Stepbrother Thief (27 page)

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.

“Go fish,” I tell him and watch as he draws a glossy card and adds it to his hand.

“I got this,” he says, pointing at his left arm with his handful of cards and smiling, “about two years after I left. Getting ink was one of the few things that made me feel alive again. I liked the pain, the whole artistic process of it.” I study the wicked fox tattoo with its double tails and the dark gray shadows that make up its eyes. The piece is big, wrapping around the raven and the skull that decorate Gilleon's bicep. The more I look at his sleeve, the more I like it.

“Got any fives?” I ask and he grunts, passing over a single card. I grin and slap the four of them down on the table. “Any queens?”

“Just one,” he whispers and goose bumps break out across my arms. I take the damn card without meeting his eyes and add it to my hand, ignoring the innuendo in his words. “Tell me about Mathis,” Gill asks randomly, continuing our trend of quid pro quo. I feel like Clarice Starling in
The Silence of the Lambs,
only worse because Gill's ten times scarier to me than Hannibal Lecter. Gill has love in his eyes and that's the most dangerous thing there is.

“He was nice, cute, available.” I study my cards and let my eyes drift over to Gilleon. He's watching me, of course, studying my face for clues. “You're sure he's alright?” I ask, feeling guilty again for what happened. Gill's no lightweight; that punch he threw must've hurt.

“He's fine. You can even call him if you want. Like I said, we don't have to worry about the authorities, and Karl already knows you're with me.” Gill grumbles this last bit and then grits his teeth. I'm not sure if the expression's for Karl or for Mathis.

“Sevens?” I ask and Gill shakes his head.

“Go fish.”

I draw a card and get what I'm asking for, flashing it to him with a smile.

“Tell me why Karl Rousseau hasn't flipped his lid over a hundred million in diamonds,” I say, praying that Gilleon will finally give in and forget about being so close-lipped. “I mean, that's a lot of money, Gill. I don't know anything about jewelry heists, but that's got to be up there on the top ten list of hauls, right?”

“It is,” he admits with a shrug of his powerful shoulders. “One for the history books. Well, if anyone knew about it that is. But nobody will ever find out. Karl and Max, they'll make sure of that.”

“But
why?
Gill.” I sit up a little and drop my cards into my lap. “I understand why you're always so stingy with information, but this, I feel like I should get to know why.” Gill sighs and sets his cards aside, reaching for the pint of beer that's sitting next to the phone. I grab mine, too, and take a sip. It's a little bitter for me, but alcohol is as alcohol does.

“I thought this evening was supposed to be about mindless conversation?”

I narrow my eyes, fingers wrapped around the frosty glass in my hands.

“Compared to you and me, this
is
mindless conversation.” I take another sip of my drink and set it aside. On the bed next to me, a half-eaten burger and a pile of cold fries sits on a silver tray. I pick one up and dip it in ketchup, slather it in the stuff. There's not a lot of ketchup in Paris, and I
missed
it. “So. Are you going to answer the question?”

“I'd rather talk about you,” Gill says, deflecting my words, the same way he's done since the moment he walked back into my life those few months back, his sapphire dark eyes closed and shuttered, hiding his emotions away from the world. I'd thought that the boy I'd loved, the one who'd picked the lock to my bedroom door that very first day and curled up on my bed, was gone. But … I look up into Gilleon's eyes, such a richly brilliant blue that I feel like I'm falling straight through the sky when I stare into them.

“Answer my question first and I'll tell you whatever you want to know,” I say, sliding the fry between my lips, watching as Gilleon's pupils dilate and he mimics me by running his tongue across his lower lip. He shakes his head and turns away, towards his own empty plates. I got one burger and barely managed to eat half while he ordered
three
and finished them all. Thing is, there's not an ounce of fat on this guy; it's all hard, sculpted muscle. Guess he just needs a lot of energy to run that beautiful body on.

“Karl doesn't need or want government agencies getting involved in his business.”

“Because he employs people like you?” I ask, leaning down and dragging the small silver tray that holds my chocolate cake towards me. “To steal things for him?” I hazard a glance at Gill and see his lips twitch in amusement.

“You were always one smart cookie,” he says without even a hint of sarcasm. “Besides, Karl has resources that some governments can only dream of. He believes that he'll get back what we stole. I think he's excited to finally put a bullet in my head, too.”

A chill tickles my spine as I lift the lid off the cake and pull it onto my lap.

“Why does he want you dead?” I ask casually, hoping Gill's already in the groove and will just answer me straight. He's too smart for that.