The question hits a nerve. “That’s what’s expected.”
“Not what I asked.”
I turn back to the view, buying time. “I don’t know what I want. I’ve never had the luxury of figuring that out.”
“Bullshit,” Vincent says, but there’s no heat behind it. “Everyone has choices.”
“Not everyone has to choose between their dreams and their family.”
“Some of us didn’t get a choice at all,” he counters, and there it is—the elephant that’s been standing between us since he returned to my life.
I close my eyes, letting the wind cool my face. “What did my father say to you, Vincent? What made you leave?”
When I open my eyes, Vincent is watching me with an unreadable expression. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“It matters to me.” I step closer, the space between us shrinking. “You disappeared. No warning, no goodbye. Just… gone. And I want to know why.”
Vincent looks away, his jaw tightening. “Your father saw things that weren’t there. Or maybe they were. I don’t know anymore.”
“What things?”
He meets my gaze again, something resolute in his expression. “He said I was corrupting you.”
“Corrupting me how?”
Vincent’s face darkens. “He said I was making you gay.”
His words knock the air from my lungs, and I get a sudden urge to punch something. Or rather, someone. “That motherfucker. I’m gonna fucking kill him.”
“Alex—”
“No. Don’t even try to defend him,” I growl. “I fuckingmissedyou,” I say, the words woefully inadequate for the ache that’s lived in my chest. “Every day. Every. Fucking. Day.”
Vincent’s expression softens. “I missed you too.”
I take a few breaths through my nose to suppress the rage boiling in me. “I meant what I said at dinner. I’ll protect you. From my father, from whatever he threatened you with. I’ll protect you from everything.”
Vincent’s eyes search mine, looking for any sign of deception or hesitation. He won’t find any. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.
The moment stretches between us, a thread pulled taut. I don’t think about what I’m doing. Don’t question it. I lean forward, pressing my lips against his.
The kiss starts tentative, a question rather than a demand. But when Vincent makes a small sound in the back of his throat, something inside me breaks loose. My hands find his face, cradling his jaw as I deepen the kiss, tasting whiskey and want on his tongue.
Vincent’s hands slide up to grip my shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. I turn him around until his back hits the railing, my body pressing against his from chest to knee. He arches into me, a whimper escaping him that sends heat surging through my veins.
I kiss him like I’m drowning and he’s air, like I’m starvingand he’s sustenance. My hands roam greedily, sliding from his face to his neck, down the lean planes of his back to his hips. When I pull him harder against me, he moans into my mouth, the sound sending a jolt straight to my groin.
“Alex,” he gasps as I move to his neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin below his ear. “Fuck, Alex.”
His voice, breathy and desperate, is the most erotic thing I’ve ever heard. I want to wreck him, to make him say my name like that again and again, until it’s the only word he remembers.
The rooftop door swings open with a metallic groan. We break apart as if we’ve been electrocuted, Vincent turning toward the city view while I whip around to face the intruder.
Ronan stands framed in the doorway, his expression morphing from surprise to understanding in the span of a heartbeat. “Shit—sorry, I was just—” he stammers.
I glare at him. “What do you want?”
He backs up a step. “Nothing, man. Just wanted some fresh air.” His eyes flick between Vincent’s back and my face. “I’ll, uh, I’ll watch the door. Make sure no one else comes up.”
