Then, like some irresistible force, I kissed him.
His lips moved against mine, like they were waiting for an excuse to meet, waiting to be invited with steady patience.
As I relaxed against him, his tension melted like sugar turned to caramel. I could taste the cider on his tongue, or was it from my own? The mix of pine from the room and the familiar scent of tobacco teased my senses, the thread of good memories at the tip of our tongues.
His hands found their place around my waist, and my rigid posture thawed under his palm. One hand cupped the side of my neck, gently this time, his thumb brushing against my ear. A small gasp came from him in an attempt to breathe, to gather himself before deepening, tipping me back slightly as if desperate to keep me, in fear I would run.
For a minute, I forgot that itch to be elsewhere. My arms slipped around his neck to keep from falling back. I was, for once, feeling like I belonged right where I was. There was no deal, no Vipera, no death, no qualms.
I broke our kiss to breathe, and I caught him looking at me. He raised his hand to touch my cheek, then my lips, then to raise my chin again so he could taste me some more.
“Silas,” my voice shook, “we can’t.”
“Why not?” he whispered, straining.
I didn’t have a good answer.
“Will you visit me tonight?” he teased, his thumb running over my cheek.
“We are in the same place.”
“No, later.” He smirked.
“I think you have to earn visits like that.”
“Shall I buy another building? I can do that, too.”
“Silas,” I scolded, but I admit it was a cheeky comment.
“Will you really be so cruel? After not getting me a gift?” His head sloped to the side, refusing to look away.
“My presence is your gift, that is what you have been begging me for, is it not?” I pried myself from his arms, almost instantly regretting the absence of him.
I did not have to regret it for long, as my hand was snatched back. He pulled me along the wall, past the excitement of the evening.
“It’s almost time for dinner?—”
“I’m not hungry,” he interrupted, slipping me past the crowd and closing the door to my room behind us.
Compared to the parlor, my room was dark and muffled, like waking suddenly from a vibrant dream. The only proof of color was peeking from under the door, a warm light closed off from the lonely confines.
I stepped back, the sudden muffled sound of Christmas musicand people merely a thrumming in the background, dampened by the walls between us.
He approached, his hand reaching out, but I avoided the touch.
“Don’t be like that.” He pinched the tail of the ribbon around my neck. “My present wrapped up all pretty for me? You shouldn’t have.”
My breath hitched, feeling the ribbon tighten on my throat before it loosened, slipping away across my skin.
He played with it between his fingers, brushing the silk against his cheek. “There is nowhere to run, nowhere to slip away to,” he reminded me, taking a step forward.
I stepped back in tandem, my back hitting the French doors of the balcony.
He hung over me, his eyes reflecting the last bit of light that was quickly disappearing over the buildings. If I looked too long, they would burn into my retinas, and I would never be rid of them again.
“It’s a bit warm in here,” he mumbled, slipping his hand behind me to unlatch the doors, sending me stumbling backward.
He tugged me forward by the waist.
