Gemma wore one of my black tees, the shirt barely reaching the tops of her thighs, and it was fucking distracting. I liked her in my things. Liked her in my house.
But she’d definitely heard what I said.
Hopefully we could shove it down like all the other shit we buried.
“My shirt looks good on you.” I tugged at the fabric, pulling her closer.
She blinked rapidly, mouth open, and swatted my hand away.
“Your shirt looks good?” she repeated. “Are you kidding?” She shook her head, taking a deep breath through her nose. “I don’t know why I thought things would be different. Why you would ever tell me the truth.”
Her brow caved over blue eyes. She turned to leave.
“Wait.” I grabbed her arm. Her eyes bounced from myhand encircling her bicep, to me, and back. “Fuck.” I dropped her, raking the same hand through my hair.
She folded her arms, waiting.
Okay. Guess I’m telling this story.
The hallway was empty. It was quiet in the early morning, the pulsing beat of the club fading into the ever-present hum of the ocean. The guys were out, either at the club, doing business, or doing someone.
“I’m not doing this here.” I grabbed her hand, dragging her back to the bedroom.
Right as she came into the room, I turned and shut the door at her back, my hand above her head. I didn’t immediately step away, keeping her pinned.
She leaned against the door, neck tilted to see my eyes.
Gemma Crowne was more than beautiful, she was ethereal. Like some lost fairy, but the old-school kind, not Disney shit. The fairies whose beauty made you follow them into another world, trapped forever.
Her lips were a pouty, dusty pink. Her eyes a deep, devouring blue. Whenever she felt, emotion glimmered in them like sunlight dying on the waves. Right now, irritation shimmered in the blue depths, but there was something else there, too, something betrayed by the way she parted her lips, the soft inhale she made.
Fuck.
Even now, her body still gravitated toward mine.
I bent my elbow, arching my head lower, snuffing out the little light between us.
She arched toward me, her hips meeting mine?—
I pushed off the door, walking to the other side of the room, putting distance between us. Gemma Crowne was fucking distracting, and I couldn’t be distracted for this conversation. I fell into my black velvet wingback.
Gemma stayed where she was, leaning against the door, one leg crossed over the other. She had the longest fucking legs. The way she was angled made my shirt ride up on one side, past her thigh, so I could see her delicate hip bone.
My bite had since faded.
She needs another one.
“Well?” Gemma asked.
“What do you want to know?” I asked, tearing my gaze from her legs.
“Everything?” she said. “Are you in debt? Is it my fault? He’s yourfather? What the fuck?”
Questions tripped out of her rapid-fire. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and studied the knots in the hardwood.
I thought I could protect her from this.
My need to protect Gemma went beyond saving her from random assholes. I didn’t just want to guard her from the world, I wanted to save her from the stained, ugly part of myself.
