Willow looked at her old bed and she was there again in her mind. She could still feel her bereft desperation as a broken-hearted twelve-year-old, sobbing into her pillow over the news that Laurel had been chosen for adoption and soon would be leaving St. Anne’s.
“You all right?” Razor asked, his hand coming to rest lightly at the small of her back.
“Yeah.” She nodded, finding comfort and strength in the warmth of his touch. She stepped into the room, Razor following close behind her. He closed the door once they’d entered, no doubt to keep their conversation from the prying ears down the hall.
“Nothing’s changed in here.” Walking over to one of the beds, she took a seat on the edge of the mattress. “This was where Laurel used to sleep. That one was mine.”
Razor gave a grim nod, then he strode to the sole window in the room and moved the curtain to peer outside at the moonlit, old city. The window overlooked the narrow back alley that ran behind the townhouse and its neighbors, a view Willow had gazed out at countless times herself when she lived here.
She got up from the bed and joined him at the window. “Laurel and I used to play a game on nights when bad dreams woke us. We’d sit on this windowsill and look up at the starlight, watching for shooting stars, each of us trying to be first to spot one and write down the date and time. It was a silly game, but it gave us something to hold on to when it didn’t seem like we had anything left.”
Willow stared out through the glass, looking up at the half-moon and the blanket of darkness that cushioned it. Clouds obscured most of the stars tonight, but there was still a small comfort in the familiar view. Was this what drew Laurel up to their old bedroom when she was here last? The need to revisit the familiar?
Still, it didn’t explain why she’d send Willow here too.
“Why did Laurel leave that code for me?” she wondered aloud. “She knew she was in danger six months ago, but what was so important that she’d detour way out here before coming to find me in Colorado? Why send me here after her death and not give me any clues as to why she wanted me to go or what she wanted me to do once I got here?”
She turned her head to look at Razor. “Did she think I’d find closure here if her fears came true and she was killed?”
“Maybe Laurel thought you’d be safest here,” he suggested, his deep voice gentle. “Maybe your sister knew the Order is in control of St. Anne’s now, and the book and the code she left for you was her way of lighting a path for you to safety under their protection.”
“Safety among the Breed?” Willow shook her head. “Not my sister—and no offense, but she had no love for your kind. After what happened to our parents, she lived in terror of all the Breed. Even more than I.”
Razor’s face seemed tighter somehow, his square jaw rigid as he listened to Willow describe her sister’s bias against his race. “It’s understandable. Both of you had every right to feel that way.”
“I don’t,” she said. “Not anymore, I mean. Not since I met you.”
He scoffed lightly. “Ironic, considering what I am, what I was raised to be.”
“No, Razor.” She reached out to him, unable to resist the need to touch him. Her fingers lit tentatively on his tense cheek. “I don’t see you that way.”
He stared at her for a long moment without speaking. Nor did he move to draw away from her touch. His eyes drank her in, making all the air in the room seem to contract and press in on her.
Willow’s heart galloped under the heat of his intense, golden gaze and her lips burned the way they had after his surprising kiss outside the cafe. More than anything, she wanted to feel his kiss again.
She needed him with a yearning that astonished her.
Razor scowled and cleared his throat, taking a step back. “We shouldn’t stay here long.”
“Right,” she agreed, hearing his annoyance in the deep rumble of his voice. “We’ve come so far to get here, I can’t leave without being certain why it was important to Laurel. Not to mention I agreed to stay for tea.”
Razor gave a dubious grunt. “A delay we shouldn’t risk, but you didn’t ask me.”
“Don’t you ever relax, even for a minute?”
“I will, once I know you’re safe.”
He sounded so gravely serious she had to smile. “I feel safe with you.”
His gaze bore into her, those golden eyes smoldering. It took him too long to speak. When he finally did, a low curse rolled off his tongue. “I shouldn’t have kissed you, Willow. I’m supposed to be protecting you, not . . . not letting myself get distracted by how much I want you.”
She drew in a shallow breath at his admission. “I don’t want your apology for that. I liked it. I wanted you to kiss me. Razor, I want you too.”
His reply was a wordless snarl. Then his large hands came up to frame her face and his mouth crushed down onto hers.
His kiss outside the café had been gentle and teasing. This kiss scorched her with the intensity of his desire. Willow burned along with him, every cell in her body lighting up delicious fire and overwhelming need.
His lips devoured hers. When she gasped at the blaze erupting within her, Razor’s tongue slid past her parted teeth. Arousal surged inside her at the searing invasion. He groaned against her mouth, his strong arms caging her, pulling her into the hard heat of his body.
