Page 120 of The Broken Heart Playlist
Despite the warm summer evening, I feel strangely cold. My hands twist together in my lap. I have to wait a beat before my next question. “Are you planning on leaving me?”
His eyes don’t move from mine. “Not a chance.”
Something inside me settles. I know there’s still a vast swath of quicksand topics out there, but it feels as though I’ve coveredmost of my overriding concerns. “Is whatever you have to tell me something to do with your work?”
“Yes,” he says after an odd moment of hesitation.
“Is it anything illegal?”
“No.”
“I don’t want to know.”
He releases a ragged sigh. “Kate—”
I place a hand lightly on his chest. “Gideon, I’m really happy right now. I haven’t been this happy in a long time and I don’t want anything to spoil it. Yes, I might be burying my head in the sand but let it remain buried for just a little while longer,” I plead, acutely aware I’m now adding coward to my long list of labels.
The moment stretches out. His brows knit, conflict etched on his face. “I really—”
“You can tell me eventually, but please, not right now.”
He still seems torn, so I distract him the only way I know how. I seal my mouth over his and kiss him senseless until we lose ourselves in each other.
I’m ripping a page from my sister’s book and living in the moment, clinging to this kernel of happiness for as long as I can. We’ll face whatever Gideon wants to tell me another day.
Four days before Lisset is due to come home, we’re watching a romantic movie with Ryan Gosling. Halfway through the movie, Gideon snags the nail polish I’ve left on the coffee table and insists on painting my toenails.
“I was going to do it,” I protest, laughing, trying to snatch back the polish he’s holding above his head.
“I want to do it.”
“Why?”
“Because it feels like something Ryan Gosling would do and I have to compete with the master.”
With a laugh, I relent. “If you insist.”
“I do.” He pats his lap. I stretch out and place both feet on his thighs, as requested.
Gideon dips the brush into the polish and slowly and carefully glides the brush down from the bed to the tip of my nail, avoiding the cuticle line. He holds my foot in place with his thumb pressing into my arch. The slow sweep of the brush, his meticulous attention to detail, his thumb occasionally stroking my sensitive skin has sparks flying from my nerve endings.
The fact that I have to keep still the entire time makes it almost unbearable. I’m biting my lip and trying not to wriggle. The small smile playing on his lips tells me he knows exactly the effect he is having on me.
Suffice it to say, Gideon painting my toenails is a singularly erotic experience.
When he’s finished, I lean over and nip his bottom lip. “That’s payback for pure torture.”
His laugh is husky, his eyes dark and tinged with longing. “Good,” he says, his voice gravelly. “I want to unravel you and put you back together. I want to hear the sounds you make when you let go and fall apart. And I want to fall asleep with you in my arms every night.”
My heart stutters in my chest. “Gideon...” I trail off helplessly.
“I want your heart, Kate,” he says softly.
I swallow. “You have my heart.”
He gives a small shake of his head. “I have a small, stingy piece of it.”
My silence lends the weight of truth to his words.
