“What’s your goal?” she asks quietly. Like she actually cares.
I say nothing. Because I can’t.
“Does it have something to do with?—”
“Don’t,” I snarl. “It’s bad enough I let you in here. There are questions you don’t get to ask.”
She rolls her eyes. “You don’t think I can handle it?”
I drag my fingers along the skin near my scar. “I think you don’t want me to answer that.”
“Whatever you say…” She pauses dramatically. “Scrooge.”
A laugh escapes me before I can help it.A slight break in the darkness I should’ve kept buried.
She’s Julian’s sister. That alone should shut this whole thing down.
But somehow it isn’t enough.
She beams. Fucking glows. Since she arrived, her only goal has been to make me laugh and smile. I kill the laughter and reach out for the book.
I don’t mean to do it, but our hands brush. A shock of heat runs up my arm when I feel her soft skin, too gentle for the likes of me. Yet my hand lingers, as if it has plans of its own.
Heat jolts up my arm, sharp and unexpected, her skin too soft, too warm, too… dangerous. My hand lingers a second longer than it should, like it forgot who it belongs to.
She glances at our hands. Her nails have green, white, and red paint on them. Of course, even her nails are festive. How the hell did I miss that?
She lets out a shaky breath, a soft, breathy sound that slides under my skin.
I picture my hand traveling up her arm. Her shoulder. Her waist. Pulling her in. Feeling her body against mine.
I’m in a goddamn cage, and for one insane moment,she feels like the key that could open it. She can set me free.
What am I even thinking?
I takeMoby Dickfrom her.
“Do you read a lot?” she asks, apparently wanting to reclaim some sense of normalcy.
She wants to pretend there isn’t a thrumming mass of tension bubbling beneath the surface.
“I find books easier than people,” I tell her.
She winks. “I find books easier thancertainpeople too.”
Dammit. That gets a smile out of me. I don’t remember her ever having had this effect on me before. Sure, at the pool party a couple years back, I noticed the way her curves slick with water,droplets sliding down her thighs, swimsuit clinging like it had a vendetta.
But this is different.
This is… lightness. And it terrifies me.
Before I can reply, my cell phone buzzes. I check it.
One of my moles–homeless people I’ve hired to keep tabs on certain threats–has texted me.
John #1: Your target is on the move. Heading to the docks.
When I look back at Celine again, all lightheartedness has vanished from her expression. She looks at me like she knows what I am. Julian would’ve told me if that was the case. Nonetheless, I can see her putting the pieces together in her head.
