Ever. “I watched because I had to make sure he'd keep his word. I needed to know you were safe.”
“Why wouldn't I have been?” I ask, lifting up my face to look over at him. He's not looking at me anymore, pretending to be interested in the room service menu. “Gill?”
“Are you hungry?” he asks me, voice soft but hard-edged, like this conversation is taking ten times more out of him than he ever thought it would. “I want to order before the kitchen closes.”
My turn to purse my lips.
“Why go work for Karl Rousseau if he was going to keep us apart? I thought what we had meant more to you than that.”
“It meant everything to me,” he says, and a chill travels up my spine. I pray that he doesn't lift his blue eyes off of that menu. “So I did what I had to to keep you safe.”
“From who?” I demand, hating the roundabout road of questioning we're hurtling down.
“Karl.”
I just stare at the top of his head before looking away and examining the photographs hanging on the wall opposite me. In typical Seattle fashion, they're all artsy shots of the city, signed in the corner with a silver scrawl that says local photographer to me. Underneath each picture, there's a small plaque with the name of the piece, the artist, and a price. I almost want to buy one for my new place. Only I don't have my money yet.
“Let me get this straight,” I say, taking a deep breath and trying to wrap my head around all of this. “You went to work for … Karl, to keep me safe from … Karl, so we could one day rob … Karl.”
“That's about the gist of it,” he says, and I can feel his blue eyes boring into me. I don't look his way.
“So who do you work for now?” I ask as Gill reaches over and drags the black hotel phone towards him.
“Max.”
“Max?” I ask, but I can see that Gill is desperate for a break from this conversation.
“If you don't pick something, I'm just going to order you a burger and call it a day.”
I sigh and reach my hand out for the menu, still not looking at him. Gill passes it over, our fingers brushing in the process and making my breath catch. I slap the menu on my lap and stare down at the words, waiting for them to stop spinning in front of my face.
“Just … order me whatever you're getting. Oh, and a slice of chocolate cake. Je ne pense pas pouvoir m'en sortir sans chocolat.” I don't think I'll be able to get through this without chocolate.
“Bien sûr.” Of course. “That sounds like a good idea. I could go for some chocolate, too.”
“What? Did you lose your expressionless mask back at Pike Place?” I cringe at the words falling from my mouth and realize that I've let mon visage laid creep back over my features again. I smooth away the scowl and take a deep breath. “Désolée. Sorry. I just … You showed up in Cliff's kitchen without a single shred of emotion and now you're all over the place. I'm having trouble understanding you, your motives, your emotions.”
“Let me make that all clear right now,” Gill says, one hand on the phone, the other curled tightly around his knee, fingertips digging into the denim of his jeans. “I have one goal, one motive. Regina, I want you back.”
I groan and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, standing up and moving towards the window and the darkness swimming outside of it. I'm sure it's raining again, but it's hard to tell if the moisture on the glass is just from earlier.
“You can't be serious,” I say, and the whisper of bare feet on carpet is the only indication I have that Gill's moving toward me. I have just enough time to spin around before he slams his palms on either side of my head, flat against the glass of the sliding doors.
I suck in a sudden breath, the heat from his body radiating off of him in waves—part of it lust, some of it anger, a good portion of it something else. Love. Maybe. I don't know. I look up at Gilleon, right into his blue eyes and feel his breath teasing my face as he struggles to control himself.
“I'm dead serious,” he says, leaning down and taking my bottom lip between his teeth. I groan as Gill's knee slides forward and dips between my legs, rubbing up against my throbbing, aching heat.
Shit.
“Stop it,” I snap, putting my palms on his chest. Only I can't push him away because his body feels too good, too warm, too familiar. “Didn't I tell you to leave me alone? I don't want to get back together with you, Gilleon. You left me alone with a baby in my belly and a ring on my finger, so fuck you. Fuck off. Casse-toi.”
“I wish I could,” he tells me, his mouth still way too close to mine for comfort. “I tried once or twice, really tried. I knew you'd be better off without me, but I can't help it. I have a lot of fight in me, Regina, a lot of strength. But you know what I've figured out? You're the only thing worth fighting for.”
I duck under Gill's arms and head for the bathroom, hating how open and vulnerable I feel in these stupid pj shorts and tank top. I want my jumpsuit back, my earrings, my heels. I want to go down to the lounge and flirt with a cute bartender, anything to get my mind away from Gill and out of this headspace.
He catches me on my way in, curling his fingers gently around my bicep. He doesn't make me stop with force—although he could if he wanted—but instead gets me to freeze by his touch alone.
“I know that what I did was unforgivable, and I'm not asking you to forgive or forget, but I also know what I want, and I won't stop until I get it. Regina, you're mine, and I'm yours. That's how it's always been, no matter how much distance I put between us. I need you, Regi.”
I want nothing more than for Gill to pull me back, slide his fingers up my inner thigh and under my loose pajama shorts
, but I control myself. Finally.
“I'm going down to the lounge. You can join me if you want, but obviously, this whole evening isn't working out well for either of us. I need to get out of this room.”
Gill lets go of me suddenly and steps back. I turn to find him with his palms up and out in surrender, dark hair falling into those bright eyes of his.
“If I promise to behave, will you stay?” He tries to smile, some of that old humor leaking into his expression. “Just burgers, cards, and an overpriced in room movie.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
“You'll let me call Solène and Cliff?” Gill shakes his head and his smile turns apologetic.
“They're safe, I promise, but we're not if we give away our location.”
I sigh. I hate that he's the expert here.
I reach back and run my fingers through my blonde hair, letting the loose strands flutter around my face.
“Okay. Okay, Gill. I'll stay, but please, no more confessions. I've heard what you have to say, no need to repeat it. I get it.” I swallow, but my throat's gone suddenly dry. Damn it. “We can talk, but let's start with mindless conversation. If things get too serious again, I'm leaping off the goddamn balcony.”
“So tell me when you got the fox?” I ask, tossing over my kings and wrinkling up my nose as I count Gill's cards. That asshole is too good at reading people—he's got five sets of cards lying in groups of four on the nightstand between us. Me, I've got two. Gilleon is absolutely winning this game of Go Fish.
“Do you have any eights?” he asks me, and I shake my head, listening to the soft murmur of the rom-com we've got playing in the background. Probably not the best choice of movie, but it was that, a raunchy comedy with the word sex in the title, or porn. So … pretty much stuck between a rock and a hard place. I hate that that phrase makes me think of Gill, of being trapped between his rock solid body and the hard mattress beneath me.
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