C
HAPTER
39
G
oing Between always left me dizzy, but this time, the room was spinning for an entirely different reason. The instant we landed, Luc’s hands were tangling in my hair, sliding down my back, pressing me into the heat of his body while I opened my mouth and drew him closer. It was fierce and hot and glorious, a power that had nothing to do with the magic surging through me, and I broke the kiss long enough to drag in a breath and say, “More.”
He stepped away, and my eyes flew open. His face had turned sharp and wary. Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for.
“What the hell was that?” he asked, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth.
“If you have to ask, I’m doing something wrong.” I shoved my hair back, trying to hold on to the heat leaching away.
“You kissed me.”
“Yes. Glad we’re on the same page.”
“We ain’t,” he said, and stalked past me. “You need to go home. Get some rest.”
“I kissed you, and your response is to tell me it’s naptime? Is this a joke?” A horrible thought struck me. “Is this because of the Quartoren? Because I told them not to choose me?”
“I’m
glad
you’re not the new Matriarch. Last thing I want is you feeling roped into staying here.”
“What, then?”
“You didn’t mean it,” he said. “I know you, Mouse. Better than you know yourself, I’m starting to think. And that kiss was adrenaline. That was emotions running high and you needing to do something with them. That was you trying to grab hold of something solid after a bad, bad day. But that was most assuredly not about you and me. Don’t you remember what I told you?”
I remembered. Perfectly. “You said the next time I kissed you, I needed to mean it.”
“I won’t do this,” he said, and he refused to meet my eyes. “I will not do this and then in a few days, when the world’s settled back into place and you’ve found your feet, the first thing you do is run away.”
“Luc ...”
“I
can’t,
” he said, and stepped back. The hallway was narrow enough that I could have easily caught him, but the wild, fearful look on his face stopped me. “You do this every damn time.”
The accusation stung. It was completely true. Walking away from Luc—or telling him to leave—had become a specialty of mine. And I didn’t know how to convince him this time was different.
“I do,” I agreed. “I did, anyway. But the world’s not going to settle back in place. Not the way it was before. And I’m okay with that. Better than okay.”
I caught the tips of his fingers in mine. He glanced up at me quickly and looked down again, but not before I caught the hope that flashed across his features.
“It’s not done. The magic isn’t finished with me. I still have to deal with my uncle. I have months of school left. I haven’t even picked a college, Luc. I got into NYU,” I added, feeling bashful at the admission.
“I’m glad,” he said, not looking glad at all. “I know how much you wanted it.”
“I used to. Now ... I don’t know. Nothing’s settled at all. Except this. Us. No more running.” I brushed a kiss along the sharp line of his cheekbone, even as he twisted away. “No more excuses.” Another kiss, whisper soft, along his jaw. His hair felt cool and slippery as I slid my hand along the back of his head.
“For keeps.” I touched my lips to his, lightly, and then paused as a sliver of fear worked its way under my skin. “If that’s what you want, too. Me, I mean. If you want me. Because if it’s not ... if you’ve changed your mind ...” My nerves kicked in and so did the babbling, even as his eyes turned green and gold and heated. “I’d understand that. I wouldn’t like it, but I’d understand it. I’d probably even deserve it, and you could go off with Niobe, or someone—”
His hands closed over my hips, backing me up until my spine hit the wall behind us. “Tell me you mean it,” he said when our mouths were almost touching. “Tell me.”
“I mean it,” I said, and closed my eyes, waiting for the pressure of his lips on mine.
It didn’t happen, and I opened my eyes again. “Seriously, Luc?”
“Kiss me,” he said, his voice strangled. “I made a promise, remember? Trying to be a man of my word here, but you’re making it a challenge.”
My mouth curved, and I licked my lips just to watch his pupils dilate. “Technically, it’s your turn. I kissed you when we went Between. I kissed you thirty seconds ago. That’s twice in a row. I’m not sure I should be the one doing all the work here.”
“Hell on fire, woman. You want to talk about work? I’ve been chasing after you since the day we met. Now kiss me and mean it, Maura Fitzgerald.”
So I did.
Soft like the last time, but now his lips moved against mine—with mine—and the warmth spread through me like a drug, like a fever, my skin heating as I tasted him, burnt sugar and the sea and something blazing brightly between us. “I mean it,” I said, nipping along his jaw, my fingers trailing over his face, like I might memorize it. His hands were in my hair, on my throat, tugging at the cloak I was still wearing, and he cursed softly when the clasp wouldn’t give way.
He swallowed the laugher that burbled up before I could stop it, his mouth hungrier and hotter than before, shoving back the heavy silk, his hips pressing me harder into the wall. He murmured something, his forehead against my shoulder, and the clasp at my throat split in two, the material pooling at our feet, and I felt so light without it I nearly floated away.
His lips touched my pulse, and I slid my hands under his shirt, feeling hard lines of muscle, feeling him tremble at my touch, and I reveled in the sensation, the way the heat flashed and built between us. When his hands found the hem of my shirt, crept higher, it was like reaching a boiling point.
“Wait.” I pushed him away and he staggered, his mouth moist and swollen where I’d nipped him, face flushed, hair tumbling into his eyes. He was so familiar and so new, all at once, I lost my breath. “Could we—”
“It’s too fast,” he said, shoving a hand through his hair. “You’re right. We can wait. Take some time. As much as you need.”
I clapped a hand over his mouth. “I was going to ask if we could move this to your bedroom.”
He froze, eyebrows arching in surprise.
“Your bedroom,” I said. “Where there is a bed. You might not have noticed, but I’ve been on my feet all night, and I would like to not be on my feet. In your bed.”
He yanked me toward him, his face serious but his eyes smiling, and kissed me so thoroughly I almost forgot what I’d asked. But then he started walking me backward toward the bedroom, the hard planes of his body never breaking contact with mine, one hand splayed wide against my back, and it became impossible to forget what I’d just asked him.
We fell onto the bed, still kissing, his mouth everywhere, his hands everywhere, my clothing landing somewhere behind us with a soft whooshing sound, and I tugged at the buttons of his shirt, laughing when I heard them pop. When I trailed my fingers across his stomach, reaching for the waistband of his jeans, he stopped me.
“I believe you,” he said.
“That’s good.” I reached for him again, and he took my hand, held it over his heart.
“No, Mouse.” He kissed me once, waited for me to look at him. “What I’m sayin’ is, you don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“Glad to hear it,” I said. “Let go of my hand.”
“Maura.”
That stopped me. “You never call me Maura. Only when things are really bad. Please don’t tell me things are bad. Please don’t—”
Don’t tell me no.
God, he could tell me anything but that. Not when I wanted him this much, not when I’d finally let myself fall.
His smile was crooked, his gaze on my bare skin practically leaving scorch marks. “Beautiful girl in my bed, trying to divest me of my clothing and my virtue? How is that possibly bad?”
“Your virtue?”
“My clothing, anyway.” He sobered. “I want it to be perfect. Maybe perfect means waiting a little bit. Being sure.”
“I’m sure of you,” I said softly, laying my head on his chest, walking my fingers up his arm. “It’s perfect because it’s you. It’s us. It could be awful, and it would still be perfect. I don’t want to wait, Luc. I just want you.”
He exhaled, his fingers tightening on my hip, and his mouth sealed against mine. “Been waitin’ on you for so damn long,” he mumbled, shucking off his jeans, pushing me back onto the bed, acres of snowy linen smooth and cool against my bare back, while his mouth was searingly hot, his hands roaming over me like he was memorizing my skin. “Thought it was a dream. You sure this ain’t a dream?”
I bit his shoulder and he jerked his head up, mock-scowling. “Not a dream,” I said, and pulled him back down, feeling the heat and the strength of him against me, and his hands—the fingers so clever, finding the places that made me giggle and the places that made me gasp and the places that made the whole world go blurry, that made me arch my back, and if he hadn’t had his mouth on mine, I would have begged.
He drew back, skin glowing like amber, and his eyes drank me in, like he’d been in the desert for weeks and weeks, and I felt the same way watching the light play over his body. He reached for the drawer of the nightstand and rolled back toward me. “I can stop now,” he said, voice tight, body tense despite the gentle, exquisite movements of his hand against me. “But not if we keep goin’ down this path.”
“Don’t you dare,” I said. “Don’t you dare stop.”
I pulled him down again, and he brushed kisses against my forehead, my cheeks, my eyelids, and when I finally caught his mouth with mine, I poured all of the wanting and the hunger and the joy into him I possibly could, spun those same feelings out to him through our binding. And then he was moving on top of me and inside me and the heat went from a flash to an inferno, burning away everything except the two of us, something fine and sharp and sweet and painful building up within me. He said my name and my eyes flew open to find him watching me, and I broke beneath him, the world going brilliant and dark all at once.
It was quiet except for the sound of his breathing, ragged in my ear. My hands slicked down his back and he shifted to the side, drew me into his arms.
“See?” I whispered, tipping my head back to kiss him. “Like I said. Perfect.”
He smoothed the damp tendrils of hair from my face, drew a thumb across my lips. “Did I hurt you?”
I lifted a shoulder. “A little. Worth it, though.”
He skimmed a hand along my rib cage, over my hip bone, and then circled his fingers around my wrist, the bond bright and stronger than it had ever been before. It had saved my life, our bond. More than once, it had brought me back from the heart of the magic, given me strength and consolation and power. And now, it brought me Luc’s words the instant before he spoke them.
“I love you,” he said.
I propped myself on an elbow, feeling more naked than I had a few minutes ago, and hid behind a joke. “You’ve got the order wrong. You’re supposed to say that
before,
to convince me.”
“I’ll remember that next time,” he said, his tone matching mine. He touched his forehead to mine. “I love you, Mouse, and it’s got nothing to do with what we did. It’s just you. It’s always been you.”
Lacing our fingers together, he said, “I know you’ve got plenty left to deal with back home. I’ll wait as long as you need.”
“I need you,” I said. “For keeps, remember? I’ll deal with everything else, and then I’ll come back.”
“We will,” he corrected. “Together. I like the sound of that.”
“Good.” I yawned, clapped a hand over my mouth, and he grinned.
“The rest of the world will keep,” he said. “Sleep now.”
I curled myself into him and didn’t try to protest. “Together.”
When I woke, the room was dim, and Luc’s expression was wolfish and charming.
“Sleep well?” he asked, his hand sliding over me.
“What time is it?” I bolted upright and clutching the sheet to my chest. “Oh, God. Have I slept a whole day?”
“Middle of the morning. I was going to wake you in a bit. Your phone’s been beeping like crazy. Like one of those little robot pets.”
I climbed out of bed, managed to wrap the sheet around me like a giant towel. Luc’s grin widened. “Why so shy?”
“I’m naked under here.” I padded out to the living room, looking for where I’d dumped my bag when we came in.
“It’s a good look for you. You weren’t like this before.”
“You distracted me. With kissing. And stuff.” I rummaged through pens and scraps of paper, hairclips and a granola bar.
“And stuff.” He chuckled. “That an invitation?”
I grabbed for my phone and scrolled through. Missed calls, plenty of texts. Colin, Lena, my mom. Nick Petros. A single text from Jenny.
“I don’t want to deal with this.” I sat down on the couch.
“Then don’t,” he said. “Stay here. With me.”