Page 58 of Art of Sin

My heart flits against its walls, needy and trapped, as my gaze snaps to his face. I’m paralyzed. Astounded by the offer of a choice in the matter. And the outright lunacy of it.

“You’d prostitute yourself to me so long as I keep letting you pry into my head for the sake of art?”

He bites his lower lip, smothering a smile. But his eyes gleam. “You are the single most fascinating, contradictory woman I’ve ever met. Strong yet vulnerable. Soft but hard. Frigid and at the same time filled with fire. I’m still considering marrying you, just so I can study you for the rest of my life.”

I blink, then laugh. This time, it sounds normal. Once again, he’s effortlessly guided me back from the edge.

“Move it, Don Juan. I’m going home.”

Hands up in surrender, Gideon shifts away from the door. His impish grin follows me as I pull it closed, start the car, and roll down the window.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you just did,” I chastise, which only makes his smile grow. “If I wasn’t so annoyed, I’d thank you.”

Ducking his head through the window, his lips graze my cheek in a fleeting caress. “Good night, mon bijou. Text me when you’re home safe.”

I nod, put the car in reverse, and back down the driveway. I don’t look in the rearview to see him one last time. And I ignore the feeling that every mile toward my empty condo takes me farther away from that elusive place called home.

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