“Can I stay with you tonight, Kaye?” I dart a look at him and those violet eyes are filled with so much emotion, so vibrant that they almost seem to glow in the moonlight. “We don’t have to do anything. I just need to hold you, if that’s okay.”
It’s more than okay. I don’t know what I did to find myself here in this moment, but I silently thank whatever deity blessed me with it. Is it possible that amidst all the heartbreak and uncertainty, even knowing the day might come when we stand in opposing sides again, that I could find such a perfect moment of happiness?
I shove that thought away. Maybe Charade would be more amenable to these kinds of fights in the future. I wouldn’t mind that at all.
I let the smile spread across my face. I’m sure I look exactly like the deviant I am. “What if I want to?”
Warm sunlight filters through the windows and onto the soft, plush comforter under me. I close my eyes against the blinding vibrancy, but I stay in its path so my skin can drink it in. A gentle breeze caresses my skin.
Zane isn’t in bed when I wake, but traces of him are everywhere. It’s his room after all. I press my face in his pillow and smell sandalwood and spice, the scent that carried me to sleep, nestled safely in his arms. I roll over, my cheeks heating as I find a steaming cup of peppermint tea waiting on the nightstand, made just how I like it. I’m going to have to ask Zane how exactly he has that information. I add “stalker” to my mental list of words that define our relationship now.
Enemy.
Magnetic
Forbidden.
Savior.
Enigma.
Beautiful.
Dominant.
Lover.
Stalker.
I slip out of bed and stretch before beginning my quest to find my clothes. My muscles ache with a delicious kind of tension. Zane didn’t fuck me, much to my chagrin, but I came onhis mouth and fingers more times than I can count, like he was ravenous for it. And maybe he was, if he has really wanted me as long as he said he does.
I haven’t felt this rested in years.
I only wish he had let me touch him.
George’s eyes are wide, but alert when she answers her door. Her curls are wrapped in a colorful green silk scarf, a few of them tumbling playfully around the knot. Though she’s dressed in a college T-shirt and baggy pajama pants, it doesn’t seem like I woke her up, which is good considering what I’m about to ask her to do.
“Whatever crazy plan you’ve cooked up, I want no part in it,” she greets.
I smirk. “I was wondering if you would mind helping me cut my hair. I need a partner in crime.”
Her arms cross over her chest. “I’m a scientist, not a hair stylist.”
“I know, but you have steadier hands than I do. And I really don’t want my head to look lopsided. Please? I trust you.”
Everything about her softens, from her posture to the rigid line of her brow. “Fine, but we’re doing this in your bathroom and you’re cleaning up the mess. Give me five minutes.”
She turns on her heel, the door swinging shut behind her.
I practically skip across the hall.
“I found a pair of my mom’s old scissors, but we’ll have to sharpen them,” she says in my bathroom a few minutes later. “Thankmylucky stars she knew better than to try to cut these luscious locks—perfection need not be trifled with— but they should work for our purposes today. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Absolutely.” I meet her eyes in the mirror above the sink. “Are you sure you don’t mind helping me?”
“I needed a break from studying anyways.” She ties a towel around my neck in a loose knot and spreads me hair out on it. “And your hair really needs this. What happened?”
I contemplate how to answer as the teeth of George’s comb runs gently through my hair. Her careful fingers smooth down the hair after each stroke, taking care not to pull my scalp.
