I reach out, my thumbs brushing away the tears on her cheeks.Her skin is soft under my touch, warm and alive, and when she looks up at me through wet lashes, something electric passes between us.
"This isn't your fault," I say, my voice rough."None of this is your fault."
Her breathing hitches, and I realize how close we are.How my hands are still cupping her face, how she leans into my touch, and I should step back.I don’t.I can’t.I’ve wanted her for too long to lie to myself now.
I find myself stroking my thumb across her cheekbone, memorizing the feel of her skin, the way her pupils dilate when I touch her.
"Hades," she breathes, and my name on her lips sounds like prayer and sin all rolled into one.
"I know," I say, though I'm not sure what I'm acknowledging.The timing, the wrongness of it, the way I want to kiss her grief away even though she just buried her engagement yesterday.
Her eyes drop to my mouth, and the air between us goes molten.I can feel the pull, the gravity that's been drawing us together for years, finally strong enough to break through every barrier we've built.
Then the door opens, and we spring apart like teenagers caught making out.
My hands are still buzzing with the feel of her skin.I wanted to kiss her so badly it scared me, because it wouldn’t have been about comfort or grief.It would’ve been about me.I want her.I always have.
"Sorry to interrupt," the funeral director says, though his tone suggests he's anything but sorry."I wanted to discuss the timeline for the service."
I clear my throat, trying to get my heart rate back under control."Right.The timeline."
Evangeline smooths her hair with shaking hands, and I have to clench my fists to keep from reaching for her again.
We get through the rest of the arrangements in professional mode, making decisions about flowers and programs and all the mundane details that surround death.But I can feel the tension humming between us, the awareness that we almost crossed a line we can't uncross.
When we're finally done, Evangeline excuses herself to use the restroom, leaving me alone with Tempest in the parking lot.
"Security cameras across the street," he says without preamble, nodding toward a building with clear sight lines to the funeral home's entrance.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?"
"That someone might be watching to see who shows up?Yeah.I'll make some calls; see if we can get access to the footage from the past few days."
I nod, filing the information away.Every lead matters when you're hunting killers.
"Hades."Tempest's voice carries a warning."What happened in there..."
"Nothing happened."
"Bullshit.I could feel the heat between you two from across the room."He looks toward the bathroom where Evangeline disappeared."She's vulnerable right now.Grieving, confused, probably looking for something solid to hold on to."
"Your point?"
"My point is that you need to be real fucking careful about what you're offering her.Because if you're just looking to scratch an itch, there are plenty of club girls who'd be happy to help.But if you're thinking about something more..."
"I'm not thinking about anything," I lie."She needs support right now.That's all this is."
Tempest gives me a look that says he's not buying it for a second."Keep telling yourself that, brother.But when this whole thing goes sideways, remember that I warned you."
Evangeline emerges from the building before I can respond, her face composed again but her eyes still red-rimmed.She's put her armor back on, but I can see the cracks in it now.
"Ready?"I ask.
She nods, and we walk toward the bikes.Before she can put on her helmet, her phone rings.
"Ethan," she says, looking at the display with distaste.
"Don't answer it."
