The sun is setting, and the empty steel beams that make up the shell of the Woolworth Building cast long, interlacing patterns on the sidewalks. It’s a warm May evening, and the breeze smells like earth and blooming dogwood trees. Pax’s hand brushes mine, sending shivers through me. His fingers find mine as if it’s instinctual, and our hands lace together like the shadowy patterns that envelop us.
I want to run. Awaywithhim, or awayfromhim—that part is unclear.
“How are you doing,partner?” he says. The tease is sprinkled on his voice like cinnamon.
“I’m excited, honestly. Unsure. Nervous. Anxious…”
“So you don’t have the words to describe what you’re feeling. Got it.” Pax bumps shoulders with me. It’s like a hot arrow to my core. But he straightens quickly. Business partner. Got it. Why do I keep forgetting that he’s using me for my gift? Why do I trick myself into thinking it’s more?
So I say it: “Why me, Pax? There are so many mediums in this city.”
Pax drops my hand, scurries ahead, pivots, and walks backward, facing me. It’s playful and forces eye contact. “Why you? Your abilities are enticing.”
My abilities. Not me.
Temporary.
He walks by my side again. Our pace is brisk. “Have you thought about…” I sigh. “What if something goes awry, Pax? What if it all goes horribly wrong?”
“We’re going to be fine. It’s a good plan and it’s going to work.”
I nibble my bottom lip. That answer—it’s not enough. How can he be so certain? How can he be so aloof? Why has he been so standoffish of late?
I hate this particular brand of self-doubt and worry. Before I met Pax, my self-doubt and worry had one nexus: the zealots. Now, I feel it every time we’re planning this heist. Every time I’m around Pax. Every time I’m around Clarice.
“Are you with her?” It tumbles out of my mouth before I even fully realize I’m thinking it. “Clarice?” I don’t know why I care. No—Idon’tcare.
He blinks. Is it shock and confusion on his face, or is it surprise and guilt? “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I stop and tug his hand to get him to pause alongside me. “Isshesure?”
Pax laughs at that. Laughs! And again I imagine strong, dark coffee. Coffee can be bitter. Coffee can burn.
“Stella,” Pax says. The shine of his iridescent eyes makes my pulse kick a notch. His look is flirtatious, but I detect a hint of malice, too. “Clarice is just another business partner.”
Ouch.
Whew, Stella. You walked right into that.
I can’t stop the sheen of tears that glass my eyes. “Partner,” I repeat, nodding too fast. I swallow, hard.
Pax realizes how deeply this cut:Partneris whatwehave. It’s how I tease him. It’s how I get to both have him in my life and keep him at arm’s length.Partneris both intimate and sterile and I want both, dammit. Can’t I have both?
He doesn’t want both. I see that,feelthat, now.
He cups my face with both of his hands. Tilts my chin up. “Stella, no, I—I misspoke. A partner? That’s you. That’sonly you.”
He leans in. His breath is hot and sweet on my lips.
I can’t stop this, his immense pull. I know he is likely bad news, that he is temporary, that he is a playboy. But we are fated. Destined.
Pax’s kiss is immediate and deep and full and complete. He pulls my body against his, his arms lean and strong, his fingers grasping my hair, hands skimming across my every curve, his tongue probing and tickling, his breath tasting of spicy cinnamon. I run my fingernails up the base of his neck and across hisscalp, through his hair, and he breaks the kiss to sigh. He places a kiss below my jawline and drags his lips, his tongue down the length of my throat.Isigh, too.
The electricity, the magnetized pull I feel when our fingertips touch?Thispull, this electricity, is cosmic. It feels massive, as tempting as standing on the edge of an abyss: The call to leap is overwhelming.
