Page 30 of Billionaire's Sins
We seem to be almost under it, but not quite. The entire structure is lit up in a silvery light that turns it into a beautiful artefact that is ageless, timeless… So serene that it’s almost tranquil, despite the hustle and bustle of the city. How many others have watched it from exactly this angle? Who were they? What did they do? Did they also come here because they were avoiding something…like the big elephant between us…aka this attraction, this connection…this…completely insane need to be close to him, to feel him, touch him, hear him speak, laugh, to kiss his eyelids, his mouth, his cheeks, that beautiful throat of his that flexes when he’s angry and stretches when he’s sad. I swallow as he pulls over by a small park. He shuts off the bike and silence descends. My heart begins to thud and my pulse pounds at my temples. Why did he bring me here? To talk? About what?
Why isn’t he saying anything yet?
I slide off the bike, pull the jacket even closer. He lowers the kickstand, disembarks, then opens the storage box on the bike. He pulls out a pair of leather pants and hands them to me. "Put them on; you’re cold," he commands.
I grimace. "Is this how you speak to your flock? Do you order them around as well?"
A nerve throbs at his temple. "I didn’t bring you here to argue with you."
"Then why did you bring me?"
He rolls his shoulders. "Come." He gestures me toward the park.
I step into the pants, fold up the hems so I don’t trip on them. The waist band is elastic and I fold it a few times until it perches on my hips. Not very comfortable, but it’ll keep me warm.
I cross the sidewalk, and head up the small park to a bench that faces the view of the bridge.
I sink down and he sits… As far away from me as possible on the other side of the space.
My heart deflates a little. Shit, what was I expecting? That we’d hold hands and gaze into each other’s eyes. As if. I stare ahead at the piece of marvelous architecture that stands there as if suspended in the darkness.
For a few seconds we don’t speak. My muscles unwind and I slide down the bench a little. The cold sinks into my blood and I stamp my feet to stay warm. "If only there was something warm to drink," I mutter aloud, then blink when he slides a flask across the space.
I shoot him a sideways glance. "What’s that?"
"Whiskey."
"I didn’t know you drank."
"There’s a lot you don’t know about me."
"Only because you don’t share anything with me."
He opens his mouth and I hold up my hand, "I know, I know, it's not like we've had much time to get to know one another; still..." I shuffle my feet, "all I'm saying is that I'd like to find out more about you."
He blows out a breath, then leans forward. "What do you want to know?"
12
Edward
What the hell am I doing? Clearly, I have lost it. That’s the explanation for why I brought her here…to my secret spot. The place I’ve been coming to on my own since I was young. Staring at that incredible piece of manmade wonder is a reminder that there is hope. That if man puts his mind to it, he can overcome insurmountable challenges. That I can, perhaps, despite my past, try to break free and embrace who I have become. If only it were that easy to figure out what to do about this…whatever it is, between us. And, yes there is a connection here… I could turn a blind eye to it, I could try to avoid it, and that’s what I’ve been doing, but my reaction to finding out that she was in trouble…had thrown me. I hadn’t been able to stop myself from going to her, putting myself between her and the bastard who had tried to physically touch her… He’d…he’d…put his hands on her and I’d lost it. At that moment, nothing else mattered except teaching him a lesson. That he couldn’t touch what was mine. That no one else could come near what belongs to me. That she… Belongs to me. That she... Is mine.
"Fuck." I rub my palm across my face.
Next to me she goes completely still. "Did you just—?"
"Swear?" I laugh bitterly. "That’s the least of my sins."
"Have you sinned, Father?"
I stiffen, then turn to her. "I am sitting here with you, aren’t I?"
She tilts her head, "Are you saying I make you sin?"
"What do you think?"
"I think," she turns to stare ahead, "that you can do anything you want, you can be anything you choose to be, but you’ve put barriers around yourself and you hold yourself up to impossibly high standards, the kind most men would find it difficult to live up to and—" She swallows. "That only makes you even more desirable."
