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“I’ve done this for a long time. I have more money than I could ever spend. But most importantly, I left my life behind ages ago, when I was a young man and realized I could never be who I really was inside. This is my chance to get my life back. You helped me see that. This is a chance for me to be happy. With you.”
He didn’t appear convinced. “Why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me who you were?”
“I was trying to protect us both. I thought we would spend a few weeks fucking, then you would return to Paris.”
“Yes, I heard what you said to Giulio.” He dropped his voice to do a terrible Russian accent. “‘He will return to Paris next week, none the wiser.’”
My skin heated. I hated that he overheard this. “I tried. I thought giving you up was for the best. But I didn’t know what it would feel like to be without you, how miserable it would be. I miss you, solnyshko.”
Theo bit his bottom lip and stared through the windows, his eyes suspiciously glassy. Had I upset him?
I couldn’t bear the thought.
Closing the distance between us, I didn’t stop until we were nearly toe-to-toe. I stared down at this gorgeous man, my limbs vibrating with the need to feel him. To comfort him. “May I touch you?”
He gave me a small nod, so I stroked the smooth skin of his cheek with one finger. He shivered, and that tiny gesture gave me hope. It was a good sign that I still affected him strongly, yes?
“I don’t understand this,” he whispered. “We’ve known one another for a hot minute. So why does it hurt so badly to be without you?”
“Time is irrelevant when you find the person you are meant to spend the rest of your life with. You are that person for me.” After all the secrecy, I owed him the truth. I took a deep breath. “I think I am in love with you.”
I got a brief look at his ravaged face before it disappeared into the side of my throat. His arms went around me, but I wasn’t sure if it was enough. I held him tight, breathing him in, as the panic began to mount. Was this it? Would he tell me to leave him alone?
I wasn’t sure what more I could do, but this wasn’t the end.
“I can give you more time,” I rasped. “I know you aren’t ready and I’ve hurt you. But I won’t give up. I will stay in Paris and—”
“Nic, stop. I don’t need more time.” He shifted to rest his forehead against my cheek. “I think I’m in love with you, too. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, like we’re connected. Like you understand me better than anyone else. I am lost without you, mon grand.”
Happiness raced through me and I couldn’t stand it any longer. Desperate to kiss him, I slammed our mouths together. He pressed up on his toes and opened his lips, letting me in, and I took full advantage. My tongue stroked against his, tasting and twining, and I dragged greedy hands over every part of him I could touch, reacquainting myself with the feel of him. Fuck, I had missed this.
I eased back and held his face in my palms. “I am never hiding you again. I am proud to stand at your side.”
His throat worked as he swallowed. “And I am proud to have you at my side, Mr. Schmidt of Munich. Though I’m not sure anyone will believe that is really your name.”
“I don’t give a fuck what they believe. Besides, everyone will be too busy looking at you to focus on me.”
“Not if you let me design clothes for you,” he said, sweeping his palms over my shoulders. “You’re like a giant blank canvas waiting to be brought to life.”
I smiled as I bent my head to kiss him again. “Too late. You brought me to life the instant we met, solnyshko.”
About the Author
Mila Finelli is the dark contemporary pen name of USA Today bestselling author Joanna Shupe, who finally decided to write the filthy mafia kings she's been dreaming about for years. She's addicted to coffee, travel and Roy Kent. For more information, visit milafinelli.com
To Be Fair, They Were Pleather
KRISTAN HIGGINS
Chapter One
“I wish I was gay,” said Hannah, my best friend since kindergarten, when she let me undress her Barbie doll so I could see what boobs looked like. “It would make life so much simpler. You and I could get married, adopt a border collie and train her to bring us coffee.”
“That is the dream,” I said, sipping my martini, then wincing. They were candy cane martinis, something that shouldn’t exist in mixology. “But you’re assuming you’re my type. Sorry.”
“Well, shit,” Hannah said. “There goes my chance at lesbian heaven.”
I huffed, well used to the running joke. Like so many straight women, Hannah had this fantasy that if she were gay, all her relationship troubles would evaporate. That because women were so intuitive and emotionally intelligent, there was never a cross word or disagreement in Lesbian Land. They were wrong.
