Page 24 of Sinful Sharing

His throat bounces from a hard swallow, but he says nothing. I shake my head, then turn away. A few steps later, I stop as a final thought forces its way out. “And I’m not the only one with unresolved issues,” I remind him.

Understanding spreads across his face, and then he whips around and climbs the ladder. The conversation replays in my head as I head back to the barn, resuming my work. Roman is dead wrong. I don’t need help. I’m completely healed from what happened. Having sex proves I’m no longer scarred by what happened to me.

Grinding my teeth, I reach for the hoof nippers. Roman thinks Taylor is another obsession, another pretty face to chase until I get bored. Maybe that’s what it looks like. Hell, that’s how it has always worked. Someone catches my eye, I flirt and pursue until I get what I want. Then I move on.

Simple, easy, and safe.

Taylor isn’t safe.

He’s not just another gorgeous body. I like hanging with him, unlike the other guys I’ve been attracted to. Our conversation comes easily. Plus, he reminds me of myself around his age. I can relate to the internal battle he’s dealing with. I recognize the fear in his eyes. Like my sixteen-year-old self, he’s still figuring out whether to go with his heart or his head.

Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to him.

And for the first time, I don’t get an urge to run away.

15

Roman

I stare at the computer screen until the words blur together. I’ve got an interview schedule to create. Housing assignments for my temporary staff. Payroll estimates—damn it, this is too much. The cursor blinks at me accusingly. Rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands, I lean back in my chair. Building Rome took more than a day. Also, I’m not a youngster anymore. Every muscle in my body feels tight. My shoulders ache and my neck protests every time I move it. A single night’s sleep won’t fix this—not that I’ve been sleeping worth a damn lately.

Sighing, I drag a hand down my face.

Taylor.

Somehow, in a matter of weeks, he has destroyed my peace of mind. Not that I had much in the first goddamn place. Now, it feels as if someone is torturing me. Every time I close my eyes, I see him standing in that bedroom. Naked. Startled. Beautiful.

Fuck.

I open my eyes, forcing myself to look back at the computer. The image doesn’t leave. It never does. Not even when I remind myself he’s half my age and that his mother trusted me to look after him. Not even when I remember what I could lose if she even senses the dirty thoughts in my head.

My stomach growls, a sign that I’ve been working for too long. I glance toward the clock on the wall. Eight-thirty.

Hell.

Dinnertime passed an hour ago.

No wonder I feel like death. Normally, Jude would have kicked my office door open twenty minutes ago and demanded I stop working. Then again, he’s probably too wrapped up in Taylor to notice I’m not there. Dinner with them always leaves me feeling like a third wheel.

But there’s a part of me that doesn’t mind sitting there partially invisible, listening to their chatter. It beats eating in silence. Before Taylor got here, Jude had long given up on making small talk with me.

I shut down the computer. The floorboards creak beneath my boots as I leave the office and head down to the kitchen, where an unexpected quiet greets me. Puzzled, I go in search of them.

A few seconds later, I wish I hadn’t.

Taylor sits curled on the old leather couch, tucked under a large blanket, a tumbler cradled between his hands. Jude leans toward him, arm resting along the back. He’s saying something too quietly for me to catch. Taylor laughs. It’s not loud. Just one of those surprised, genuine laughs that slips out before he can stop it. A laugh that triggers an explosion of warmth inside me.

Warmth that feels wrong.

The crackle of burning logs fills the silence as I stand at the entrance, unnoticed, debating whether I should break them apart. Knowing Jude, he won’t stop until Taylor lets him in, and I’ve seen him break enough hearts to predict exactly how it will end.

“Think about it,” Jude mutters.

Taylor turns his head away from him, staring at the fireplace. “It’s all I’ve thought about for years. I can’t do it.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“Both, I guess,” Taylor replies. “Mom would lose more than half her donors if I came out. After what my father did, I can’t imagine putting her through that.”