Now it was Winter’s turn to break down. To her surprise, he pulled his hands abruptly away from her and covered his own face with his palms. Then he started weeping. He wept like his heart might give out. She watched in calm fascination at the tears that dripped down his handsand spilled to his chin. Winter Young was famous for being composed in public, for never giving a bad interview or getting caught with his guard down. She didn’t think she could imagine him crying like this.
He looked so… human. He looked like just a boy, overwhelmed and exhausted.
She reached through the haze in her mind for the memory of Winter’s story about his mother, about the day he’d lost his brother, and felt that curious twist of pity in her stomach again. Or maybe it wasn’t pity. Maybe whatever she felt for him was the reason why she always seemed to be searching for an excuse to look at him or follow him or check up on him.
Maybe she liked him more than she cared to admit.
Maybe she was falling for him a bit.
He wiped his eyes hurriedly, then held her face again. She realized for the first time that his hands were trembling. “Just rest,” he said, his voice hoarse. “We’ll contact Sauda, get a check on what exactly got used on you.”
Sydney’s tears changed to quiet laughter. She couldn’t believe the ridiculousness of this moment. She was the secret agent, was supposed to be the one reassuring him—and yet she was propped up in an indoor pool and letting a pop star cradle her head.
He smiled a little at her laughter. She found herself admiring the faint creases forming at the edges of his eyes, noting the spark of relief in his expression. The afternoon light washed over them, outlining him in bright gold.
This was all too ridiculous. Every single one of her inhibitions felt like it’d vanished into thin air. Could poison do that, too? All she wanted to do was stare at this beautiful boy. She felt the tug of him hard in her chest, felt the wall crumbling between them.
“The lyrics in your notebook,” she heard herself murmur, without warning.
It took her a second to realize that she hadn’t thought the words, butspoken them out loud. Maybe there was still some poisoned drink left in the living room—she could take it and just let herself sink under the water and die of embarrassment.
Winter’s eyebrow lifted, but he didn’t ask why she’d looked through it. “Which ones?” he said instead.
The words returned through the haze of her mind. “‘You are my meditation,’” she replied. “Who is it about?”
He was quiet for a moment, and she bit her lip to keep more words from shooting out of her mouth.God, what the hell was wrong with her?
“You,” he answered.
Sydney stared at him. The world still felt like it was tilting around her. His eyes turned down at her gaze, as if he hadn’t meant to admit it.
“I was just playing around,” he muttered.
You. You.
She let the word wrap around her, felt the walls of her heart break down.
She didn’t know why she did it.
But she leaned toward him, and, as if it were always meant to be this way between them, she pressed her lips to his and kissed him.
24
Meant to Be
It felt like a jolt of electricity shooting through her body.
Winter stiffened in shock at her kiss.
Then he gave way. She felt his hands pull her face to his, her body drifting through the water to press against his. Their kiss deepened. His lips were so soft. The rush of heat through her felt different this time, alive and warm and good and absolutely, wholly overpowering. She wrapped her wet arms around his neck as he pulled her to him. There was desperation in their movement, some urgency born from adrenaline and fear. And maybe something more, too. A faint groan emerged from his throat, a sound of relief and pleasure and deep want. It was the sexiest thing she’d ever heard.
She’d kissed enough boys before for the novelty to have long worn off. But here, somehow, she felt like a novice. She could feel her hands reaching for his soaked shirt, tugging its hem out, then her fingers running under the fabric sticking to his wet stomach. His skin was smooth and slick. As if from a distance, she sensed herself straddling him, her thighs pressed against his torso, knocking him slightly off balance so that he had to prop an arm up behind him to keep from falling backward in the pool.
Well, this is unprofessional.The voice in her head flared to life, but it was drowned out by her desire in this moment. She couldn’t care less whether or not they were on a mission or that their lives were in danger. She hadbeen so focused for so long on nothing but survival, on getting the job done, that she’d forgotten entirely about her heart. So she let it free.
All she wanted right now was him. Every bit of him. She wanted to be consumed by his fire and lost to it.
Her mind swam in the fog of the antidote. She broke free long enough to gasp as she felt his hand against the skin of her back, sliding up. His lips were on her neck now, trailing along her collarbone. The buttons of her shirt were still undone from her feverish attempt earlier to take it off. She closed her eyes, waiting for him to touch her anywhere, everywhere. Waiting for him to carry her out of this pool and upstairs to the bedroom and strip the wet clothes off of her, for him to consume her.
