I pinned her to the spot with honesty. “I already trust you.”
She frowned. “And what did I do to deserve such an honour?”
My heart fell and the simpleness of our conversation veered into tricky territory. Moving toward her slowly, I dared reach out and, with a slightly shaking hand, cupped her cheek.
The second I touched her, whatever remaining pieces of myself that were still mine switched owners.
I was hers.
Totally.
Undoubtedly.
My mouth went dry as my heart crashed around my ribcage.
She froze. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip. Her eyes turned wide. “Um, Gil?”
I swallowed hard, unable to tear my gaze from her mouth.
I couldn’t reply.
I put all my attention into not clutching her close and kissing her. My self-control almost snapped, my fingertips bruising her beautiful skin, but she didn’t pull away.
She didn’t believe the rumours to avoid the surly, argumentative bad boy.
She gave me the benefit of the doubt and that made me so damn grateful that she trusted me.
Trust.
You’re mine, O.
You just don’t know it yet.
My thumb traced her cheekbone. I stepped closer until we were inches apart. My voice was as heavy as my heart as I whispered, “Who said anything about it being an honour?”
She gasped as I pulled her into me, deleting the space between us. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, but I couldn’t stop.
Her gaze travelled from my eyes to my lips to my jaw. And the raw desire on her pretty innocent face shadowed with dismay.
Swaying backward, she slipped from my touch.
I let my arm fall, jerking in surprise when she touched me in return.
I couldn’t breathe as the softest fingers traced my jawline, dancing over stubble I couldn’t quite shave, sending my pulse hammering in my ears.
I’d never been touched so kindly before. Never had blood gush around my body in such a frenzy.
“Olin...what—” I cleared my throat, cursing breathlessness and crazed heartbeats. “What are you doing?”
Leaning into me, she ran her finger by my ear, a frown replacing tentative desire. “You’re hurt.”
Her voice no longer hypnotised me but brought me back to reality with a painful crash. “What?”
She held up her hand, revealing a streak of blood between her fingers. Her eyes widened with concern. “Oh, no. You’re bleeding.” She moved to come closer, to investigate the wound she should never have found.
I backed up instantly, rubbing at the streak of violence I hadn’t seen.
So he did break the skin last night.
I’d felt the pain of his old class ring whack into my skull.
I’d swallowed stolen aspirin to dull the throb.
“Gil...are you okay?” Olin wiped the redness on her jeans, not caring it smeared on the denim. “Come here, I’ll care for you. We’ll go to first aid and—”
“I’m fine.” My voice no longer held any teasing or tenderness. It was cold and sarcastic—the same tone I used with every student and teacher.
I refused to let her think I was weak.
That I couldn’t protect her just because I couldn’t protect myself.
I needed to leave.
“Don’t worry about it.” Not bothering to grab my backpack, I rushed from the classroom just as Ms Tallup arrived.
Chapter Ten
______________________________
Olin
-The Present-
“THE JOB IS yours, Miss Moss. If you’d like to join our team, of course.”
Sitting on the bus, travelling from downtown to the industrial area, I ran through the interview in my mind. The women’s nasally voice repeated in my brain. “The job is yours, Miss Moss. The job is yours.”
It was a good thing they’d offered employment.
A great thing.
However, I couldn’t quite get excited, which made me feel like a terrible human being.
I’d accepted graciously, gratefully, and taken the contract to read overnight. They wanted me to start tomorrow. The salary was shockingly terrible, but the job didn’t demand highly skilled people—merely desperate ones to answer the phones, troubleshoot the website, and be a general ‘fetch-it girl’.
I had nothing against office culture or cubicles, but it didn’t inspire me. It didn’t make me use the gifts I’d been given...and lost. It didn’t grant the right nutrition I needed for my damaged dancer’s soul.
Ah, well.
I was lucky. Extremely so.
I had a job.
I had security.
And I was ten minutes away from seeing Gil one last time.
* * * * *
Nerves bubbled and popped as I approached Gil’s warehouse.
The graffiti with his business name reminded me of the artwork he’d shown me one night so many years ago. The closed roller door symbolic of his talent at shutting me out when I was so, so sure he’d felt just as strongly for me as I’d felt for him.
I’d been wrong then and made a spectacle of myself chasing after him.
I hope I’m not making the same mistake.
I hadn’t slept much last night—our kiss on repeat in my brain. If I’d blown it into something more than what it was, then that was my fault. But if I remembered it correctly, then there had been something between us.
Something worth fighting overpayment, angry curses, and a closed off painter who could no longer stand the sight of me.
Approaching the building, I sucked in a breath and squared my shoulders. My office skirt and pale pink blouse seemed out of place when I’d stood naked only yesterday.
My modest heels clicked as I slowed to a stop outside the pedestrian access.
I hesitated.
Should I knock? Enter with no announcement?
Masculine voices sounded inside.
I narrowed my eyes against the animosity bleeding through the door.
Was Justin here? Were he and Gil fighting again?
I leaned closer, pressing my ear to the door. A curt command garbled, followed by the heavy thud of violence.
A grunt exploded, but no shout followed.
Gil.
Instincts roared into life, old habits of caring, annoying impulsions to fight for those in trouble.
Rapping my knuckles on the door, I tried the handle. “Hello?”
Locked.
Another curse. Another thud.
“Gil?!”
I backed up, looking for another way in. Hoisting my handbag higher, I spun on my heel, seeking anyone close by for assistance.
No people to enlist. All alone.
In front of me sat a dinged-up black van. A large scratch marred the glossy paint while a dent on the driver’s door hinted the owner didn’t care it wasn’t pristine.
Justin drove a sedan, I was pretty sure, so who—
The clang of metal whipped my head around as the pedestrian door swung open then crashed shut, spitting a man from Gil’s warehouse.
I froze.
It definitely wasn’t Justin.
The man scowled at his knuckles, smearing a line of blood glistening on them. His scowl snaked into a smirk then a nasty chuckle. The blood vanished as he wiped the back of his hand on his jeans.
Not his blood.
My heart rate skyrocketed. Was this the man who’d hurt Gil last time? The reason for his cut lip and sore arm? And if so, why was he here and walking without injury? Gil wasn’t exactly someone you could pick on and not earn a severe beating in return.