“I don’t want this to change anything.” Damn Wayne for getting in her head now of all times. It was Snow’s turn to look at her first. Jo took her eyes off the ceiling and its hidden story to give him a long, hard stare. “With the team, with wishes. I don’t want this—whatever happens, whatever comes of it—to affect anyone but us.”
Clarity dawned on him and Snow gave a small hum that she took to be affirmation. “Itisonly about us.”
“Good.” A smile stretched between her cheeks. She could have her cake and eat it too. Things dared to look like they were improving for her.
“But to that end. . . you should likely return to them.”
She’d just said she didn’t want things to change, and her whole heart screamed in protest of leaving his bed. Still, once work was planted in her mind, it was hard to fall back into the bliss she’d lost herself in earlier.
“The wish, it’s looking positive.” There. Now she’d fulfilled what she said she’d come there for. So it wouldn’t be a lie if Eslar asked later.
Snow sat, his expression distant. Jo followed suit, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed. It was weird to talk about work when they were lying side by side.
“Is it?” he asked softly.
“I think the evacuation will be successful, after all.” Jo grabbed his hand. His head turned to her and Snow listened intently as she filled him in on the steps that Wayne and Takako had taken to see the evacuation substantiated. “We’ll reduce the Severity of Exchange, I know it.”
Pain.
That was a weird thing to flash through Snow’s eyes and it struck Jo right in the gut, leaving her dazed and breathless.
“You don’t think we can?” she dared to ask.
“I hope we can. For all of us.” Snow squeezed her hand tightly.
“What happens if we don’t?” The infamous question—one Jo couldn’t seem to get an answer to no matter how hard she tried—returned to her. It didn’t matter who she asked, or when, or how. Every time, it was dodged or passed off as a great unknown. And this time was no different. Jo was no fool; there was no way Snow out of all of them didn’t know what would happen.
“It won’t be good.” There was a deathly weight, as cold as the grave, to his voice.
“What happens?” Jo repeated, insisted, pushed.
“Jo—” More pain on his face. “—please, trust me, some things are better left unexplained. But know that I want nothing more than to defend this team—to defendyou. It’s all I’ve ever worked for.”
It wasn’t an answer. But it was the truth, that much she could tell. Still, Jo sighed heavily at being put off again. Snow’s hand rose to her cheek, cupping it thoughtfully.
“Pray you don’t find out.”
“That’s easy for you to say when you have all the answers.” Even frustrated and in the dark, she still leaned into his touch. It was sturdy and comforting; it was a lifeline to the truth she so desperately needed.
“Nothing is easy for me.”
“Then let me help you.”
“Careful,” Snow whispered, “or I just may.”
Despite herself, a smile cracked through the confusion and disappointment of being thwarted yet again. No matter what Snow said, she’d find out the truth eventually. She could be patient for now, especially if she had his touches to tide her over.
“You’re right, I should go back to the group,” she said, rephrasing his earlier sentiment. Jo eased herself out of the plush bed and stood, her mind gradually returning to the wish.
“You should.” Snow made no motion from the bed, and Jo could not ignore the way his eyes lingered on her body from heel to head.
“Should I also. . .” She wasn’t trying to be seductive, which made her feel all the better about herself when pure sex oozed into her voice, spilling over the well of want he’d tapped into with his kisses. “Come back later?” Jo leaned over, both hands on the bedspread, halfway to the man who regarded her somewhere between art and a feast for famine.
“I should say you shouldn’t.”
“But you won’t.” Jo loved the way his eyes were glued to her lips as she spoke.
“But I won’t,” he repeated, enthralled by a hypnotic spell she didn’t know she’d cast.
