Текст книги "The body painter"

Автор книги: Pepper winters

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Twenty-Five

______________________________

Olin

-The Present-

CRADLING MY PHONE in my palm, I stepped from the elevator into the lobby. I hadn’t heard from Gil all day. I’d left his protection when he’d specifically told me not to, and I’d had no angry messages or inconvenient visitors.

I couldn’t unscramble how I felt about that.

“Olin.”

His gruff, sorrowful voice ripped my head to the comfy, velvet chairs by the security desk. Gil stood slowly, unwinding his powerful frame and standing on long, strong legs. Shadows decorated under his eyes, and his usual aura of tragedy hung heavier on his shoulders.

How could I ever think he was a killer? Even for the tiniest of moments. No killer would hold remorse and regret the way he did. No killer could look so full of despair.

I didn’t think.

I didn’t pause.

My feet broke into a run. I threw myself into him. “I’m sorry.” I hugged his firm waist, snuggling into his citrusy, earthy chest.

“Sorry for what?” He didn’t hug me back. His arms stayed by his sides. His hands balled tight and unyielding. “For leaving when I told you not to?”

I placed a kiss right over his heart. “For that and...other things.” Pulling away, I backed up and slipped my phone into my bag. No way did I want him to see the messages between Justin and me. I never wanted to hurt him in that way—to know my trust in him had wavered.

Gil didn’t move, his eyes narrowed and suspicious. “I expected you to run in the opposite direction, not into my arms.”

“Why?”

“Because I demanded you stay with me.” His spine stiffened. “Of course, my request was denied...and you left without a goodbye.”

“I didn’t leave because I was angry at you for forbidding me.” I fought the urge to touch him again. “I left because I have a job.”

His jaw clenched. “It wasn’t safe to go without me. If I knew you were that damn stubborn about menial labour, I would’ve escorted you.”

I ignored his deliberate zing. “I can take care of myself.”

He sighed, his entire body forlorn. “That’s the thing, O. In this...you can’t.”

My pulse picked up pace. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means...” He looked away, shedding off the truth. “Doesn’t matter. You’re okay. We’re together again.”

My heart flipped. “Are we?”

His eyes narrowed. “Are we what?”

“Together together?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Not in that way.”

Not yet.

I smiled weakly, doing my best to change the subject. “Would you believe me if I said I missed you?”

He scowled. “Not in a million years. Why would you? I’ve been an arsehole.”

In a crystal moment of absolute vulnerability, I murmured, “Would you believe me if I said I missed hugging you? We’ve kissed and connected in ways we never did as teenagers, but we haven’t hugged.”

He sucked in a breath.

I braced myself for a warning—a scathing telling-off. Instead, his knuckles nudged my chin, bringing my gaze to his. I froze as he stared into me, seeing my fears, my guilt, my endless need for him, and he closed his eyes as if he couldn’t survive what he saw. “I keep saying this, and you keep ignoring me, but...please stop. I can’t take much more.”

My lips tingled for his. My body warmed. My heart raced. “I can’t stop what I feel.”

“You shouldn’t feel anything for me.”

“I’ve always felt something for you.” A couple of colleagues walked past, reminding us we were in public. This wasn’t private. And yet, the intensity that’d sprung between us was visceral.

Gil sighed heavily. His knuckles dropped from my chin. “Just...don’t.”

I winced at the plea in his voice, the aching, quaking request not to tangle emotion with whatever physical chemistry we shared.

I’d asked him the same thing in the shower when he’d traced my tattoo.

Don’t.

Please don’t.

Don’t make me fall.

Don’t make me hurt.

The last thing I wanted to do was cause him more pain.

Clearing his throat, doing his best to return to callous and cold, he said, “You need to pack a few things. You’re coming back to my place. No arguments.”

“Eh, excuse me?”

“You refused to stay longer than a night—even though I’ve been explicit about the danger—”

“You haven’t told me anything—”

“Let me finish.” He scowled. “I get that I came off...overbearing. So, I’m asking you to stay with me until I can fix this.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighed, “And if you’re going to stay, you’ll need clothes.”

I blinked. “How long are you suggesting?”

“I don’t know.” His shoulders slumped. “I’ve failed in every way to resolve it quickly, but it has to end...soon.”

“Why?”

His face etched with shadows. “Because there’s only so much a person can tolerate before they’re pushed too far.”

I froze. The need to touch him overrode all other function. Moving closer, I cupped his cheek. “You can tell me what—”

Arching his face out of my reach, his forehead furrowed with impatience at himself, at me, at whatever he battled. “You’re living with me until I say otherwise.”

“And if I don’t like sharing a home?”

“You don’t really have a choice.”

“I always have a choice, Gil.”

His eyes shot black as memories sucked him deep. “No one has a choice.”

The softness between us vanished into thick smoke, leaving behind the charred remains.

He raked a hand through his hair. “Three nights, okay?” His eyes jumped over suited men and women, assessing for threats. “That’s all I’ll ask for.”

Three nights were an eternity.

An eternity for all new romances.

Time took on a different depth at the beginning of a fledgling love affair. An hour wasn’t just an hour when love and lust were involved. A minute wasn’t just a minute when hearts had countless of opportunities to fall.

There would be no more places to hide. No more lies we could tell ourselves. Only the stark truth that both of us were in danger and had been for years.

Couldn’t he see that?

Couldn’t he taste the hypocrisy?

Three nights would destroy us both.

Gil fought against my silence, saying, “Pack a bag with clothes for three nights. If I haven’t fixed the problem...then you’ll probably have to move countries because you won’t be safe anywhere.”

I snapped out of my worry. “I never took you for being dramatic.”

“I’m being deadly serious.” His voice was flat and cold.

Ice slithered down my spine. I shivered, pointing to the sunny evening, needing warmth and open air. “Let’s go. We can talk about living arrangements later.” If we were ever to have an honest conversation, I wanted to be anywhere else but here, surrounded by strangers.

“Fine.” Gil bowed a little, letting me lead the way.

My back prickled as he fell into step with me—not submissive in my leadership but wary and watchful. I understood why he’d placed himself behind me. He’d done it out of protection. Even in my office building, he acted as if the devil himself was going to crawl through the floorboards and claim me.

Pushing open the glass doors, I turned to face him as he stepped into the late afternoon sunshine. “How long have you been waiting for me?”

He kept his eyes on the men and women leaving for the day. “Since I kicked Justin out and came directly here.” He glanced at me. “I saw you arrive. I got here before you did.”

“You’ve waited all day for me?”

“I told you I wasn’t going to let you out of my sight.”

“I was out of your sight, though.” Striking off into a walk, my black kitten toe heels clicked on the pavement.

“You were in the office building all day. I was satisfied you’d be safe up there.”

“You were satisfied?”

He nodded, ducking behind me to let a man stride past talking loudly on his cell phone.

“So, you decided not to drag me from my place of employment even though you did such a thing yesterday?”

“I was wrong.” He walked beside me with firm, even steps. “You were right.”

I slammed to a stop, my temper rising for no other reason than sexual frustration and star-crossed heartaches. “Wow. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Sarcasm isn’t becoming on you, O.” Grabbing my elbow, he pulled me back into motion. “Where do you live?”

I studied him, unable to take my eyes off his thick eyelashes or the way he still had black smudged on his cheek and yellow decorating his hair. He’d told the truth. He’d raced to my work the moment Justin was gone.

His desire to protect me wasn’t just some pantomime but a deep-seated drive.

Once again, guilt crushed me for the awful, awful thought I’d had and my messages with Justin.

How could I be that cruel? That distrustful?

Tilting his head, he caught me staring.

I blushed but didn’t look away. “You’re just the same as before...but different too.” I hated how my cheeks burned, giving away my heart’s truth all over again. “I always found you very handsome.”

His face darkened. “What the hell has gotten into you?” Pulling me forward by my wrist, he grumbled something undeterminable under his breath. “Don’t mistake me being here for anything other than what it is. We aren’t dating. We aren’t together. There is no us or we.” He winced. “Got it?”

“I get that you’re fighting what could be.”

“I’m accepting what is.” He strode forward, dragging me along. “Enough.”

I ignored the fresh pain, the rampant confusion. Why did he care about keeping me safe if he was determined to keep me away? “Maybe we should go on a date. We never wined and dined when we were younger. We’ve slept together...it makes sense that we at least go to a movie.”

His eyes flashed. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“That isn’t a good enough reason, Gil.” I tried to tug out of his grip. “I’m tired. I’m doing my best to be patient and understanding but there’s only so much—”

“For fuck’s sake.” Yanking me to a stop, we created a little island in a sea of people. His gaze was bare, turmoil clouding the wintery green. “No movies. No dinners. Nothing. Don’t ask me to hurt you any more than I already have. Don’t ask me why I can’t keep you.”

“Why can’t you keep me?” My voice was small, the tiniest mouse in a world of predators.

He groaned, low and tortured.

I whispered, “Why touch me if you can’t explore even the slimmest notion of—”

His arm banded around my waist, yanking me into him. His lips cast hot breath against my ear. “I want you. I’ve always fucking wanted you. I’ve been honest about that. You know what you mean to me and I can’t deny that there are things between us that will never go away.” He pulled back, pinning me with darkness, allowing finality to fill his voice. “But whatever we shared, ends here. Whatever you thought was happening, is over. Touching you was the worst mistake of my life. I refuse to do it again.”

Jerking me forward, he weaved around a pack of pedestrians, glaring at the buildings looming over us as if he could guess which apartment was mine. “Where do you live?”

I couldn’t answer him.

My tongue had turned useless. My voice mute.

I’d been hurt by this man over and over again.

But that? Here, now...

“Touching you was the worst mistake of my life.”

A silent tear fell down my cheek, more liquid blurring the world around me. I went loose in his grip, following meekly all while I broke inside.

His fingers fisted tight, his own pain leeching into me. “I’m...sorry.” He kept his stare straight ahead. “I didn’t mean it like that. I—” He groaned again, sounding as if he’d just cut out his own heart. “I just mean...I can’t be with you. I should never have—” He cut himself off.

I bit my lip to staunch more tears, swallowing them back. He didn’t need to know how hurt I was. Didn’t need more power over my emotions.

“O?” He slowed, still not looking at me. His voice went toneless. “Where is your apartment?”

Straightening, I pushed away the catastrophe that’d just happened. I was a dancer. We were used to agony and pushing forward. The show must go on, after all. “I don’t need you to walk me home.” My voice was empty. I’d fought to win him. I’d done my best to stay friendly and kind—despite all my questions and heartache from our past. I’d given what little strength I had to heal the hurt inside him...unable to see him so lost.

I’d fallen in love with the idea of not being alone anymore.

Loneliness was my one true companion. While I accepted it as my bedfellow, confidant, and lover, life couldn’t scar me too badly because loneliness was the most painful of curses. Nothing else could compare—not destitution, not car accidents, not even the death of my dreams.

But Gil...he’d always been the one that’d promised a cure to my loneliness.

The only one.

I’d felt it when we spoke that first time in the corridor.

I’d felt it each time we fell a little deeper.

He was different to the others because he didn’t just patch up the lonely holes inside me, he filled them until they never even existed.

He completed me by just being there.

I didn’t need much.

I’d never asked for anything.

Yet on that busy street, the truth finally shattered my final dream.

Of us.

I stumbled as the hot, lacerating blade punctured my heart and the rest of my hope.

Gil’s hold kept me from falling, his gaze landing on my tears. He jerked to a halt. Once again, we were an island in a sea of pedestrians, but this time...our island was cracked and cratered by unfixable earthquakes.

I rolled my wrist, doing my best to be free of him. “I need to be alone, Gil.” I kept my gaze on the pavement, allowing fallen tears to dry on my cheeks. “Please...let me go.”

His hand fell away, his fingers curling into fists. “Olin, I—”

“No.” I shook my head, striding forward with my arms wrapped around myself. “Just...leave me alone.”

Each footstep was eternally heavy. All I wanted to do was go home, curl up on my couch, and forget I’d ever found Gilbert Clark and his painful box of colours.

We didn’t speak as I followed familiar streets, crossed roads, and bypassed buildings.

Gil trailed after me.

He didn’t leave me alone like I’d asked...escorting me to my door in silence.

* * * * *

Gil didn’t leave, standing stiff and protective while I fumbled in my handbag for my keys. His eyes skated over the grunge-covered walls and the cobwebs in the corners. The stairwell of my building wasn’t exactly five stars, but at least the tenants kept to themselves, and it was mainly a quiet place to live.

Slightly depressing, but affordable.

Inserting my key, I turned the lock but didn’t open the door. “You can go now,” I murmured, not turning around to look at him. “I’m safe here.”

He shifted, his clothing rustling with a harsh breath. “You’re not safe anywhere.”

I shrugged. “That might be, but I want to be alone.”

His large palm landed on my shoulder, shooting heat and dazzling need through me. “Olin...” His fingers squeezed in both affection and frustration. “Hate me. I deserve it. I would rather you hate me than forgive me. But...you have to let me inside.”

The thought of letting Gil trespass on my private sanctuary made my body tremble. “Please, Gil...not tonight.”

He reached around me, his front scorching my back as his hand dropped to cover mine on the handle. “He knows where you live. I can’t let you stay here.”

“This is my home.” Temper once again infected me.

“And I’ve destroyed it.” His voice was endlessly sad. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I can’t let you be here on your own.” Pressing down on my hand, he worked the handle to unlatch the door then gently pushed me over the threshold.

I tensed as he followed me inside then closed the door behind him, flicking the lock back into place. Once secure, he sucked in a deep breath as he surveyed my home.

Strange that the last place he’d seen of mine was technically my parents. He’d watched me while I’d cooked in a fancy kitchen. He’d thanked me with his sad eyes when he’d soaked in a bath after a severe beating. He’d tiptoed through that two-story house as if he wasn’t welcome—and the reality was, he wasn’t because it wasn’t mine. It’d belonged to my parents who didn’t even know he existed.

This apartment, however.

This is mine.

I’d moved into it when my dancing dreams died, and I’d had to relocate from London. I’d had no one to couch surf on. No parents to ask for support. While my body healed from slashes and surgeries, I’d sourced it, signed the lease, paid my bond, and sparsely furnished it all on my own. It’d been hard but filled me with triumph that I’d succeeded.

I’d expected no hand outs; I’d asked for no short-cuts. I’d accepted that my life path had changed forever. What little I had, I guarded with a fierceness that knew what it felt like to lose what was most important.

I’ve lost him.

He was precious and I’d lost the war.

All over again.

Forcing myself to stay proud of my rag-tag achievements rather than dash around and try to improve on what couldn’t be improved upon, I said, “You can see no one is here. No monsters in the corners. No kidnappers in the kitchen.” I looked at the door behind him. “You don’t need to stay.”

He didn’t respond; his jaw gritted as he glanced at my threadbare couch, scruffy dining table, and the kitchen that barely fit a fridge and oven. Compared to his impressive warehouse with its industrial shelving and priceless painting equipment, my tiny one bedroom was depressingly sad.

Stalking through the small space, he didn’t say a word as his fingers traced the bench top that still held my dirty coffee cup and empty wine bottle.

I would’ve been embarrassed if I wasn’t so emotionally exhausted.

His boots carried him over the ugly carpet as he peered into the postage stamp-size bathroom and the bedroom next to it. The cream and navy floral bedspread I had was rumpled and needed making, but the gauzy fabric I’d hung from the ceiling to drape on either side gave it a slight Moroccan feel.

Marching back toward me, he muttered, “There’s no art anywhere.”

I scanned my walls, noting the bareness, the barrenness after the huge graffiti in Gil’s place.

I shrugged. “I’m not an artist.”

“You were with dance.”

I flinched. “Were being the keyword in that sentence.”

He studied me. His green eyes so piercing it was as if he could see the rehabilitation and surgeries I’d endured. The fact that I’d just been thinking about the loss of something so dear made the pain all the more acute.

His voice hovered around a whisper. “Do you miss it?”

Breaking eye contact, I kept my scarred and tattooed back straight as I kicked off my heels and padded into my bedroom. “Would you miss painting if you couldn’t do it?”

I made the mistake of looking at him, standing on the threshold of my room. He leaned against the doorframe with his ankles and arms crossed. His nonchalant pose couldn’t disguise the wash of unease and quick slip of horror.

I waited for him to make some flippant comment. Instead, he glowered at my carpet. “I wouldn’t survive. Pure and simple. It’s the only thing that keeps me going these days.”

My heart bucked in my chest. I struggled with something to say, but in the end, I had nothing. All I wanted to do was tumble to my bed and close my eyes.

“Gil...I—”

He moved toward me, backing me up until I was trapped against the wall and him. His gaze caught mine so intensely, the hair on the back of my neck pricked and instincts screamed on high alert.

His hands cupped my hipbones, his thumbs tracing small circles. “How did you survive, O?” he breathed. “How did you pick yourself up after what happened?”

I froze, my insides melting from his touch and my heart fracturing from his question. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged as if he didn’t really understand himself. “Your parents basically disowned you since you were a child. Your dreams of being a dancer were destroyed. You don’t seem to have stayed in touch with people from school...you’re alone. Yet you’re not fucking up your life like I am.”

“How do you know what I’m doing with my life?”

“You’re so strong. Strong enough to push me away, even when I tell you you’re in danger. Strong enough to give me everything you have, all because you’re selfless. Strong enough to forgive me, even though I’m the reason you’re in trouble.” His nose nuzzled mine. “I need to know how you can do all that, endure everything you have, and still be good...because I...I’m really fucking struggling.”

My heart restarted, defibrillated from its forlorn fatigue all because I was stupid when it came to this man. Stupid and flawlessly forgiving. “Whatever you’re dealing with...you don’t have to do it alone.”

“God, there you go again.” His chest rose and fell as his breathing turned shallow. His eyes darkened, and the tiny space of my bedroom vibrated with connection. “You’re still willing to offer me salvation after everything I’ve done.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” His teeth bared. “You coped on your own.”

“Yes.”

“So why the fuck can’t I?” His eyes blazed, locking onto my lips. His temper dragged lust into the mix, swirling two potent chemicals in my bloodstream. “I’m useless. I’m failing everyone I love. I—” His forehead pressed onto mine. “I’m failing you...just like always.”

My stomach dropped and my core clenched, answering his summons, dragged into his need despite myself. Just as I knew it would. Just like it always would.

“Gil...” I shook my head as he placed one hand on my wall, caging me by my wardrobe, leaving the other one digging into my hip.

“You were so popular at school.” His fingers pulsed with ownership. “Until I stole you from them.”

I couldn’t heal the agony glowing in his gaze but I could offer a tiny bit of redemption. Pressing a hand over his heart, I whispered, “Until I chose you over them.”

He swallowed hard. “Why are you so alone now?”

God, what was the point of these agonising questions? “I’m not alone. You’re here.”

“And all I’m doing is making shit worse.” His hand caressed the side of my waist, over my breast, and settled above my heart—just like I touched him. “I wish I could be different. I wish we could be different.”

“We can be...if—”

“Stop.”

I didn’t like the weakness he conjured in me. I didn’t like the endless torment in his stare. What changed from the cruel body painter who’d said touching me was a mistake to this broken man unable to let me go?

Why did he care all of a sudden? Why did I grow angry that he did?

Steeling myself against his touch, I said, “I think it’s best if you go. We can talk later, when we’re both a bit more stable.”

He flinched. “Was it hard?”

I blinked, unable to keep up with his subject changes. “Was what hard?”

“Earning money. Keeping this place after your accident?”

Okay, this is too much.

Whatever was happening between us wasn’t the white-hot chemistry that’d gotten us into trouble with paint and orgasms yesterday. It wasn’t the raw, vulnerable truth that appeared when we’d kissed in the shower.

This was different.

This was...conversation.

This was learning about one another, discovering secrets, sympathising with past struggles.

This was talking.

And talking was so much more dangerous than any sex or kiss.

Ducking under his arm, I padded toward my bed, sucking in a shallow breath. He spun to face me, spying the duffel I used to use for my dance practices. Grabbing it, he tossed it on the bed.

I frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Packing.”

“I told you I’m staying here.”

Bending to open the middle drawer of my tallboy, he selected a pair of pyjama bottoms, a hoodie, and fluffy socks before moving to my sparse selection of office clothes in the wardrobe.

I chased after him, yanking a black blouse out of his grip. “Stop it.”

“Three days. I’ll figure this shit out by then...I promise.” He snatched a skirt from a hanger.

I snatched it back. “I can’t afford to spend three days at your place.”

“Why the hell not? It’s not like I’m going to charge you rent.” He reached for a shell pink shirt with cream piping.

Ducking in front of him, I stopped him from stealing yet another garment of mine. “I can’t be in your space, in your bed without being seriously hurt.”

He froze, his gaze snapping onto mine. “You’re afraid I’ll raise a hand against you?”

“No.” I laughed sadly. “You’d never hurt me in that way...apart from the other day with the police.” I sighed. “I’m talking about other kinds of pain. We’ve only been back in each other’s lives for a few days, and look at the mess we’re already in.”

He stiffened. “It’s a mess I can fix by not touching you anymore.” The words seemed to choke him.

“It’s a mess that will only get more complicated the longer we spend together.” It physically tore out my heart but I forced, “You don’t want to be with me—you’ve told me over and over again—so it’s not fair of you to demand I spend time with you...not when I can’t stop wanting—”

His lips crashed on mine, silencing me. His tongue dove past my lips, consuming me.

Unbridled angst and energy flowed between us.

I kissed him back—weak and hungry.

His fingers shot through my hair, keeping me pinned as he leaned into me, squashing me against the wall. His hips rocked into mine, wedging his erection against my belly.

God, I didn’t stand a chance.

“How are you this brave when you have no one?” He kissed me vicious and deep. “How does loneliness not eat you alive?”

I arched my mouth away from his, breathing hard. My lips tingled, my body damp and ready for anything he wanted to give me, but his question had been horribly cruel.

My hands balled. “I’m not lonely.”

“I am.” His eyes searched mine. “I’m dying a little every day because of it.”

“You can’t say things like that.”

“Things like the truth?” He traced his thumb over my cheekbone. “Tell me how you did it. Tell me what I should do. Fuck, O...tell me how to stop—” He leaned to kiss me again, but I slipped under his arm and pushed his weight away.

He was a master at making me care. A magician at making me believe he cared in return.

I’d once again lost all my power because Gil had kissed me when I’d wanted space. He’d encroached on my home when all I wanted was time apart.

He sucked up all the air and suffocated me of all my choices.

And still I couldn’t say no.

My chin tipped up as true anger filled me. Anger at not knowing a thing about him, his past, his present, his secrets. Anger that was done waiting for answers.

Questions crawled up my throat and burned my tongue. I spat them out as if we’d been having a fight, not indulging in an explosive kiss. “Enough. No more.” I slashed my hand through the air. “You don’t get to ask a single thing about me...not unless you’re prepared to trade.”

“Trade?” His nostrils flared. The passion between us slipped into something lethal.

“You say I’m lonely.” I looked him up and down tauntingly. “Yet you’re the saddest person I’ve ever met.”

His entire body tensed, filling with threats. “Olin...be careful.”

“You ask if I struggled. But you won’t tell me what you struggle with.”

His throat worked as he swallowed. “I’m warning you.”

“Justin said something happened—”

“Justin?” His snarl made me slam my lips together. “What the fuck did Justin say?”

Shit.

“Nothing. Only that—”

“Justin doesn’t know anything about me.”

“He knows something happened. Just like I know—”

“Neither of you have a fucking clue.”

“You say that as if you’re proud that you’ve kept two people who care about you in the dark.”

“Proud, no. Grateful, yes.” His eyes flashed. “You don’t need to know. You can’t know.”

“You’re right. I don’t need to know. No one needs to know anything about someone. But we were friends once, and we’re playing with fire now. The logical step is to learn about each other.”

“It’s not logical. Nothing about this is logical.”

“I agree.” I winced from the pain in his voice. “There’s nothing logical about you knocking me out for calling the police on a legitimate crime. There’s nothing logical about why I keep forgiving your attitude. There’s nothing logical about asking me to stay with you for three days without any other explanation other than my life is in danger.”

“That’s the best reason to obey me.”

“But not the easiest.”

“You used to trust me.” His voice was measured and cold.

“Yeah, and look where that got me!” My anger soared, pushing my voice up an octave.

His deepened into danger. “What the hell is going on here?”

“What do you mean?”

“How did this happen?” He waved his hand back and forth between us as if he could physically touch the burning, bleeding battle we’d created. “How did we go from kissing to being at war?”

“I’ve reached my limit. I want to know what you’re hiding.”

He cocked an eyebrow in a measured, chilly move. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to tell you anything—”

“You think I’m the crazy one?”

He nodded, crossing his arms. “Certifiable.”

My mouth fell open.

He wanted to play that game? Name-call and ridicule to avoid discussing topics about himself?

Fine.

“Who’s Olive, Gil?”

I braced myself for an explosion. I willingly poured gasoline on the fire. I was jealous of his dream. Jealous of another O. An O he obviously cared about, adored, loved, missed.

He missed that girl with every molecule of his body, and if I wasn’t that girl he dreamed about, then I was wasting my time.

I refused to put myself through the agony. I utterly prohibited myself from falling any further if there wasn’t the tiniest, slimmest chance that I might win in the end.

That I might crack Gil’s arctic shell.

That I might earn his complicated love.

But I wasn’t prepared for the lashing, slicing silence that cloaked him, shutting him down piece by piece. His face went dead. His body carved from glaciers. Only his eyes glowed, and they glimmered with a thousand poisonous emeralds. “Where did you hear that name?” His voice was measured and methodical, terrifying in its iciness.

I’d faced his wrath. I’d fought his passion. I’d submitted to his commands.

But standing before him while the temperature plummeted and his jaw ticked with snow, I didn’t know how to breathe. Didn’t know what to say or how to fix this.

I’d screwed up.

Majorly.

And I didn’t fully understand why.

Goosebumps darted all over me as I sidestepped toward the living room. “Forget it. I made a mistake.”

He stared at me as if I was a stranger, letting me inch away from his frigid fury.

But then, he stalked toward me.

I raised my hands in surrender, backing away. “Gil...don’t.”

His brow tugged over furious eyes. “Where did you hear that name?”

“You had a nightmare. The night I stayed at your place.” I dodged around the dining room table. “I overheard you.”