Page 77 of Sin of Love

“What is it with you and my hair? Always finding reasons to make fun of it. If I were a lesser man, my self-esteem might suffer.”

Her lips twitch, firelight gifting me with the barest hint of dimple. “Your self-esteem is just fine, Mr. Masters.”

Our eyes meet and hold, and in the sudden, deep silence, the ephemeral cord between us shivers and tightens. Lingering sanity keeps me from reaching for her—she’ll bolt, she’ll bolt—but not touching her is an almost physical pain. I can barely accept what I see in her eyes.

Life. Hope. Love.

“Gideon.” My name rides a gasp.

“Mon bijou.”

There’s no masking the desire in my voice, so I don’t try. And she does exactly what I knew she would—leaping to her feet and disappearing into the bedroom. I don’t go after her.

Maybe it was too soon to remind her I want her, all of her, but in the following quiet, my doubts fall away.

She didn’t close the bedroom door.

“I’m cold,” she says, voice muffled and so petulant I almost laugh.

And because I’m an asshole, I ask, “Would you like another blanket?”

I imagine her eyes rolling. “No, thank you. I’d prefer a hairy giant.” A pause. “As long as he doesn’t try to kiss me.”

I’m already halfway to the bed. “Deal.” Pulling back the covers, I slide carefully underneath, then groan in appreciation for an actual mattress.

“Sorry I’ve made you sleep on that little cot,” she whispers.

Rolling over and tucking an arm beneath my head, I take my time painting her face with my eyes. “I don’t care. I’d sleep there a thousand more years if it meant I could stay close to you.”

In the glow from the fireplace, I see the color in her cheeks deepen.

“You haven’t changed, have you?” she murmurs.

“Au contraire, mon bijou. After a bout with depression and alcoholism, I’ve given up drinking. You can thank Dominic Cross for this incredible new physique—which I’m sure you’ve noticed me maintaining with daily workouts.”

“Hmm. I hadn’t, actually.”

Biting back a smile, I sniff and roll onto my back.

“Are you pouting?” she asks, voice bubbling with humor.

“Yes.”

A small laugh breaks free, cutting more chains from my heart. But when the sound fades, so does her mirth.

“I’m not ready to hear what happened after I left, but I will be. Someday. Okay?”

Rolling my head to the side, I find her eyes. “Of course. There’s no rush. We have all the time in the world to talk about my brief aversion for bathing.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Gross,” she says on a yawn, then turns away from me and burrows beneath the blankets.

A few seconds later she asks, “Are you going to cuddle me or what?”

I’ve never moved so fast in my life, and I don’t care when she quickly shoves a pillow behind her so our bodies stay separate. Nor does it bother me when she directs my hand to the mattress in front of her when all it wants is to curl around her torso. None of it matters, because we’re here together.

Just when I start to drift, one small, cold foot swings back and presses against my calf. My heart almost explodes.

“Gideon?” she whispers.

“Hmm?”

“I need your help.”

“Anything you want.”

She’s quiet for long enough I wonder if she drifted to sleep, but then she stirs.

“Teach me how to live. Really live. I want to be free.”

Voice rough with emotion, I answer, “Done.”

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