Page 84 of Art of Sin

37covetousness

Gideonand I barely speak as he drives us across town. I’m not surprised when he pulls into the alley behind Crossroads, though my heart lurches. Our headlights sweep over London, standing outside an open black door. She waves and holds up a set of keys, jingling them playfully.

“Nice of her to let us in the back,” I murmur.

Sensing my relief, Gideon gives me a wry look as he turns off the car. “Did you think we’d traipse in the front door?”

“I honestly didn’t know.” My breathing is choppy. “We still have to get to a playroom. As your publicist, I don’t think—”

“Au contraire, mon bijou,” he interjects, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door. “Dominic and London bought a house last year, so their old loft is available. Private entry and exit.”

I process for a few moments.

“Is it furnished?”

He bites his lip against a smile. “Yes.”

“Has it been, uh…”

“Cleaned? Yes. Last week. Although, apparently we’re the first to use it. We have to leave a review on AirBnB.”

I blink rapidly, my mouth hanging. “Are you joking?”

“Yes,” he says, winking. “Come on. Now or never.”

My joy seeing a bit of his playfulness return banishes the last of my doubts. Whatever else this is—what haunts us, has driven us together and soon will drive us apart—I have the choice to let it interfere with the present.

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” he whispers. “Last chance to change your mind.”

We share a long glance. Timeless despite its brevity. Grave despite its sensual charge. Tonight is goodbye, and we both know it.

“I’m in.”

He nods, the tension around his mouth releasing. We walk side by side toward London, our arms brushing, bare hands twitching then entwining. Electric tingles cascade through me, as always when his skin contacts mine.

“Hey, guys,” greets London. She tosses Gideon the keys. “Have fun.”

She grins at me, then turns to leave.

“London, wait,” I blurt.

Pausing, she throws a questioning glance back. “What’s up?”

“Is Nate okay?”

Sympathy clouds her expressive eyes. “Yeah, he is. He’s staying with us for a bit. Said being alone in his apartment is freaking him out.” She draws a swift breath. “He told me, by the way.”

I stiffen—she holds up a hand, her gaze narrowed and hard.

“I know what it’s like, feeling alone and at the mercy of a past you can’t share with anyone. Even the police. But Nate deserves to trust a few people with his secrets, Deirdre. Just like you do.” She glances meaningfully at Gideon, who’s clearly unsurprised by her words. “In fact, Dominic has known for a few years.”

Betrayal, double-edged with my own recent confession, sinks into my gut. “He told Dominic? When?”

She nods. “Five or six years ago.”

My mind races back, sorting memories. Around that time, Nate started really seizing his independence, renting an apartment alone, going to the gym, taking self-defense classes, becoming confident in his sexuality and identity… And I’d thought it merely a sign of him forgetting all that had happened to us. Or, like me, stuffing it so deeply inside the memories lived only in dreams.

Gideon squeezes my hand. I look at him, my face stiff. A shattered mask glued precariously by sheer habit.

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