Stepbrother Thief (13 page)

“Fine,” I say, even though I feel anything
but
fine. “Did you sleep well?”

“Regina Elaine Corbair,” Cliff says, putting his hands on his hips and looking me over. “You look anything
but
fine.” I narrow my eyes at him and glance over at Aveline. She doesn't say anything, just leans back in her chair and shoves the last of the granola bar into her mouth.

“Got our new names today,” I tell him, standing up and passing the files over. I get myself yet another cup of coffee and drink it down like it's a shot of vodka. When I'm done, I slam the cup on the counter and gaze out the window at the trees separating Gill's house from the neighbors. After a minute, Cliff comes up behind me and puts his hand on my shoulder, squeezing tight, just like he always did for Gill, a comforting gesture.

“It'll be okay, Regi,” he tells me as I stare dry eyed out the window and wish for a moment that I was anywhere but here. “Maybe … it's about time all of this came up?” I take a shuddering breath.

“No,” I tell him, and I know he'll respect my wishes on this. “It isn't time until Gill opens his eyes and looks.” I turn around and face Cliff. “All he has to do is
look.
”

True to his word, Gill pops in and out of the house during the day, but I don't talk to him, hardly even glance his way as he trudges in, tracking the floor with mud from his boots. Dressed in my T-shirt from yesterday and a pair of designer leggings, I lounge on the couch and scroll through movies on Netflix, looking for the most horrific, gruesome one I can find. The worse the movie is, the better I feel about my own life. A coping mechanism, I know, but my past is catching up to me, trailing behind and breathing hot against my neck; I could use a distraction.

“You can call me Ave, if that'll make you feel better,” Aveline tells me, appearing in the darkened living room. I closed all of the curtains, blocking out the beautiful golden sunshine and the view of the lake. It's not a pity thing, just a practical one. Who watches horror movies in bright, glaring sunlight?

“And how will that work?” I ask, wondering if Solène and Cliff are still upstairs reading. They're both literature buffs, spending countless hours in silence together, rehashing old classics and brand new bestsellers both. Cliff is a good dad, a perfect one, really. I know he doubts himself because of what happened with Gill and his mom, but his son
chose
to live with her, and he was trying to be respectful. It was a mistake, yes, but a forgivable one; he had no clue she'd drop off the deep end like that.

“If you call me Ave, you can pretend we're friends and then sharing secrets together will be no big deal.” A smile twitches at the edge of my lips as she sits down next to me and passes over a glass of red wine. “It's not some fancy French
boudoir
or whatever, but it'll do the trick.”

“I think you mean
Bordeaux?
” I ask, but Aveline waves my words away, nodding her chin at the TV. I notice she doesn't have a glass of wine in her own hand. She must take this whole no drinking on the job thing very seriously.

“What are you watching?” she asks, her eyes scanning the curtains, her arms stretched out alongside her, draped over the back of the couch. Even now, when she's trying to look relaxed, Aveline looks tense to me. “Been hearing a lot of screams in here.”

“Horror,” I tell her, twisting the remote around in my hand. “Makes me feel better.”

“About what?” Aveline asks, and I feel my walls cracking, my shield breaking. I
want
to talk to someone about all of this, tell them
everything.
Right now, she's all I've got. That, and I kind of … like her. Besides, Gill trusts her with our lives, so why can't I spill some of my secrets?

“About Gill. About … Solène.” I glance at the staircase through the archway behind us, but nobody's there, no creaking of floorboards or snicking of doors.

“Ah,” Aveline says, running her long fingers through that ruby red hair of hers. It's half up in a messy bun and half hanging down around her ears. “That.”

“Yeah, that,” I say, picking at the design on my leggings, the black and gray triangles that make up the pattern. “I knew working with Gill would be hard, but I didn't know it'd be this bad.”

“You still love him?” she asks me, and I feel something shatter deep inside, shards of glass cutting at the edges of my soul. My breath hitches and it's the only answer she needs. Aveline's a smart woman. “Have you talked about that with him?” she asks tentatively, her voice holding onto something that I feel like I should be able to decipher.

“I can't,” I tell her. “No, no, that's not right. I can do anything I set my mind to.” Self-talk, always helps. “But I
won't.
”

“Why not?” she asks me as I look up and meet the spring green of her gaze. “Listen, I don't know what happened between the two of you, but Gill's never shacked up with anyone as long as I've known him and I've known him for
years.
”

I hate how much that thought heats my blood.

“Have you ever slept with him?” I blurt, needing to know for sure. It's not that I'd hold it against her—or even Gill for that matter—but I want to know before I tell her anything else. Aveline recoils a little, like the thought's an anathema to her.

“Like I said, he's hot, but—and no offense to you or anything—he's a little prickly for my tastes. What I mean is, he's kind of a dick.” Laughter bursts from my throat and I clamp a hand over my mouth. Aveline smiles softly at me.

“But you said you'd seen him naked?” I ask and understanding dawns on her pale features.

“Gill and me, we've been through some shit together. I've happened to catch a glimpse of him nude, but it was nothing like that.” I breathe a sigh of relief, grateful that the only friend I have to talk to isn't one of my stepbrother's lovers. “So I'm a safe bet. Tell me whatever you want to tell me, and it won't leave this living room.”
So perceptive.
It's a little unnerving to talk to someone like that, but I'm used to it.

“Gill and me … we … were in love once.”

I wet my lips and pause outside Gilleon's bedroom door, listening to the silence of the apartment and the gentle ticking of the clock in the living room. Outside, the rest of Paris goes about their business, not knowing or caring that this moment, for me, is a historic one.

I reach down for the knob and turn it slowly, finding my stepbrother sitting on the edge of his bed with a book in one hand. He looks up at me as I walk in, smiling softly. I wonder if he can tell from my facial expression what I've got planned.

“Hey there,” he says, closing the book and tossing it onto his nightstand. “I was wondering when you were going to come out of that room of yours. Don't you know that Dad and Elena are gone for the night?” Gill grins big and brushes some dark hair from his forehead. “I was thinking we could make out.”

“I was hoping to do more than make out,” I tell him, reaching down and hooking my fingers under my T-shirt. My heart hammers in my chest and I take that brief moment when the fabric is covering my face to snatch a deep breath. I toss the shirt onto the floor, feeling so exposed, so naked in my lacy blue bra. It's the fanciest one I own, purchased at one of the boutiques in Le Marais with my savings.

Purchased just for this.

“Regi,” Gill says, standing up suddenly, the warm glow of his bedside lamp illuminating the straight sturdy perfection of his nose, the slope of his jaw, the dark brows framing his brilliant eyes. I bite my lower lip hard enough to hurt, but I don't wake up from this dream, this spell that I find myself under every day that I wake up and see Gill for the first time. “Are you sure about this?” he asks, taking a long, slow, deep breath.

I've never been more sure of anything in my life. But I don't tell him this. The words sound too sappy, too cliché, even if they're true.

Instead, I answer him by reaching down and popping the top button on my jeans.

Gill's hands curl into fists by his sides and then relax as I move towards him, pausing at the end of the bed, my eyes hooded and my pulse pounding.

“Regi,” Gill says again, more softly this time, his bare feet quiet on the wood floor as he steps over to me, his hands hovering above my hips like he's not sure this is even really happening. Gill and I have gotten close to taking things all the way, but we never dropped over the edge, never let our hearts take us where our bodies so desperately wanted to go.

When Gilleon finally lays his fingers against the bare skin of my hips, I have to bite back a gasp, little thrills of pleasure arching up my spine and making my head spin.

“I love you, Regi,” he tells me, and I know he's not just saying it to get into my pants. I'm glad he's going to be my first. I can't even imagine doing this with anyone else.

Gill leans in and our lips meet softly at first, tentative strokes of tongue as our bodies come together, the cups of my bra pressing against the hardness of his chest. One of his hands roams up my back along my spine, drawing goose bumps up on my skin. When he cups the back of my head, tangling his fingers in my hair, I groan hard and the passion that we've kept such a careful eye on breaks loose.

I laugh as Gill swings me onto the bed, climbing on top of me and pinning my head with his hands. His eyes sparkle as he wets his lips and looks down at me, studying my face, absorbing it into his memory.

“You make me feel so lucky, Regi,” he says, closing the distance between our mouths and crashing our lips together. Down below, I can feel the hardness of his body through his jeans, that tight bulge that tells me for certain that he wants me as much as I want him.

I reach between us, searching for the button on his jeans and snapping it open, moving straight to his zipper. Gill stops me by pulling back and grinning, hooking his fingers on the waistband of my pants and pulling them down, dragging them right off and over my bare feet, before he tosses them to the floor.

I curl my knees up, suddenly embarrassed by the ruffled panties with the tiny blue bows.

Gill doesn't look embarrassed though; he looks thrilled.

“Are these for me?” he asks, eyes sparkling.

“No, I bought 'em for my last boyfriend.” Gill just laughs and I toss a pillow at him. Before I can think up another insult, he leans over me and runs a finger down the seam of my panties.

“There's a wet spot here, Regi,” Gill says, and I blush, heat rushing to fill my cheeks. “I'm pretty sure
that
isn't for your last boyfriend.”

“Screw you,” I tell him, reaching up and wrapping my hands around the back of his neck. “I'm nervous and scared and you're not making this any better.”

“You? Nervous and scared? I don't think so,” he breathes, kissing me again. I taste his mouth, inhale his scent, like bergamot oil, a spicy sweetness that makes my head feel light. Gill takes advantage of the moment to slip his fingers under my panties and inside me, drawing a gasp that gets swallowed up by his hot mouth.

As embarrassing as it is, I can't keep my hips from bucking against his hand as he teases me, slides his fingertips into my warm body. I keep my arms locked around his neck as he draws the sensation into a throbbing ache and then just … stops.

A moan of disappointment escapes my lips as Gill sits up and strips off his black T-shirt. The disappointment dies right there, right when I see the hard planes of his chest, the swell of muscles that mark Gill as a man, and not a teenager. Not anymore.

I can't even believe he's mine.

“I love you, too, Gilleon,” I tell him, his answering smile enough to warm my heart to the point of bursting. I bite my lip again and run my fingers up his abs, over his chest, curling them over his shoulders and pulling him back down to me. I take a small break to reach down and unhook the front clasp of my bra, getting a pair of raised brows and a surprised facial expression from Gill.