Art of Sin: Illusions Duet : Book One

by Halloran, L. M.

He sucks on the clove. Blows an angry cloud upward. “I should be glad, you know. If I were a better man, I’d be happy you were going somewhere far, far away from here. But I’m not. I want to lock you in a room and keep you, so I guess I’m no better than that man who—”

  “Gideon, no,” I gasp, rounding the couch. He stares at me like I’m the only answer in a world of questions. Like I’m everything to him.

  It almost destroys me.

  “You’re nothing like him. Nothing.”

  His gaze takes in my black clothes and boots, my makeup-free face. “Nice to meet you, the real Deirdre.”

  I flinch, then force a tight smile. “I deserved that.”

  He shakes his head. “No, you didn’t. I guess there’s no point in asking if we can leave together? Find some faraway exotic place to live out our lives away from all this?”

  It hurts. God, it hurts to stay silent, to hear his defeated sigh.

  “I knew you didn’t feel it like I did,” he murmurs with a sardonic laugh, “but I couldn’t help myself. I know I should regret the last month, but I don’t.”

  If heartbreak has a song, it’s his words—the absurd notion that I don’t love him like he does me, that this isn’t the hardest decision I’ve had to make since the night I spared a madman’s life.

  I will make it right.

  And I won’t let Gideon or Nate pay the price of my weakness.

  Tears thicken my voice, “I’m sorry.”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t be. You inspired the greatest art of my life. It’ll probably be the height of my career. All downhill from here.”

  I press both hands to my stomach, holding back a rising sob. “There’s nothing I can say, but I’m sorry for dragging you into this, Gideon. So sorry. You were… are… the best thing that has happened in my life since Nate. I’m not sure I was alive at all until I met you. You shocked my system, my entire world.”

  He doesn’t blink, doesn’t react. “In case you have even a sliver of doubt, I’ll never share what you told me in confidence last night,” he says mutedly. “You didn’t give me a chance to say it, but I’m grateful you trusted me enough to tell me the truth. And I’m glad you killed that motherfucker. I know you think that makes you a monster, but it doesn’t. It makes you brave and right.”

  Not yet, I want to tell him, but I hope it will.

  I think back to those first hours of freedom, Nate and I stumbling along a dark road until we saw a gas station. Using the payphone to dial 911 while Nate was in the bathroom.

  “There’s a man locked in a shed outside a burning house.”

  “What’s the address?”

  “I don’t know. About two miles from this payphone. The man is sick. Mentally. He thinks he’s two people. Marco is the good version and Julep is a psycho rapist and child kidnapper. He needs psychiatric help. Can you do that?”

  “Miss, what’s your name?”

  Nate rounds the corner of the gas station, his brows lifting when he sees me on the phone.

  I hang up and shrug. “It rang, so I answered. No one was there.”

  One sin to trump them all—letting him live. There’s probably an explanation. Some psychological reasoning. A twisted case of Stockholm syndrome? Too many lectures from Mama about my wrongness from birth leading to a desire to be better—different—than the man who tried to kill me?

  Whatever the case, it means nothing now.

  “If tonight is your last night with me, I want something from you.”

  I focus on Gideon, on the beauty and wildness that unlocked both my dreams and nightmares.

  “Anything,” I whisper.

  A pregnant pause. “Are you sure about that?”

  I frown. “Why?”

  He stands, dwarfing me. His eyes are shadowed. Dangerous and glinting. And his body vibrates with a familiar tension that makes my own skin buzz and my body ache with want.

  “I want your trust, mon bijou. One last time. In return, I’ll give you a gift.”

  “What?” I breathe.

  His head lowers, mouth grazing my cheek.

  “A memory of sin.”

  In an instant, I know what he’s referring to. My breath hitches, a gasp escaping. My heart trips. Hammers.

  Do I want this?

  My body answers with an unequivocal Yes, while my head and heart go to war.

  “Yes or no, Deirdre?”

  Hearing the mingled pain and desire in his voice, I draw back to touch his face. The pads of my fingers memorize his silky skin, the roughness of stubble. His eyes closed, he turns to press a kiss to my palm.

  I swallow another wave of misery.

  “Why?”

  How can you want me after knowing the truth?

  His sigh is warm against my fingers. “I won’t lie, it’s going to hurt to share you. But above all I want you to feel your power. To feel worthy of worship. Because you are.”

  37 covetousness

  Gideon and I barely speak as he drives us across town. I’m not surprised when he pulls into the alley behind Crossroads, though my heart lurches. Our headlights sweep over London, standing outside an open black door. She waves and holds up a set of keys, jingling them playfully.

  “Nice of her to let us in the back,” I murmur.

  Sensing my relief, Gideon gives me a wry look as he turns off the car. “Did you think we’d traipse in the front door?”

  “I honestly didn’t know.” My breathing is choppy. “We still have to get to a playroom. As your publicist, I don’t think—”

  “Au contraire, mon bijou,” he interjects, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door. “Dominic and London bought a house last year, so their old loft is available. Private entry and exit.”

  I process for a few moments.

  “Is it furnished?”

  He bites his lip against a smile. “Yes.”

  “Has it been, uh…”

  “Cleaned? Yes. Last week. Although, apparently we’re the first to use it. We have to leave a review on AirBnB.”

  I blink rapidly, my mouth hanging. “Are you joking?”

  “Yes,” he says, winking. “Come on. Now or never.”

  My joy seeing a bit of his playfulness return banishes the last of my doubts. Whatever else this is—what haunts us, has driven us together and soon will drive us apart—I have the choice to let it interfere with the present.

  “In for a penny, in for a pound,” he whispers. “Last chance to change your mind.”

  We share a long glance. Timeless despite its brevity. Grave despite its sensual charge. Tonight is goodbye, and we both know it.

  “I’m in.”

  He nods, the tension around his mouth releasing. We walk side by side toward London, our arms brushing, bare hands twitching then entwining. Electric tingles cascade through me, as always when his skin contacts mine.

  “Hey, guys,” greets London. She tosses Gideon the keys. “Have fun.”

  She grins at me, then turns to leave.

  “London, wait,” I blurt.

  Pausing, she throws a questioning glance back. “What’s up?”

  “Is Nate okay?”

  Sympathy clouds her expressive eyes. “Yeah, he is. He’s staying with us for a bit. Said being alone in his apartment is freaking him out.” She draws a swift breath. “He told me, by the way.”

  I stiffen—she holds up a hand, her gaze narrowed and hard.

  “I know what it’s like, feeling alone and at the mercy of a past you can’t share with anyone. Even the police. But Nate deserves to trust a few people with his secrets, Deirdre. Just like you do.” She glances meaningfully at Gideon, who’s clearly unsurprised by her words. “In fact, Dominic has known for a few years.”

  Betrayal, double-edged with my own recent confession, sinks into my gut. “He told Dominic? When?”

  She nods. “Five or six years ago.”

  My mind races back, sorting memories. Around that time, Nate started really seizing his independence, renting an apartment alon
e, going to the gym, taking self-defense classes, becoming confident in his sexuality and identity… And I’d thought it merely a sign of him forgetting all that had happened to us. Or, like me, stuffing it so deeply inside the memories lived only in dreams.

  Gideon squeezes my hand. I look at him, my face stiff. A shattered mask glued precariously by sheer habit.

  “I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” I say, my voice rough and pained.

  “Welcome to being human,” he says, the words softened by a half smile.

  Squaring my shoulders, I face London. “Thank you for telling me, and for helping Nate. You’re a good friend to him.”

  I almost tell her that he won’t have to worry much longer, but bite my tongue.

  “I’d love to be your friend, too, if you need one.” Her smile is slight and sad. “No matter what you think, Deirdre, you don’t have to be alone.”

  An odd choice of words with Gideon standing beside me, but her meaning is clear. She’s offering help in the form of contacts who don’t shy away from violence. Or making bad men pay for their crimes.

  Though no charges were ever filed, Nate shared his belief that Dominic himself killed the man responsible for London’s kidnapping and the death of her husband.

  But it doesn’t change anything.

  I won’t put anyone else at risk cleaning up my mess. My crime. For better or worse, it’s up to me to make restitution.

  “Thank you,” I say, meeting her knowing gaze with effort. “I’ll keep your offer in mind.”

  London nods, glancing again at Gideon. “Sorry to dampen the mood. Oh—forgot to say, Finn’s already upstairs.”

  With a wave, she disappears inside.

  Finn is upstairs.

  Gideon palms the back of my head, drawing me into his front. I melt into him, breathe him in, soak him up.

  “Ready for worship?”

  “I don’t deserve it.”

  He lifts my chin, placing a soft, almost chaste kiss on my lips. “Good thing that’s not for you to decide.”

  Fisting his T-shirt in my hands, I shake my head in bafflement. Aching words spill from my lips. “How can you stand to be around me, knowing everything you know?”

  He studies me for long moments, that penetrating stare that I’d once hoped to never have directed at me. Now it’s oxygen. Gravity. My sustenance. And the only thing keeping me sane.

  “Did I choose to love you? That’s the real question, isn’t it? And if I did, then there must be something wrong with me. Right?”

  At my pained nod, he smiles. A slow, gentle dawning that warms me from head to toe. And I know what he’s about to say, because I feel it in my bones.

  Bending his lips to my ear, he whispers, “I’m not afraid of your dark any more than you’re afraid of mine. And I’ve just realized something else, too. Wherever you go, you’ll come back to me. I’m inside you, Deirdre Moss. We belong to each other. We are each other’s cornerstones.”

  Shaking from the impact of his words, I admit for the first time aloud, “I love you, Gideon.”

  The truth is a relief and a purge—an immediate, final cleansing of my mother’s loathing. Her sickness. Her lack.

  And Gideon… Gideon stares unflinching into the deep, dark quiet of my tree-root cave. Where I hide my secrets and fears, my shame and self-loathing. He comes to me there, first in dreams and now in life. Unapologetic in his desires and his acceptance. Bright as a dawn with his love.

  My cornerstone.

  His lips graze my temple. “I know, mon bijou. Now let’s go, because Finn’s waiting and I still have to decide which part of you he’s allowed to fuck. Any preference?”

  My body heats. Begins to pulse.

  I tell him what I want.

  38 explosions

  When I walk into the loft, I leave my reservations at the door with my shoes.

  I focus instead on my senses—heat, radiating from Gideon’s palm on my lower back as he follows me up narrow stairs. My breath, deepening with anticipation. The air, scented with candles and thick, silent but for the low sound of the street outside.

  As we reach the top of the stairs, I see the candles dotting the open loft. Clustered on the coffee table. Kitchen counter. A small table near a doorway leading to a bedroom. Inside the bedroom, flickering beside a king-sized bed. Navy sheets, an abundance of pillows.

  I imagined we’d find Finn relaxing on the lush, low-profile couch, or even waiting for us in the bedroom. Instead, he leans stiffly against the kitchen island. Fully clothed, expression tight, shoulders bunched. Hair mussed from running fingers through it. His eyes bounce between me and the man at my back. Nervous. Questioning.

  Gideon’s breath tickles my neck a moment before his lips find my skin. He whispers, “Put him out of his misery, will you?”

  My heart kicks, interrupting my breath. I turn a little, enough to see his eyes—amused, dark with lust and something sharper.

  Because it will hurt.

  For a moment, I marvel at him. His unabashed pursuit of the human experience. The colorful moral compass of his heart. His fearlessness, equal whether in the face of joy or pain.

  I love him.

  He smiles softly and kisses my nose. “I know,” he answers the statement in my eyes.

  My footsteps across the loft barely register, my muscles loose and light.

  “Hi, Finn.”

  He swallows hard, expression pained. “Deirdre, you don’t…” He trails off as I touch his chest, my fingers hesitant, testing the heat and stability of him through his T-shirt.

  For a moment, he stiffens further, then his tension drains away. I glance up in time to see his gaze move away from Gideon. Whatever silent communication passed between the men, Finn looks at me now with dark intensity.

  Fireflies dance beneath my skin.

  “May I touch you?” he asks.

  “Y-yes.”

  He smiles, warm hands cupping my face with the same hesitance and curiosity my fingers possess. Slowly, his head lowers, breath teasing my lips. He breathes me in as he seals his mouth to mine. I taste bourbon and mint, and melt against his tall frame.

  Finn’s kiss is confident but also gentle, like he’s sipping to savor instead of consuming with greed. Lips, slightly fuller and softer than Gideon’s. Clean-shaven, his face lacking the ever-present stubble I’m used to. He smells good—different—lighter and crisper, and his body is leaner. Despite the illicitness, the arousing wrongness, and nervous rattling of my heart, when I feel his erection against my stomach an answering ache unfurls between my legs.

  My spine tingles, a precursor to Gideon’s heat against my back. He’s a wall of hard muscle, vibrating with tension. My need skyrockets.

  “Do you feel how much we want you?” he murmurs.

  His hands clasp my waist, fingers digging as he rolls his pelvis against my lower back. Letting me feel him, hard and thick for me—from watching another man touch me. There’s anger there, too, in the bite of his fingers, the words that hiss through clenched teeth.

  I gasp and Finn takes advantage, driving his tongue into my mouth. He grunts in satisfaction, a palm at the back of my neck angling my head for a deeper, rougher kiss.

  “Bedroom, now,” growls Gideon.

  Finn grabs me beneath the thighs, yanking me from the floor. The seal of our mouths remains unbroken as Gideon guides us across the loft and into the candlelit bedroom. Near the bed, Finn sets me on my feet and steps back, breathing heavily, erection straining boldly against his zipper. My gaze trails over the colorful ink on his arms and peeking from beneath the collar of his T-shirt.

  “Fuck,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair as his heavy-lidded eyes wander down my body and up again.

  Gideon chuckles darkly at my back. “Arms up,” he whispers, and I dutifully lift them.

  My shirt flows over my head and drops to the floor, followed shortly by my bra. Gideon’s hands move beneath my arms to my front, stroking down my bare chest, teasing and plucking my nip
ples, lighting fires and soothing at the same time as they head south. While one hand meanders between my legs, rubbing against the seam of my jeans until I rock against him, the other makes quick work of the button and zipper.

  Finn tracks every movement, his hands clenching and unclenching as Gideon divests me of my pants and underwear.

  My artist’s fingers drag possessively across my slit, spreading me open, gathering my arousal.

  “Can you smell her?” he asks darkly.

  Finn nods, his nostrils flaring. He licks his lips and my knees promptly buckle—I want that soft, full mouth on me. Anywhere will do.

  Gideon sweeps me off my feet and tosses me onto the bed. I bounce, a startled laugh escaping, which fades as I take in the men standing side by side at the foot of the bed. Gideon smiles slightly—more dangerous than humored—and Finn frowns like he’s in pain.

  “Gideon?” I whisper.

  His gaze flickers up. “Put those on her, will you?”

  Finn moves around the bed, reaching for the soft leather cuffs attached by a chain to a ring in the wall. My chest heaves, legs scissoring together as my wrists are bound.

  “And that,” Gideon says, nodding to the nightstand.

  The blindfold is wide and thick, silken and just the slightest bit weighted. Once it’s tied, the full impact of what’s happening sinks in, as does the knowledge that Gideon set this up—he knew, before I told him, exactly what I wanted.

  The scene we watched in the playroom weeks ago floats in my mind’s eye. A woman at the mercy of two men hell-bent on her pleasure.

  You are worthy of worship.

  “Are you okay?” asks Finn softly.

  I laugh away the push of tears. “Yes, so much yes.”

  “Good.”

  Finn’s soft lips graze my cheek, my neck, ear, shoulder. Hot, tingling kisses trail down my arm and back up, and finally across my chest to my aching nipples. When his hand closes over one peak and his mouth the other, I cry out, my hips lifting from the bed.

  With no warning, Gideon sinks two fingers inside me, his rough possession a dizzying counterpoint to Finn’s sensual assault.

  Curses spill from my lips as Gideon finds a punishing rhythm with his hand, a thumb jacking against my clit with near painful pressure. Finn seizes my mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing my cries, his fingers plucking my nipples in time with Gideon’s thrusting fingers.