Page 19 of Sinful Sharing

“I mean, you can deny it, but—“

“A woman has never turned me on.” He glances up, showing me the anguish in his eyes. “And someday, my mother expects me to marry one.”

Something heavy and painful settles in my stomach. “Don’t do it. It would be the worst mistake you’d ever make.”

“Disappointing my mother would be worse,” he mutters.

Oh, but he’s so, so wrong. “Take it from me, Taylor. Don’t hide who you are. It will never turn out well for you.” If I could go back in time, I’d tell my sixteen-year-old self the same thing.

My mother would still be alive.

“I don’t have a choice but to keep hiding,” he replies, a wave of sadness twisting his pretty features. He hands me back the joint. “Mom has been through enough without me screwing up her life.”

A part of me wants to share my story. Maybe it might change his mind. But reliving that memory turns my stomach every time. I’ve only endured the unpleasantness twice: once during the trial and again when Roman ran the background check on me.

Pinching the joint, I put it out. Taylor sighs heavily, his head thrown back, gaze focused on the starry sky. “It might sound weird, but this is the best thing Mom could have done for me,” he mutters.

“What?” I ask.

“Suggesting I come here.” He looks at me, a wry smile on his lips. “I can breathe better now.”

I step closer, enough to catch the scent of his expensive cologne. “I felt the same when I had just arrived.”

“And now?” he asks.

“I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

He sighs as if trying to unburden something from his chest. I shouldn’t touch him, but I do, just my fingertips brushing a lock of hair from his face. He doesn’t move away. I almost swear he inches closer. Or maybe it’s me.

“You deserve more than three months of freedom.”

And for some reason, I have this sudden urge to give him everything he needs.

12

Taylor

“Give me a break, asshole.” I storm into the cabin. “It’s literally three fricking lightbulbs.”

I dump the small box on a table near the window. It’s official. I can’t stand Roman. I’ve been here for almost two weeks, and I’m convinced he can’t stand me, either. The difference is that I’m not going out of my way to show it. Roman makes it his duty to wear a hostile look whenever I’m around.

Fine by me. I don’t care if he likes me. What he’s not going to do is bust my balls for making a minor mistake—

“What did you say?”

My body flinches. I glance over my shoulder. Roman stands in the doorway, glaring at me. For someone his size and with those large boots, I don’t understand how he moves so quietly. “Nothing.”

“Thought so.”

Biting my tongue, I pull the metal ladder under the ceiling socket. I climb on the first rung, then step back down. Roman is already into the hallway when I yell, “What is your problem?”

He turns around, pinning me with a look so sharp it feels like a physical force. Something cold and unyielding settles in his eyes, smothering my boldness. “My problem with what?”

“Me.” I fold my arms across my chest, determined not to show how intimidated I am. “I understand that we got off on the wrong foot, but I’ve been willingly helping around here. Yet, you’re still giving me a hard time.”

“Those lightbulbs are difficult to source, Taylor. You broke three of them. How else did you expect me to react?”

“I apologized. Four times,” I reply. “It went over your head. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re determined to keep hating me—“