The Finished Masterpiece Boxed Set - Pepper Winters Page 0,22

that could never be permitted.

“You can tell me things,” I said softly. “I won’t betray your trust.”

She studied me. Carefully. Intensely. Her hair slipped over her shoulder as she tilted her head. “I believe you.” A blush decorated her cheekbones again. “Ditto. I mean...you can tell me things too. I’m trustworthy.”

“I know you are.”

We stared at each other.

Both aware something had happened.

Something special.

Something strong and scary and not entirely explainable.

We were different.

But similar.

And she’d just become mine in this dingy, depressing corridor all because she was brave enough to share a secret with me.

I wanted to touch her. I’d never wanted anything more.

But I didn’t.

Because there would be time for that.

And I wouldn’t do a damn thing to jeopardise this one perfect, brilliant thing in my life. “Sharing a secret makes us friends...Olin.”

Her name.

Fuck, it kicked my heart and tainted my lips.

She sucked in a breath as I stopped achingly close to her. So close I could pick out the green and brown swirls of her hazel eyes and smell the sweetness of her hair. “I suppose I owe you now.” My voice thickened with gravel.

I did my best to pull back.

To rip my eyes from hers and smother the hunger in my tone, but her body softened, welcomed, and a current of power, stronger than electricity, more dangerous than lightning crackled from her heart to mine.

She blinked, her cheeks flushing. “Owe me? Owe me what?”

My eyes hooded. “A secret. I owe you a secret.”

And a kiss.

And someone who cares if you’re home at night.

And someone to protect you after you’ve protected everyone else.

“Oh.” She looked at my chest, then back to my eyes. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to. You’re special.”

“I am?”

“You are.” My fingers burned to touch. To tuck aside the strands of hair dangling by her jaw and trace the sharpness of her cheekbone. To pull her into me. To tell her how rare she was. To ask how she’d stayed so good in a world drenched in darkness.

But I kept my hands to myself even as my voice betrayed me. “I like you, Olin. That’s my secret. And that’s a pretty big deal for me to admit.”

I could’ve given other secrets, but I wasn’t ready. Not yet. My other secrets were the kind that would scare off a girl like Olin.

And I didn’t want to scare her off.

Ever.

She locked in place, a catch in her voice that undid me. “You like me?”

I stepped back so I didn’t do something reckless like kiss her.

“You like me like me, or just like me?”

I chuckled. “There’s a difference?”

“Of course.” Her heart-shaped face etched with seriousness. “Definitely. I need to know exactly how you feel—”

The classroom door swung open, interrupting our moment as Ms Tallup stuck her head into business that didn’t belong to her—just as she always did. “What on earth is going on? Get back in here. Both of you. Immediately.”

My heart bucked for all new reasons, filling with resentment.

Olin jumped with guilt. “Yes, Ms Tallup.”

She ducked under the teacher’s arm and dashed into the room.

I schooled my face into a mask of insolence and waited until Ms Tallup dropped her barricade before swaggering into the student-filled space.

My façade was back.

My temper hiding the truth.

Olin was the only one allowed to know how fragile I was beneath the barbwire I used to keep everyone at bay.

I didn’t know why she was different.

But she was.

And I’m keeping her.

Olin kept her eyes on her math workbook as I passed by, but her gentle whisper met my ears, timid and slightly shocked, but resonating with honesty. “I like you too, Gilbert Clark.”

No one else heard her in the babble of commotion.

No one else knew just how much she’d changed my life.

My legs turned shaky, plummeting me into my hard seat.

My heart pounded.

My palms sweated.

And a grateful smile remained hidden beneath a frown.

Chapter Six

______________________________

Olin

-The Present-

WHO KNEW TIME had the power to drive me insane?

Two hours Gil had been within touching distance.

Actually, that isn’t true.

For two hours, he’d been closer than touching. Kissing distance really.

Yet he hadn’t said a word to me.

Not a single syllable.

It was as if conversation was banished so he could forget it was me he painted, make-believing I was a faceless, nameless model instead.

I got why he’d want to ignore the pain I caused him.

But it didn’t mean I was immune from the pain he caused me.

Time slowed and ensured I was vibrantly aware of everything.

His masculine smell of citrus and paint. The weight of his shallow, controlled breathing.