Page 58
Two words, and something in me goes stupid over the fact that he asked.
I nod.
His thumb traces the line under my jaw where the chain bit in. Barely there. His hand is so hot against the cold that came in with the vision that I have to bite down on a sound.
He's not looking at the bruise. He's looking at my face.
My pulse trips and forgets its own rhythm. In the hollow of his throat, I watch his do the same. Here comes a warm ache between my thighs. What is happening?
"Maren." Rough. Low. That thing he only does with my name.
His face is very close and I can’t take my eyes off of him. I see him breathing me in again like I was a chocolate cookie or something.
The whole shop drops away, the smoke-stink of the necklace, the fallen ghost, the shrouded mirror. Just the heat coming off him and the pull between us winding tighter and tighter.
I could close it. I want to close it. I lean the last inch.
His hand slides from my throat to my jaw, and his breath catches, and for one second his fingers move over my throat and he kisses lightly where I’m bruised. I can feel his hot breath on me and I want him to do more.
Then he stops.
His eyes close. And, when they open, the heat's gone under, boarded up, locked.
I step back before I can feel the exact shape of the humiliation.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do you always stop?"
His jaw flexes. "Because it isn't the right time."
"Right. Haunted necklace, murdered witch, terrible timing. Got it."
"That's not what I meant."
"It's fine."
I turn away and he catches my hand.
"I want to kiss you again," he says.
Well. That's not fair at all.
Everything in me goes quiet. "Then why don't you?"
His face twists like the answer hurts him. "Because there are things you should know before we move forward.”
And there it is. Stopped at his wall. Again.
The anger comes back so fast it steals the tenderness clean out of the room.
"Then tell me."
"I can't."
"You keep saying that like it's your moral code or something."
