“It isn’t allowed. We’ ll need to be careful. I’ ll have to sneak you in.”
A tiny thrill whooshed down her spine.
“Are you available tomorrow night?”
Emeline’s stomach flip-flopped.
I’ll make myself available,she thought, remembering the woman in his sketchbook, yearning to be drawn like that by Hawthorne. His pencil marking out the curves and hollows of her body. His eyes looking at her—all of her—for as long as he liked.
“Hungry?” said Rooke, holding out what appeared to be the last two cinnamon buns to Emeline and Hawthorne.
Shewashungry.
But not for cinnamon buns.
To Hawthorne, she whispered, “I’ ll meet you tomorrow night at the tree line.”
The next night, Hawthorne gave her a hooded cloak to wear over her clothes, then smuggled her into the city through a magical entry point. One moment, they were standing in a copse of trees; the next, they were stepping into an alley, surrounded by cracked white walls creeping with green moss.
He’ d kept his hand pressed to the small of her back as they walked quickly through the lamplit streets. Emeline snuck glances at the dark city around them, her pulse racing with fear and excitement as she took in the white row houses, the rust-red rooftops, the cobbles beneath her feet. Hawthorne kept close to her whenever someone passed, pulling her hood farther over her face.
And, suddenly, here they were.
Inside his house.
A fire roared in the hearth and before it lay a plush white carpet. Hawthorne stood to the side, setting up his easel, while Emeline hovered around the long table near the windows, humming with nervous energy.
She took off her yellow cardigan first, folding it slowly and placing it on the table. After she took a deep breath, her fingers touched, then fell away from the buttons down the front of her sky-blue sundress.
Is this a mistake?she wondered. What if it ruined things between them? What if they couldn’t go back to being friends after this?
I don’t want to go back to being friends,she realized.
“Are you all right?”
She glanced up to find Hawthorne watching her. “Um.” Her fingers froze on the uppermost button. “Yes?”
But even she could hear the lie in her voice.
He straightened, his expression softening. “We don’t have to do this. You can change your mind.” He walked over, reaching for her folded yellow cardigan. “Maybe this was a bad idea …”
In her mind, Emeline could see him folding up the easel and putting it away. Taking her back to Edgewood. Never bringing her here again.
“I want to,” she said, undoing the first button of her dress.
His eyes dropped to her fingers. Something flickered across his face.
“Do you … want help?” He sounded a little out of breath.
Emeline’s heart skipped.Yes,she thought, dropping her hands to her sides.I want all the help.
Taking this as permission, he reached for the buttons. Emeline’s breath quickened as his fingers brushed her bare skin, working downwards. When he’ d unfastened enough to realize she wasn’t wearing a bra, his breath drew in and his fingers paused. She could see the pulse in his throat pick up speed.
The dress was loose enough now to pull over her head. Emeline could easily finish this herself.
But she didn’t.
She liked watching him move down her, unfastening her clothes.Liked watching the effect it had on him.
