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“I needed to clear my head.”
“Hmm.” Jairo hummed low in his throat, eyes boring into Win.
He’d learned at an early age how to lie like a pro, good enough to beat any lie detector—human or otherwise—and he’d been lying to Jairo for so long, but it always made him feel so dirty. So cheap. Worse than when he’d actually been selling his body on the corner for a handful of cash.
Between Jairo and Mathieu, the man Win married was the better man. By far. But it had never mattered to his heart. To his body. Which meant no matter how bitter it tasted, he would always protect Mathieu.
“While you were out thinking, did you come to any decisions?” Jairo stepped into a pair of black briefs, pulling them on under the towel, then he whipped the towel off and draped it around his neck.
“Yes.” Win lifted his chin. “I do not consent to a divorce.”
It’d been over dinner that Jairo so casually mentioned maybe it was time they revisited their agreement. Got a divorce. Win had gone deaf to him after that, mumbling something incoherent, then stumbling out of the house. He’d driven around aimlessly all night, only remembering the checkup at his doctor’s once the sun came up. It’d been there, coming out of the doctor’s office, that Stavros’ guy had snatched him. He hadn’t had time to think, not that he needed it.
When they’d first gotten married, it’d been because Jairo wanted a companion, and Win needed an escape. Now, it seemed Jairo no longer had need of him, and he was the one keeping Jairo trapped because he didn’t want to be free. He didn’t want a divorce. A free Win would have to explain shit to Mathieu. A free Win would have no defenses against Mathieu, and Win couldn’t…
Jairo was his buffer. His protection. Win wasn’t willing to let him go without a fight.
“Do you think the arrangement is still beneficial?” Jairo asked as he brushed past him and into the bedroom.
Win followed close on his heel. “Yes, but it’s clear you don’t feel the same way.”
“My instincts say differently, Win.” Jairo sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh and patted the spot next to him. He waited until Win joined him before speaking, hugging Win to him. He smelled like the special soap he used—made by the old lady of one of his guys—a bit of peppermint that made Win inhale deeply.
Everything about Jairo, inside this house, was comforting to him.
Outside, he was everything people whispered about. And more.
“There’s something going on with you and you’re not sharing. I can’t fix it if you don’t,” Jairo said.
“There’s nothing—”
“Don’t insult who we are by lying.”
But that was all Win did, wasn’t it? Lie.
“Do you want to change the terms of the arrangement?” Jairo pressed.
Win shook his head. “No.” He gazed up at the other man. “I promise.”
There were stress lines on Jairo’s forehead, tension in the set of his shoulders. For Win? Because of him? The thought saddened him, especially when he knew there was nothing he could do to change it.
“What about you?” he asked. “You brought up the subject, so tell me…” He eased back, searching Jairo’s gaze. “Do you want to change the arrangement?”
“Our arrangement suits me perfectly.” Jairo’s jaw ticked. “You know why.”
“I do. I’m glad we’re on the same page.” Win nodded once, got to his feet, and leaned over, pressing a kiss to Jairo’s forehead. “I’m gonna grab a shower and get some rest. I’m tired.” He left Jairo sitting on the bed and strode over to the closed door that led to the adjoining room.
Win’s bedroom.
Because he and Jairo didn’t have that kind of relationship.
Theirs was a marriage in name only.
7
Mathieu walkedout of the bathroom with water still dripping off his body, a gray towel knotted around his hips. The man waiting for him, still naked on the bed, whistled his appreciation.
“Nice.”
