Page 7

Swoon.

Every time I think about his too-beautiful face and how he looks in a suit?

Swoon.

And when I think about him, alone in the suite across from mine…

Don't do it, Kar.

I find myself shakily getting to my feet.

You'll regret this.

And now I'm leaving my room.

There's no excuse for this.

And knocking on his door⁠—

My breath catches as he opens it, and my heart slams against my chest when his dark gaze meets mine.

He's lost the jacket. The harness is gone, too, and the guns with it, but somehow that only makes him look more dangerous instead of less. His white shirt is open at the collar, his sleeves are shoved up his forearms, and his hair looks like he's been running his hand through it.

He doesn't look like a man who's been sleeping, either.

"What's wrong?"

Oh no. Here goes. You still have time to turn back, Kar.

But instead I hear myself choke out, "I c-can't sleep."

He stares at me with dark eyes that are still impossible to read, and I fight not to squirm.

Yes, I know what I'm doing is shameful and shameless. I know this can't be Stockholm Syndrome at work when he's my protector, not my abductor. I already know I'm going to regret this, but before I can change my mind⁠—

He's taking my hand, and I don't pull away.

His fingers close around mine the same way they closed around my wrist back in Moskra, all the way around with room to spare, except this time I don't even pretend to tug.

He's drawing me inside his suite, and I follow him like an innocent little lamb.

It's the mirror image of mine, only darker. One lamp. A glass of something amber on the side table that he hasn't touched. And a bed that's still perfectly made, which means he wasn't even trying.

But when we reach his bed, he stops and cups my face⁠—

His hands are so big they cover my cheeks completely, and I know he can feel how hot my face is getting. There's no hiding it. There's never any hiding anything with me.

"Are you sure about this?"

I don’t answer right away. I’m worried he’ll leave if I say the wrong thing, but a part of me also knows it’s better if he does. One of us has to be smart and mature⁠—

“I’m not sure at all,” I hear myself whisper. “But I also know I don’t want to leave either.”

And now, the countdown begins.

Will he let me stay or ask me to go?

Will he⁠—