I break through, gasping for air like I’m rising from the dead. My arms and legs move of their own accord, my mind blank of everything but the miracle of oxygen. It takes me a moment to realize.
I’m alone in the water.
I scream his name, my voice raw. All I hear in return is the distant hum of traffic from above and the rippling of the tide all around me. Panic grips me like it never has before—not in this story, not ever. Until I hear a splash behind me and another life-giving, earth-shattering intake of air.
I reach for Grant instinctively and his hand slides along myarm. Neither of us seems able to speak. We can only breathe and stay afloat, seeking out the contours of each other to be sure we’re all right.
We break apart to start for the shore. The current is strong, already dragging us far from the bridge, and the swim takes at least twice as long as it would if it were a straight shot. But we finally make it, sputtering and shivering on the pebbly riverbank, and collapse side by side.
My leg buzzes. My hands shake so badly it’s an effort to pull my phone from its hiding spot. A text from Lissa:GOT HIM!!!
I drop the phone and flop back to the earth, relief coursing through me. Feeling begins to return to my limbs as the chill of the air replaces that of the water. But my heart is still on a rampage, my breath still ragged.
I close my eyes, the entire evening rushing through my mind like a movie in double time. The dancing, the rain, the sword fight. Grant’s eyes on mine, his fingers in my hair, his hand in my hand.
I open my eyes and turn my head to face him. He does the same, his searching gaze dropping from the night sky to me. My heart hammers in my chest, a battering ram against fortress walls that don’t stand a chance.
For the second time tonight, I am on a precipice. The silence is heavy, like the world is holding its breath. Like time has stopped, the page gone blank. Anything or nothing or everything could happen.
“Oh, fuck it,” I breathe.
“ThankGod.”
I’m not sure if he grabs me or I throw myself onto him or both, but our lips meet in a fervent crush and I realize I was wrong, it wasn’t oxygen I needed butthis. We’re tangled up in each other, all river-drenched clothes and dripping hair andwandering hands, and I can’t remember why we ever did anything else.
His arms encircle me, pulling me closer as his mouth melts into mine. I tangle my fingers in his wet hair, thrilling at every place where we touch. He traces my jaw, my neck, my waist. His hands skate over my hips, mapping my outline in the dark. Was I really confused about what I wanted earlier tonight? Now I can’t do anythingbutwant, and all I want is more.
I’m not even really aware that we’ve rolled over until he pulls back, his gaze showering me with sparks, his hands braced on either side of my shoulders. I reach a hand up to the side of his face, meaning to pull him back down to me. But I lose myself there for a moment, just looking at him. And in that quiet moment, with his eyes holding mine, he turns his head ever so slightly to kiss my palm. It’s so sweet and soft and gentle that my stomach flips again, even more than it did during the free fall into the Thames. I can feel his mouth tipping up in a smile under my hand.
And then I feel its abrupt frown, his expression folding into a grimace. He plucks something up from beside my arm.
“Oh,God,” he says, recoiling from the hypodermic syringe in his hand. He chucks it away and gets to his feet, helping me up. “What do you say we go somewhere less tetanus-y?”
I bite back a grin. “As long as it’s still alittletetanus-y,” I say. “I wouldn’t want you to get bored.”
His smile returns. “With you? Never.”
We interlace our fingers and he presses another heart-melting kiss to my knuckles. And then we climb up the embankment hand in hand, unable or maybe just unwilling to let go now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
It’s anyone’s guess how we manage the trip back to the house. The moment we get inside, we crash back into each other, all the fervor from the riverbank rushing back as if we’ve simply been held in suspended animation since then. We break apart only briefly to check that the coast is clear, calling out Lesley’s and Lissa’s names between hungry kisses. But they’re not here. They’re still at the Fake House interrogating Alistair, and will be for hopefully one thousand years.
“Upstairs?” I ask, my voice coming out in a hurried hush.
Grant nods, and I turn toward the stairs, but he catches me by the waist and spins me back to him.
“Elevator,” he murmurs against my lips. We stumble down the hall, making out like a couple of thirty-year-old teenagers on a CW show, laughing when he backs me into the wall and hits the call button in so doing.
The frenzy continues all the way to my bedroom door, where Grant pulls back with some effort, sliding his hands to my waist.
“You’re sure you want this?” he asks through ragged breath. “Even if it’s not real?”
I think of the best romance scenes I’ve read, all those perfectkisses and grand gestures. The thrills they sent through me. How I’d reread them over and over until I had them memorized, until the fluttering in my chest dulled away to a vague heartache. Now, with Grant, that thrill only grows stronger with every kiss and every touch.
“It is real,” I say. “It is, right now.”
He exhales his quiet relief. I realize he’s giving me that look—the furrowed one I could never figure out. But now I understand. It’s the way he looks at me when he wants to kiss me.
