Page 71 of Art of Sin

After a pregnant pause, I look away from my computer screen to find Trent watching me. I don’t like what I see there, but there’s not much I can do about it. Nor about the words that spill from him next.

“What’s going on with you?” His rich voice is low and tense. “Talk to me, Deirdre. I have your back. I can help.”

I almost smile, and have the fleeting thought that if I were a different woman, I would have jumped at the chance for a date with him. But I’m not, and no matter how well he thinks he knows me, he doesn’t.

“You’re a good man, Trent. One of the best. But please don’t worry. This is the right choice for me. Gideon is about to make waves worldwide and he needs me full-time. That’s all. And let’s be real—with what he’s paying me, I can retire in five years. There’s nothing personal about this decision except realizing I want to spend the next thirty years on a beach somewhere.”

My sincerity chips at his doubt, reframing it. I watch the progression of thoughts march across his handsome face. Maybe he’s worried for nothing. Maybe he’s letting his feelings for me—possibly jealously—cloud his judgement. Maybe he doesn’t know me like he thought he did…

“If you needed help, you’d tell me, right?” he asks softly.

No.

“Of course. Now let’s get back to work. Tell me about our relationship with VitaH20. Who are the key players, what are our yearly objectives, how’s our progress…”

The rest of the day is a blur.

Not until I pull into Gideon’s driveway that evening do I feel the drain of the day. The effort it took to withstand Trent and Maggie’s barely repressed concern, to maintain nonchalance along with the lie I spun for them.

Early retirement.

Yeah, right.

My footsteps up the stone walkway are heavy, dragged down by my thoughts on the signed contract in my briefcase, the risks I’m taking, the uncertain future and the weight of the past.

Gideon waits on the threshold. Light around him, relief in his eyes, lips canted in a half smile. Mouthwatering scents float from the kitchen to my nose, and soft music from the living room filters to my ears. It’s a sensory and emotional assault I’m not prepared for.

“I need you.”

The words rip from my chest, bypassing my mind. I’ve never said them before. To anyone. Moments later I’m in his arms, small and fragile and helpless to resist the thundering of my heart, the hunger only his touch satisfies.

We make it halfway down the hallway before he drags my skirt to my waist, tears my panties off, and gracelessly frees himself from his pants. My spine slams against a canvas painting. His teeth clamp on my neck, and his first thrust is brutal. Angry. Punishing.

Perfect.

“Damn you,” he growls against my throat. “I didn’t know if you’d come back.”

“I know,” I gasp.

He gives me no quarter, slamming inside me until my thighs are slick, until I’m jerking and screaming as I come. He rasps something in French. The fingers of one hand clamped on my jaw so I can’t turn my face away. Can’t hide. His eyes are stark, as much vulnerability as there is fierceness inside them.

“Watch me as I come inside you. Say my fucking name.”

A second orgasm builds, deeper, stronger than the first. Pinned to the wall by his cock, I can do nothing but feel. Take. So I do—absorbing the sudden sharpness of his expression, the fey-like precision of his cheekbones and brow. The lush lips and straight white teeth that nip at my mouth and chin. The rock-hard shoulders, muscles straining, his ass clenching beneath my heels.

My wild god.

I chant his name, tasting salty sweat and tears, and watch every second of his surrender. The sweat dripping from his temples, the flare of his nostrils and clenched jaw. Fingers dig and bruise my hips as he slams inside me again and again.

With a gruff shout, he grinds to a stop so deep inside me I feel the sharp press of our bones meeting behind delicate skin. The pulse of his release against my inner flesh triggers my own climax—a cataclysmic event that leaves me laughing, crying, and triumphant in its wake.

Still holding me against the wall, Gideon licks my tears, the inside of my mouth, the sweat pooled in my clavicle. Finally, he brushes his lips across mine.

“Welcome home, mon bijou.”

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