Page 8 of Art of Sin

We’re almost to his house. Five more minutes and I’ll be free of this nightmare. Although I know exactly what he’s talking about, I ignore him.

“Of course you saw. The real question is whether or not you feltit. Did you feel the echo of a tongue between your thighs?”

“Stop,” I whisper.

His dark, almost sinister chuckle raises goose bumps on my arms. “Why should I, when you ruined my evening? I think you did feel it, even if you didn’t want to. Sex is art. It speaks, in one way or another, to everyone. Not even ice queens are exempt.”

Our food arrives and we slip out of the booth. Maggie goes first, her stride impressively nonchalant as she passes Gideon. I keep my head straight, my eyes on the door, and pray he doesn’t recognize me behind my sunglasses.

No such luck.

Warm fingers curl around my forearm, snapping me to a halt. Fiery prickles of sensation race up to my shoulder and into my chest, igniting pistons in my heart.

“Well, well, well.”

Summoning every last dredge of composure I possess, I look down at Gideon. Thank fuck for sunglasses, because my eyes are wide with panic.

“If it isn’t Denise.”

“Deirdre,” I correct sharply.

A slow smile curls his lips. Above them, golden-brown eyes peer straight through my dark lenses. “Are you stalking me? Making sure I act in accordance to my father’s reputation?”

“No,” I snap. “As you can see, I was just leaving. Let go of my arm.”

He does, but only after stroking his thumb over my sensitized skin. I’m paralyzed by that small movement. Want him to stop. Want him to never stop.

“Join me for breakfast, Deirdre.”

“I’m here with a friend.” I clear my throat, disgusted by my breathless tone. “Don’t burn any buildings down today, okay?”

The smirk becomes a grin. “Make excuses. I’ll drive you home, or to work, wherever you need to be.”

Maggie appears at my side. I melt with relief, then freeze as she says brightly, “Works for me! I have to run some errands before heading to the office. Hi, I’m Maggie. Deirdre and I work together.”

“Nice to meet you, Maggie,” he says, shaking her hand. “Thanks for letting me steal your date.”

Maggie laughs. “No problem.”

She smiles at me, ignoring my pissed expression, and hands me the take-out bag with my omelet inside. I’m caught in my own trap. Despite wanting to throttle her, I’m actually a little proud of how quickly she acted.

Maggie leaves with a jaunty wave and my car keys. I sit down opposite Gideon, our knees brushing beneath the small table. I flinch and shift back. He smiles knowingly.

“Go ahead and eat. I won’t mind.”

“I’m not hungry.” And I’m not—anymore.

His gaze flickers across my face. “You look different today. I almost didn’t recognize you. Still the same walk, though, like you’re on a battlefield.”

My tongue is frozen in my mouth. For the first time in a long time, I’m intimidated by a man. Most men have a simple set of motivations. Eat, sleep, work, fuck. Gideon is an anomaly. Complex. Nuanced, yet direct. Highly intelligent and perceptive, but seemingly without the social boundaries laid down during childhood.

“I unsettle you,” he muses, eyes on mine as he takes a sip of coffee.

“No, you unsettle my job security.” The words slip out, revealing far more than I want to. “That is—”

“I get it.” With a smooth motion I barely see, he reaches across the table and removes my sunglasses. “Ah, look at that color. Such a luminous shade of blue-gray. I’d love the challenge of replicating it in acrylic.” His gaze drops. “Your mouth, on the other hand, I’d have no problem painting.”

His brazen words have a calming effect, likely the opposite of their intent. Maybe he isn’t so complex, after all. I shift my methods from subtle manipulation to battering ram.

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