Page 65

Fuck, the pull is so strong. But the thing is, too: she’s needy. She wants comfort. I would be taking advantage of her.

“Never,” I reply, letting it hang long enough for the tension between us to unspool. “Can I change in your bathroom? And also, which one?” I hold up a silk gown from some nameless store on the outskirts of Paris and a Hervé Léger she has yet to see me in. Both of them the color of blood, one floor-sweeping, the other short as sin.

Lacie points at the silk gown and I disappear into the bathroom to slip into it, then pull on sheer black tights and Valentino stilettos. In the mirror, I let my hair down, tugging it around my shoulders, curling it with a hand imbued with shapeshifting magic. There. That’s enough of that. When I come out, she’s waiting for me.

The silk flows nicely over the tops of my thighs, whispering over the sheer Falke nylons I’ve put on below, more for coziness than to block the chill. Lacie’s eyes linger at the knife-sharp slash of the thigh slit, then skip quickly to the plunging neckline.

“Well?” I turn a little to study myself in her full-length mirror, fluffing my hair. “What do you think?”

“I— You—” She stammers over her words. “It’s good. Great, even.”

My laugh comes out low and soft. “Thanks, lamb.”

She takes a step toward me. “Hold on,” she murmurs, her fingernails grazing my shoulders. Unpainted, bitten to the quick; the only external sign she’s going through anything at all. You would never know she’s going through hell at Preston if you looked at her. And isn’t that just the way? Women are expected to hide their feelings behind impassable, suffocating walls spun from silk and smiles.

But I know.

Lacie’s fingertips tuck the (artfully ignored) flipped tag on the shoulder of my dress back inside. Close enough to transfer body heat, to hear the ever-present whooshing of her veins.

She takes a stuttering step backward, whisking her long skirts from beneath her feet so she doesn’t trip, and looks up at me, eyes wide and wet, mouth slightly open.

You could kiss her right now, and she would let you.

“Should we talk about this evening?” I murmur. “Before we go down?”

“Do you think we have time?”

“Do you arrive early to all your events?” This girl.

She hesitates. “The invitation says six sharp, doesn’t it?”

I chuckle at her; I can’t help it.

“I’m just following the rules.”

“I know, and that’s why I like you. You listen well.”

She bites her lip. Another double entendre? Another little drop of seduction? Why not? My stomach twists inside of me and I tell it to hush.

“Anyway,” I say, smoothing over her hesitation, “I thought we would leave at five fifty, get there just at six. And once inside, we could split up in the house. I’ll go to the dean’s study—”

“Won’t it be locked?”

“Oh, I’m sure it will be. But I’ll figure it out. I always do.” I flash her a smile, only to see she’s uneasy.

“But what if someone catches us?”

“Don’t worry, lamb. There will be enough people that someone would be hard-pressed to kill me without attracting attention. Or you, for that matter.”

Lacie groans as she shrugs on her coat. “But now with Therese gone, who will I talk to?”

“The houseplants. A bird outside. I am sure you can amuse yourself while listening quietly for whispered naughtiness.”

“But I don’t want to be left alone,” she grouses.

“Don’t tell me you’re truly nervous.”

“Why aren’t you?”