Stepbrother Thief (20 page)

I fix my panties, pull my dress back into place, and smooth a hand over my hair while Gill turns away, panting and straightening out his own clothing.

When I head over to the back door and move inside, he doesn't follow.

I take a long, hot bath, my knees up to my chest, arms curled around them as I close my eyes and force my racing thoughts to a crawl. If I let them run wild like that, I'll never get myself together. What just happened between Gill and me, that was good. It was necessary. We were so caught up in all the hormonal bullshit brewing between us that we weren't thinking clearly. Maybe now that we've both gotten some of that weird hate/makeup sex crap out of the way, we can realize the truth of the situation: me and Gill back together, never going to happen. I can only hope that he understands that and stops saying and doing weird shit.

“
Merde,
” I curse, putting my forehead against my knees. Knowing that Gilleon knows about Solène is a weird sensation, one that I'm not even sure I can put a name to. I can't tell if I'm relieved or freaked out. I'd love to talk to someone about this, but I don't know if Aveline's a great option at the moment. The look she threw me when I walked into the kitchen was nothing short of lascivious. Let's just say, avoiding her company has now shot right up to the top of my priority list.

Then again, Gill did say I could call Leilani or Anika. But then he also said I should use caution, that there's a possibility—however small—that Karl might decide it's worth the effort to use them against me, against him, as leverage for the diamonds.

I decide that no matter how conflicted I am, I can't risk them.

“Fuck this,” I growl, the sound reminding me of Gill and the wild look on his face while he screwed me against the wall of his 1912 fucking Mount Baker goddamn Colonial. Ehh. The conversation we're going to have when I leave this room, it's not going to be fun, is it? And I can only imagine how Cliff will react when he finds out. Even if I don't intend to tell him, he'll know. He's just like that.

I stand up and grab a towel from the stand under the window, drying off with the plush pink perfection as I try to decide what to wear. Obviously this morning's dress is not an option. I don't know if I'll be able to wear that in front of him ever again, or at least not for a while. And that's assuming it's even clean—I know my panties have certainly seen better days.

I swipe the towel across the mirror and lean in, staring at myself, at the blurry dampness of my reflection, my skin flushed and pink, my lips swollen and my pupils dilated. I'm not even going to give half the credit for that to my bubble bath. Sex with Gill is … well, it's always been the best. Mathis, and the dozen or so men before him, none of them could hold a candle to my first love, to the stepbrother I never wanted and then grew to never want to live without.

But I learned to. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done, learning to adapt to the absence of his smile, to the coldness of my bed at night, to the quiet in the mornings.

Young love is so manipulative to the heart, promising that if you lose it, if that person leaves, that you will quite literally shrivel up and die. At least, that's what it told me, but I survived, and I'm a better person for it.

However, none of that will stop me from dressing up again, putting on that uniform for life and marching out there looking my best.

I wrap the towel around my body and move into the bedroom, slipping my mother's diamond pendant around my neck and then pausing in front of my closet. I decide to go with another jumpsuit—still sexy, but something with less … accessibility might be nice. If it takes more effort to get it off, then I'll have more time to talk myself out of it.
Not that I'm going to need it,
I tell myself as I pull the black V-neck off the hanger. In the few minutes it takes me to get dressed, dry my hair, and apply some minimal makeup, I really and truly believe that.

As soon as I step into the hallway, my Oxford blue peep-toe pumps hitting the floor with a clack, I see Gilleon and the entire argument goes completely out the window.

Oh shit,
I think as I feel flames tickling my belly, my muscles tightening in anticipation of … of
nothing
because nothing else is going to happen between us.

“Regina,” he says, shirtless and beautiful, droplets of warm water clinging to his chest, just as fresh from the shower as I am. His tattoos end right at the shoulder in a swirl of darkness that begs for me to run my fingertips across the lines, trace each and every one to their source, to the raven, the fox, the sleek, svelte little feline that curls around his bicep. But there's nothing nice about this kitty cat, with its dark eyes and narrow pupils.

I force my gaze over to his left shoulder, to the angry red of the bullet wound—nothing sexy about that, right? Doesn't help.
Damn it.
I glance back at Gill's face.

“Gilleon,” I say, glad that my voice comes out the way I want it, strong and clear and lacking in any sort of emotion whatsoever. I refuse to play my cards first with this man.

“About earlier,” he says and my chest tightens, “when I said I wanted to go to dinner. I still do. Only … I think maybe you and I should go alone, so we can talk.”

“We do need to talk,” I say, my heartbeat picking up speed as I stand there and pretend that nothing is happening to me, nothing is changing inside. I'm afraid that everything is.

Gill smiles, his perfect mouth sliding to the side in an imitation of the wry grins he used to give me as a teen. His blue eyes are locked onto mine, searching me, trying to decide how I feel about all of this without a single word leaving my mouth.

I glance away as Solène opens her door and appears in the hallway, giving Gill's shirtless body a raised eyebrow before she looks over at me.

“I want to show you something, Regina. Quick, come look.” She retreats back into her room before I get a chance to respond, throwing a look Gill's way to judge his reaction. The sadness etched into his features makes my heart hurt. How different things would be if he'd never left. I remind myself that that was his choice to make.

I move down the hallway, past his door, hating the nearness of his half-naked body as my heels click across the wood.

“She's beautiful,” he whispers as I pass by, “just as beautiful as you.”

My skin ripples, his words brushing across them and drawing goose bumps, before I breeze past and slip into my daughter's room with a sigh. She glances back at me from her seat at the white writing desk in the corner, blue eyes wide and questioning.

“You certainly do fancy him, don't you?” she asks as I raise an eyebrow and come to stand next to her shoulder, surreptitiously leaning forward, pushing back the curtain, and glancing out the window to make sure she didn't have a clear view of Gill and me. I hate that I'm only thinking of this after the fact, but down there on that deck, I wasn't entirely in my right mind.

Thank God.
The porch that wraps this side of the house blocks that portion of the deck. Solène would only have been able to see if she'd gone outside, and from the look of the locked French doors, the gray dreary weather out there, it's highly doubtful.

“Now why would you go and say that?” I ask as Solène shuffles some magazines around, pushing them away from the black drawing book that's sitting directly in front of her. I drop the curtain and shift back, tucking my hands in the front pockets of the jumpsuit and smiling innocently.

“Because you're always gazing at him,” she tells me matter-of-factly. “Oh, and sucking in deep breaths like this.” Solène gasps and then puts her hand to her chest, glancing at me and batting her eyelashes like I'm sure I never do. Unlike her and her dad, I don't have long curled lashes
to
bat. It'd take some serious mascara work—maybe even a fake set—to get mine to do that. “Just like all the women in the movies do when they're in love,” she continues, drawing a faint blush to my cheeks. I'm getting told by a nine year old. Isn't that great?

“I'm not in love with Gill,” I tell her, trying to take the polished, knowledgeable adult route. I reach down and ruffle her dark hair, tucked up in a loose messy bun. “Children shouldn't speak of such matters, you know?” I say, giving her a look that she returns without a hint of shame.

“I simply won't take no for an answer, Regina. You are in love and that is a fact.”

“Who taught you to talk like that?” I ask, knowing full well that it was Cliff. The two of them have been known to curl up in the living room on a Saturday night, sharing a pint of ice cream and watching black and white romance movies like old girlfriends. Believe it or not, they're both gossips, too.

“Papa says I should watch out for you, that you could use a clear head and a bright smile on your side.” Solène opens her drawing book to a black and white sketch, complete with measurements and tiny scribbled notes in French. Since she could pick up a pencil, my daughter's been obsessed with designing outfits. If she had a sewing machine here, I have no doubt that she'd be begging fabric off of Gill or Aveline and spending half her day on that end of the design spectrum. I have a feeling that we've got a future designer in our midst. “Aren't you lucky that you have me as a sister?” she says, and my heart drops a little. I wish I could tell her. I've thought about it a million times, but for some reason, I can't. Perhaps it's cowardice?

“So lucky,” I say as I kneel down and she proceeds to show me her newest designs.

Eventually, I'll tell Solène everything, but I think this family's had just about enough revelations for one day.

I know I have.

This time, when Gill comes out of his room, I'm the one standing there waiting for him.

He doesn't look surprised to see me, dressed in a suit and and a white button-down, the first few buttons undone enough that I can see a bit of the hard perfection of his chest. I imagine that he's dressed up not for me, but so that he can have some plausible way to hide his gun while we're in the restaurant. I have to admit though, Gilleon does clean up nice. The suit jacket and matching black slacks are tailored perfectly, highlighting the strength of his shoulders, the length of his legs, like all good clothing should.

Me, I'm still rocking the V-neck black jumpsuit. We might be going out to dinner, but this is by no means a date.

“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation neutral, pleasant, unassuming.
I
don't give two shits about what happened between us today,
my voice lies. I hate that my nipples get hard at just the sight of him. Good thing I slipped on a strapless bra with this baby. Most of my friends forgo undergarments when they wear strappy or low cut tops, but I don't have that luxury. I wouldn't call myself big in the chest, but I've got a nice pair of solid C cups that
really
hate gravity.

“An Italian place on Post Alley,” Gill says with a slight smile. “I thought we could take a walk afterwards and look at the Gum Wall.”

“Hah,” I say, leaning back and crossing my arms over my chest. “An entire wall covered in used chewing gum. Now
that
is an attraction worth leaving Paris for. How could Mom have ever thought to steal us away from such a city.” I lift up a hand and smile jokingly, only … mentioning my mom and our shared past doesn't seem all that funny to me. Not to Gill either, I guess, because his face shifts with emotion and he glances away, at Solène's bedroom door. “Though I don't suppose a walk would kill me,” I add, trying to lighten the mood. Gill looks back at me and then steps forward, holding out an arm for me to take.

I decide against it and uncross my arms, tucking my clutch by my side like a shield before moving down the stairs ahead of Gilleon.

“Don't you make such a handsome couple,” Aveline coos from her perch on the back of the living room couch. Her sharp green eyes sparkle as she takes us in. “Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome with Blonde Beautiful and Buxom.”

I ignore her, breezing towards the front door while Gill pauses and narrows his eyes menacingly.

“Aveline,” he begins, but she cuts him off with a wave of her hand.