Page 81 of Sin of Love
He chuckles. “Do you think I would put you in real danger?”
Before I can respond, he grabs my hand and tugs me to his side. Azure paint fills my palm from a swiftly depressed tube. A glob of it drips between my fingers and plops onto the floor.
My spine tingles. Nerve endings from my scalp to my toes come alive in a heated wave.
“It feels good, doesn’t it?”
I can’t meet his gaze. Don’t want him to see what else I’m feeling—a need with weeks of slow, steady progression. Watered with every glance. Every accidental touch. Every tease of his body when he strolls around the flat half-naked. Freckles—God help me, the freckles—on his broad shoulders and chest. The red-gold hair trailing downward in a torturous tease, and the dimples in his lower spine, above his gorgeous ass. The way he smells showered and especially un-showered, dripping sweat and musk from a workout.
I’m dying for him. And I’m terrified. Even the thought of intimacy triggers a flood of fear.
“We’re not painting the floor. Unless you want to.”
I blink back tears, but they keep coming, faster and bigger. “I can’t do this anymore.”
I feel rather than see him still. “All right. We can wash up and leave.”
“No, Gideon.” I force my gaze to his face. “No. I mean this. Us. You’ve been so perfect and patient with me, but we can’t live like this.”
“Like what?”
“As roommates. Friends. You deserve more. Intimacy, and—”
“We have intimacy.” His voice is tighter, coiling with anger. “This is enough. This is everything.”
“And if I never want to have sex again?”
The question drops like lead between us, but Gideon only shrugs and turns back to the wall.
“Okay. No sex, fine.”
Swipe. Swish. Slap. Swipe. One of his hands is red now, the other partly green. Most of the wall in front of us is covered in a bold design. He stretches to his full height to reach a section, and my gaze gets caught on the ridges of his abdomen.
“Do you love me, Deirdre?” Soft words, flat with the effort to disguise feeling. But when my silence lasts too long, he snaps, “Yes or no.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Good. That’s good.” He doesn’t hide the relief in his voice. “Then as long as you’re happy with how things are, so am I. And if you never want to have sex with me, that’s okay. I’m sure we can work something out.”
“What? Work something out?”
Swipe. Swish.
“Yes. A few times a month should be fine. We can do full disclosure, or I can hide when I’m meeting someone. Up to you.”
My ears are buzzing. “Meet someone?”
His eyes alight on mine. “Yes. I don’t want to be with anyone else, Deirdre. I’m in love with you and I probably will be for the rest of forever. Where you go, I go.”
“But?”
“Well, if you no longer have romantic feelings for me, I can accept that. But I’d hope you allow me to—What the—what the hell was that for?”
He wipes at his cheek and chin, which only smears the streaks of blue paint further. I use the hem of his T-shirt to clean the rest of my palm.
“You’re a fucking idiot, Gideon Masters.”
“Oh, really? And why’s that?”
