When she cried out, he leaned down and covered her mouth with his, and at this odd angle, the top of his lip was brushing over her lower one, and the sharp blade of his nose was flush with her chin. The awkward movement pushed out her neck until the tendons were straining against the skin, and she wondered—with a sinister burst of prescience that cut right through her drunken stupor—if she looked like a sacrifice about to give her throat up to the knife.
Eaten alive, she thought, and shivered against him.
“You’re a good person. I can tell.” Drawing back, he said against her ear: “But love makes good people do bad things.”
The sudden tensing of her body made it hurt when he slid his fingers inside of her. She grunted in surprise, too caught off-guard to protest. “W-what?”
“Yes, even you, my sweet sparrow. Rael’s loyal to me—” he tugged at the strap of her top with his teeth as he slowly began to thrust his fingers “—I suggest you remember that, the next time you try to use him to make me jealous.”
“Please—”
“Youdidwant to make me jealous?”
“Cal—”
“Answer me.”
A lump formed in her throat. “Yes,” she choked. “Oh god.”
“Because you wanted me.” It wasn’t even a question now.
Nadine shuddered and didn’t answer.
Slowly, he worked the other strap off her shoulder. “You should have just told me. I would have taken care of you.” With the hand that was still under her shirt, he gripped the fabric from within, letting it slip down her ribs. A second tug, and her bra followed. “Unless you like running.”
That depends on who’s chasing.
The passing thought she’d had in the garden returned again, full force, as it occurred to her that every time he’d let her run from him might have been calculated: a series of coups, all driving up to this.
And then he slid his arm out of her shirt and gripped her tighter, holding her immobile; his lips pressed against her temple like the barrel of a gun as he brought her to what would have been her knees, if she weren’t perched so precariously on his.
“Let go,” he whispered, and she did.
She came cloaked in the shadows, sweat turning to sharp drops of ice on her skin, nipples tight and stiff in the cold night air. The sensations of it raced through her as untrammeled as a blaze. He let her chest heave over the hard bar of his arm, his own breathing light and even. The only sign that she was affecting him at all was still digging into her hip, just hard enough to make her squirm.
“It’s always a fight with you, though—even now.” He gently drew the finger he’d touched her with over her swollen lips. “I bet you never imagined losing could taste so good.”
She licked them, tasting herself, and saw the look in his eyes become black.
And then they shuttered, and his hand fell to his fly. “Come here—leave that alone.” She had started to pull up her clothes. “You look good a little rumpled. Less . . . buttoned up.” His eyes blazed with the trapped heat of stolen starlight. “Exactly how I imagined.”
Her heart skipped as he cradled her closer. This time, he remembered to avoid the bruise.
It occurred to her afterwards, when the unhurried movements of her mouth finally broke through the layer of ice encasing him and she had a glimpse of the dark passion boiling beneath all his careless reserve, that maybe she knew what Noelle had seen in Ben, after all.
C H A P T E R
T W E L V E
? it’s my nature ?
Cal walked her back to the house in the dark, putting his arm around her waist to keep her stable because with every step, she felt like she might fall. As she watched him open the iron gate with strong, steady hands, she felt a bolt of uncertainty, realizing how much he seemed tobelonghere. It was as if he had been carved from the foundation itself and then chipped loose like a human-shaped shard.
The house was silent as they went up the stairs, and in the buzzing silence, it had the feel of a procession. Especially when he backed her up against the door of the bridal suite and kissed her on the lips with the same restrained passion that a husband might bestow upon his bride.
“Goodnight, little sparrow.” He caressed her face possessively. “Dream of me.”
She felt a heady exhaustion overtake her as he slipped into his room, like he’d robbed her of part of her soul. Perhaps he had. She felt so strange—as lightheaded from his nearness as she was from the alcohol. It was all she could do just to summon the strength to take off her clothes and pull on the nightshirt, tucking the notes and the necklace both out of sight as she curled up on her bed with her body still rippling from small aftershocks of his touch.
