Page 60 of A Dangerous Bargain

Leonardo reaches back and closes the door right before a familiar silhouette appears beyond the linen curtains.

Leonardo watches Verrocchio’s shadow, breathing hard. His hair is in my mouth. His elbow is between my ribs.

And his body, beautiful sweet Cristo, his body is spread over every single inch of me, hot and heavy and glorious.

I want him to move. I need him to move before it becomes glaringly obvious how I feel about him being on top of me, but all he does is sigh and rest his brow in the divot between my neck and shoulders.

Our ragged panting fills the tiny space, somehow louder than all the conversation happening outside. Yes, the drivers saw two boys leave mass; no, they didn’t notice what they looked like. Do they look like they’re paid enough to play driver and guard at the same time? Verrocchio’s silhouette disappears, and even though I can still hear him arguing, my pulse starts to slow.

Leonardo fidgets and slips into the footwell. My arm shoots up and hooks around his waist, pulling him closer to me.

“Virgil.” His nose traces a line along my neck. By accident, obviously.

Still, the movement makes my skin prickle with want. “Yes?”

“I think—” He tries and fails to move again. “I think this coach might’ve been made for one person.”

“You don’t say.”

He laughs, and the warmth of the sound races down my entire body. “I also don’t think we can move for a while. Not until Verrocchio leaves.”

Someone will definitely notice a rocking carriage, even if it’s rocking for reasons different from what they assume.

I make a noise of agreement—all right, you could call it a whimper—and stare at the dusty ceiling, my trousers growing tighter. The landscape of Leonardo’s back presses against my hand with each breath, the furrows of his ribs, the deep channel of his spine. It takes all my self-control not to crook my fingers, trace senseless patterns across his jacket, ones he could imagine on his skin.

This is the punishment I get for bringing a demon to mass. I should’ve known better.

“Do you think Lupa is all right?”

Leonardo shifts the tiniest bit. His elbow slips off my ribs into my stomach. “It’s illegal to harm an angel.”

It’s not the comforting answer I was hoping for. “Verrocchio already thinks it’s my fault.”

“And he’s right, but he doesn’t know that yet. We’ll go to Santa Croce after this. Their mass starts later. If someone sees us there, he can’t know for sure we were here.”

I let out a shuddering breath. “We shouldn’t have come here today. I fucked it up.”

My brother is trapped in hell, and I’m trapped in some rich person’s coach. Instead of finding answers, I’m hiding from the consequences of my own poor choices.

Leonardo elbows me again. I’m starting to suspect he’s doing it on purpose. “No, we both fucked it up. And that’s all right, mistakes happen. How were we supposed to know Verrocchio would be here today?”

I sigh and let my eyes drift closed. Try to focus on the bitter tang of old sweat and not the way Leonardo’s scent swirls around me like summer flowers. How that “we” makes my insides twist. He won’t let me blame myself for this, and I don’t believe him, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me feel a bit better.

“You never answered me, you know.” His voice is light, teasing.

“Answered you about what?”

“Opening a workshop together.”

I stop breathing. I only start again when I remember that Leonardo is on top of me and definitely noticed.

His fingers race, featherlight, over the back of my hand, twine through my fingers. Even though I’m the one holding him, it feels like he’s the only thing tethering me. “Why can’t you answer?”

My mouth tastes like old blood. “I thought you were jesting about the workshop.”

His hand goes cold in mine. “Jesting?”

“Weren’t you? I thought you were trying to make me feel better. I was crying.” In your arms. I swallow at the memory. I don’t want to think about it when we’re chest-to-chest again. “It was amusing. I mean, could you imagine it? We’d go bankrupt by the end of the first year.”