Chapter 42
FORTY-TWO
EMMA
Go tell him.
And the idea of simply asking him to be with me? Please. That sounded like something a twelve-year-old would scribble in a diary before crying into a pillow.
I’d healed myself sober almost instantly after Sean left, but now, over an hour later—while still mentally auditioning a dozen horrific versions of the same confession—I was deeply regretting that decision.
So naturally, I did what any rational adult would do: I stopped thinking entirely and acted on pure disaster-energy.
I barged into his room without knocking, since knocking would provide enough time for me to realize this was a terrible idea.
And as usual after a day of light mortal peril, Caden was draped across the couch by the fireplace like the cover model of Brooding and Barely Alive Weekly, a book in one hand and firelight turning his arm into an actual thirst trap.
He looked ridiculously at ease for someone who’d almost died a few hours ago.
Which, frankly, only made me want to throw something at him.
His eyes lifted lazily from the page to me.
I froze for a beat, my pulse skittering in my throat, then blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Remember when you said you were obsessed with me?”
His brows raised slightly. “Kind of hard to forget.”
“Why did you tell me that?”
He shut the book with a soft thump. “Right, well, there’s this thing where people have an emotion, and then instead of shoving it down and pretending it isn’t there, they actually admit that it is.
And then they talk about it. Might be somewhat of a foreign concept to you, but the kids today call it ‘communicating’. ”
I crossed my arms. “Glad to see that bullet didn’t damage your sarcasm receptors.”
He smirked, but didn’t avert his gaze, didn’t even reply, only leaned back against the cushions, looking far too smug.
I shifted my weight. “So, um… What does it mean?”
Caden cocked his brow. “What does what mean?”
I hated it when he did that. Forcing me to spell it all the way out when he knew damn well what I was asking.
Scratching behind my ear, I pushed out the words. “What does it mean, being obsessed?”
“What, you want, like, the dictionary definition of it?”
Status nerves: fucking frayed.
My poor heart was thrumming in my chest, and I was more stammering than speaking. “No, no, not a definition. I mean…if you…if you would…have me—be with me—would that…cure you? Would that make it go away?” My face felt hot just saying it.
“Have you?”
“Yes! I mean, if we were, like, to…the—” I waved a hand in the air. “Have sex. Would it…cure you?”
Caden frowned. “You’re asking me if sleeping with you would mean the end of my obsession?”
I nodded, unable to say anything else.
He laughed softly. “No, Emma. Pretty sure you and me having sex would have the exact opposite effect.”
Status oxygen: back in lungs.
I gulped in air as if I’d been drowning for an hour.
“Right. Okay. So that’s…good. No, yeah, okay, so… to be clear—having sex with me wouldn’t cure you? Of the obsession?”
Stop stammering, you blithering idiot.
Caden’s reply was maddeningly simple. “No. Not even close.”
“Right, okay, so… Yeah, that’s…what I wanted to know. Just making sure.”
He leaned back against the couch with that same infuriating calm. “Glad I could help clear that up for you.”
I kept staring at him for a beat longer than I should have. I had my answer. He’d said it, plain as day.
So why did my brain insist on filing it under unsolved mysteries?
Gods, I was terrible at this.
Time to retreat and rethink before I achieved a new personal record in public idiocy.
“I’ll be back,” I muttered under my breath, already backing toward the door.
I slipped out, pulling it shut behind me.
On the other side, Caden’s low chuckle followed me. “Take your time.”
It took me another solid hour to compose a single coherent question. Sixty minutes of pacing, berating myself for being so “communicatively challenged,” and realizing I might be highly allergic to emotional vulnerability. Every attempt in my head sounded either unhinged or insufferably sincere.
Until two words popped into my head, offering more courage than any other word in the English language: Fuck it.
For the second time, I shoved the door open, harder than I meant to, the wood slamming against the wall as I barreled inside once more.
If Caden was surprised to see me, he didn’t show it. Instead, his eyes lifted, dark and steady, and landed on me as if he’d been waiting since I’d left.
I closed the door behind me with a loud thud, the sound ricocheting through the room. My red haze spilled out at once, as I locked it from the inside.
Caden closed his book again, then set it aside. He simply stared at me, unblinking, patience radiating from every line of him, as though he could wait me out forever.
My mouth went dry, pulse roaring in my ears. I had seconds before I lost my nerve completely.
“We kissed,” I almost shouted, the words tumbling out too fast, too loud.
One brow arched, the faintest curl tugging at his mouth. “Did a bit more, but sure, we kissed.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “And, um…that was fun, right?”
“Fun isn’t exactly the word I’d use. But again, sure.”
I shoved a strand of hair behind my ear, refusing to meet his stare. “Are you…hmm, are you going to kiss anyone else?”
His smile sharpened, slowly but certain. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Right. Well. I’m not planning on it either.” My voice pitched too high, my words clumsy, my hands opening and closing like they didn’t know what to do with themselves.
“Good,” he said dryly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Because if you did, you’d end a lot of lives.”
I shifted my weight, twisting my fingers together. “That wasn’t—I didn’t mean it like—”
Caden sighed, rose to his feet and moved slowly into my space. My breath caught when he stopped close enough for the heat of his body to skim over mine. He tipped his head, studying me in that way that stripped me bare without a single word.
“What’s going on, Emma? Talk to me.”
“What? Nothing is going on. Why would anything be…going on?” My laugh came out too high, too brittle.
Oh my gods. Internal forehead slap. Why was I so awkward?
“Because,” he murmured as he looked down at my restless hands, “you’re talking like a madwoman, and you’re fidgeting. Both of which you never do.”
I waved my hand impatiently. “No, nothing going on. But, uhm…” I sucked in a quick breath, heart hammering. “Fuck, I’m trying to communicate here, Caden.”
“Uh-huh.” His mouth curved, almost lazily. “First time?”
I shoved against his chest, more flustered than furious. “Asshole.”
He chuckled, then reached up to brush a stray strand of hair out of my face, his fingers only slightly grazing my skin. “Just ask me what it is you want to know, and I’ll answer.”
I twisted my hands together so tightly my knuckles ached. “Right. So, if you want to keep kissing me and not kiss anyone else, and I’m not kissing anyone else—”
His voice dropped, now low and certain, the kind of tone that vibrated straight through me. “Emma, let me be very clear about this. I am going to do a lot more than kiss you.”
My stomach flipped so hard it felt like the floor shifted under me. “But…only me, right?”
Realization flickered across his face, and then the corner of his mouth curved like he’d finally caught me in something. “Emma Lucia Thompson, are you asking me to stop seeing other people?”
A startled snort escaped me, half laughter, half panic. “Not like that, I’m not.”
A quiet certitude settled over his features, as if he recognized the truth in me before I did. He reached out before I could retreat, fingers catching my chin. His thumb pressed lightly beneath my jaw, tilting my face up until I had nowhere else to look but at him. “You’re done running.”
His gaze held steady, fire pouring into me until my knees threatened to give way. “You want this. You finally want this.”
His grip tightened just a fraction. “Us.”
Not a question. Only the simple, devastating truth.
I exhaled hard, my shoulders sagging under the weight of it. My eyes darted past him, searching for any escape, before snapping helplessly back to his. “I know it’s an insane risk. Aside from the fact it probably means a death sentence for everyone I care about, we’re not exactly in a normal—”
His lips crashed onto mine, hungrily, swallowing the rest of my words, cutting me off so completely I couldn’t even breathe.
I froze for a split second—shock, instinct—but he only pressed harder, driving me back until the handle of the door bit cruelly into my spine. My hands roamed his chest before my mind could catch up.
His hand clamped around my throat, forcing my head back, his mouth relentless, demanding.
“Caden—” I gasped against him, but he seized the sound and dragged it from me, tongue sliding deep, claiming me before I could think.
“Fuck yes,” he growled, the sound vibrating through my mouth into my chest. He groaned low and rough, other hand on my hip as he hauled me flush against him.
My body arched helplessly, pinned to every hard line of his.
His teeth scraped my lower lip, sharp and stinging, before he crushed his mouth back onto mine, harder this time, bruising, desperate.
“Yes to your question, yes to you, yes to all of it.”
“You—” I tried again, though my hands betrayed me, fisting in his shirt, dragging him closer like I couldn’t survive a single inch of space between us. “You sure? If the Chiefs—”
“I’ll slit their throats before they’ve even crossed the border,” Caden muttered between kisses, his words scorching against my mouth.
His lips trailed hot down my jaw, grazing skin that burned under the contact, before he claimed my mouth again, relentlessly, leaving me trembling so hard I could barely stand.
I moaned against him, and he took full advantage, forcing my lips apart, and plunging inside.