Chapter Twenty-Two #2
His rude interruption infuriated her, her embarrassment forgotten because of it. “And yes, Bash! I’d like a kiss so perfect that I forget about everything else for a little while. Can you manage that? Or should I proposition someone else?”
Bash’s eyes darkened. A trick of the waning light, surely, and his hand left the doorframe.
A heartbeat later, it brushed her cheek, his fingers tangling in the dripping mass of her hair.
He pulled her head back, effectively angling her chin up to him, and she gasped.
“Alora. Are you trying to discover if I’ve a jealous streak? ”
Alora shook her head. A difficult thing to do, entrapped as it was. “How could I?”
“Easier than you might think.” His thumb traced her chin, his other hand coming round to meet the frame at her opposite side. His voice deepened, quieter now that he’d closed her in. “You’ve put a lot of pressure on me. I can’t say I’ve been this anxious over a kiss in a long time.”
“Done a lot of mindless kissing, have you?” Alora felt breathless and her voice mirrored it.
“Be quiet. You’re making it worse.”
She smiled then, and it was completely real.
Bash’s thumb paused at the point of her chin. He stared at her, at the pull of her lips, but Alora didn’t have a chance to ask what had flabbergasted him so completely before he bit out, “Goddammit. I shouldn’t be doing this,” and the pressure of his mouth fell against hers.
Of course, she’d dreamt of this while alone.
Either in bed, or on the sofa—sometimes on the terrace overlooking the town.
Heaven help me, this is so much better. She couldn’t place how he tasted, only that she wanted to taste more.
Which she did at her next opportunity. Her bravery earned her a groan from him, which she absorbed against her lips and greedily wished for again.
She bit his lower lip and was rewarded. If this was mindless kissing on his part, a pity favor granted, she couldn’t dare imagine how he might be with someone he was passionate about.
His jaw scraped her chin, one hand tangled in her hair, the other wrapped around her back, fingertips digging possessively into her ribs.
She returned what she could, her own fingers finally doing as they’d wished, knotting in his hair.
She relished that it felt just as she imagined it would, soft and thick.
Every other part of him, though, was solid and unyielding—which she could tell with certainty, being as his hips were pressed flush against hers.
Kissing was nice. She’d always liked it.
And she’d kissed enough to have an opinion, both boys and, later, men.
But she’d never felt quite like this. That at any moment, she might burst into a million pieces of light.
This distraction was proving to be more than she bargained for.
Everything ached. If she hadn’t known for certain she’d not drunk anything, she might have worried she’d been overcome with Lust again.
Her need was outrageous. She needed to stop.
“Bash,” she said, but her body was traitorous, and his name fell like a sigh between them.
She shoved against his chest, meaning to push him away.
But when he stepped backward, she didn’t pull back as intended, following him relentlessly.
Her foot snagged. She tripped, and a scattering clatter sent her blinking upright.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed, and turned to the mess she’d made.
Her mind emptied. Her heart stuttered once, twice, then galloped ahead.
Bones.
Bones on the floor. Bones by her feet. The bag had been overfilled with them, large and wet and starkly white. She was never any good at matching bones with bodies; she only hoped they came from an animal—and one that was found already dead. She felt Bash’s stare and met it.
His eyes were bright; his shirt rumpled from her hands. His hair was mussed from her dragging her fingers through it. If there’d been a bed behind him, she would have pushed him onto it.
She grimaced instead.
“Alora—”
“Is it an animal?”
“Yes, of course.”
A small relief, but a relief all the same. “Why?”
“Peculiarities, darling. Business is relentless.”
She scoffed at the thoughtless endearment, over his lighthearted tone. Though, this close, she couldn’t help but note the way his eyes clouded by the smallest fraction. “How cryptic you are, especially when considering I’m standing on top of them.”
“Cryptic? Shall we trade truth for truth then? Where have you come from? With that strange, silver coat in the middle of summer in your satchel?” He arched a brow at her, expectant.
Alora bristled. “I really can’t say.”
He made a low sound, deep in his throat, and she scowled after it. His jaw set at her expression. “Don’t glower at me when you are just as secretive.”
Alora dug the heels of her palms into her eyes. “You imbecile,” she groaned. “Do you think I want to be?”
She felt his hands wrap around her own, pulling them away. “You could tell me.”
Her eyes drifted over his face. He’d a pale scar above his left eyebrow. She could see the barest indent where his dimple would be. He’d not shaved in some days—like he couldn’t be bothered to take even a moment for himself. All of this, and still she barely knew what made him. “I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I hardly know you.”
“Yes, you do.”
She shifted at his words, at the way he seemed determined to stare into the depths of her. Because I’m frightened, she said only to herself, but she wondered if he could see it. She cast her gaze down. “Also, because those are the rules. I’m nothing but a doting follower of rules.”
His answering huff was pure disbelief. Still, he reached between them, and Alora shivered when his fingers met her temple, brushing a lock of hair away. His fingertip traced the tip of her ear. “Maybe I’m an obsessive type, after all.”
She frowned, the words needling somewhere between her eyes. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing.” He stepped into the dank dark of the shop, careful of bones. “The storm is moving on. You should go. I’m sorry the kiss wasn’t helpful.”
“Oh.” Alora stepped back, caught off guard. “Right, well, you did say you were nervous.”
“I did.”
His eyes were dark with purpose. Alora wondered what he planned to do once she’d gone.
She couldn’t ask, though, not without giving him something secret in return.
She turned away so he might not see that his dismissal wounded her, because it shouldn’t have.
He’d given her all she’d come for, after all.
“No matter what anyone else might say to you, you could never be trapped. Not someone like you.”
Alora turned back to him, her eyebrows meeting over his parting remark. “What makes you say that to me?”
“You had a cornered look about you when you came upon me tonight. You have it still.”
“Anyone can be trapped, Bash. I’m hardly special.”
“I think you might be the most special person I’ve ever met. Goodnight, Alora.”
The door closed between them. The finality of it mimicked the last distant bout of thunder, and when a heavy quiet descended over Mugwort Alley, it was punctured only by dripping gutters and her own breaths. A neighbor’s second story curtain shifted. A cat meowed from an alleyway.
And Alora pressed her hand over her heart and sighed like she’d lost some great battle, sure she’d been hollowed out.