The smile slipped off his face. He looked suddenly as solemn as she’d ever seen him. For a single, horrible second, she thought he’d refuse. Thought he’d fall back on decency—pretend like this unbearable thing coiling between them was strictly professional.
Somewhere in the courtyard, an unseen string quartet played the final notes of Tchaikovsky’s “Song Without Words.” The guests burst into appreciative applause. Buried in the dark of the alcove, Thomas slid his hands from his pockets and reached for her, skimming his fingertips along the edge of her jaw. A shiver ran through her at his touch. She leaned into it, her heart thumping hard.
It was selfish of her.
She was only going to hurt him.
A new song began just as Thomas drew her face up to his. Their eyes met and held. The lone wail of a violin disseminated through the courtyard, the gallery, her bones. She felt a thousand things at once, suffused with a weightlessness she knew she didn’t deserve.
This time, when he leaned in and kissed her, it was soft. There was no urgency in it. His mouth grazed over hers as though he was mapping out the lines of her. Charting the hills of her lips, the valley of her smile. There was something dangerous about the way he took his time. It made her believe in things that weren’t true. Made her feel as though this moment—this stolen, secret pocket of perfection—might last forever.
It didn’t, of course. He pulled away before she was ready, his breath stitching along her jaw. The air between them crackled with electricity. Or maybe that was the storm. The sky was alive, the leaves whipping on the trees.
“Like that?” His voice came out hoarse.
She nodded, savoring the feel of his thumbs tracing her jaw. She’d never been held like this before—like she was brittle primrose, and not deadly nightshade. Something worth tending, and not something you tore up out of the earth with gloves. Emboldened, she rose onto her toes and kissed him again.
In the back of her mind, guilt ticked like a clock. Any minute now, Reed would set her plan into motion. It was remarkably simple, as far as kidnappings went. A dozen other pledges were waiting in the wings, paintball guns at the ready. When Reed gave the signal, they’d cut the power. They’d raid the dance floor. They’d raise hell.
By the time the lights came back on, Vivienne would be gone.
There was a chance—a possibility, though she hated to admit it—that she’d acted rashly. It was just that she’d been so rattled by the sight of Bryce Donahue dying at her feet, soangryat her stepfather for using her and using her and using her. When Thomas spurned her kiss, she’d never felt more alone. Morehumiliated.
Jesse Grayson was the only one who could fix it. He knew all the right ways to carve a person open. Knew how to make her new again, how to cut her up into someone worth loving.
She just had to get away. To disappear. She’d been so certain of it.
She wasn’t certain anymore. Not with Thomas’s hands at her waist, his mouth at her throat. Distantly, she was aware of the courtyard full of guests just a few feet away. Someone might stumble upon them any minute. Thomas didn’t seem to care. He wedged her deeper into the alcove, his fingers scoring her hips just as his tie came loose in her hands.
There was another rumble of thunder, this time directly overhead. The house shook upon its foundation. It felt as though it was trembling with anticipation. They came up for air, breaking apart as the first of the rain began to fall. Out in the courtyard, a woman screamed. Laughter followed, wanton and careless.
“Hey.” Thomas ducked down, catching her eye. “Are you all right?”
Her heart gave a horrible thump.Fine.
He wasn’t convinced. His mouth thinned into a frown. “Your eyes. They’re—”
She tugged herself out of his grasp before he could finish. She didn’t want him to say it. Didn’t want him to notice the parts of her that weren’t right. He might spurn her a second time, and she didn’t think she could take it. Not now that she knew what it felt like to be held by him. The patter of rain against flagstone set her teeth on edge. It reminded her of the dripping sink, the slow pooling of water underfoot.
She needed to find Reed. She needed to ask him to call it off—to tell him she wasn’t ready. She needed to get a better grip on herself before she became completely untethered.
I need a minute, she signed.Bathroom.
“Okay.” Worry flinted his gaze. “Want me to walk with you?”
No. Stay.Her heart was beating a mile a minute.I’ll find you after.
“You’re sure?”
She nodded.I’ll be quick.Out in the courtyard, several guests began to dash for cover. It wouldn’t be long before the hallway was flooded with people. On a whim, she added,Meet me at the pool house.
His eyes shone in the lamplight. “When?”
Fifteen minutes.
That’s all she needed. Fifteen minutes, to find Reed and undo all that she’d done. To tuck the ugliest parts of herself neatly back into their box. The first of the guests tumbled, wine-drunk and giggling, into the gallery, their jackets over their heads, their gowns soaked through.
“I’ll be there,” Thomas swore.
