After searching the rest of the study and finding nothing else of interest, Gwendolynne and I leave my father’s study, the door clicking shut behind us. She’s clutching one of the staff IDs she found—Hani Nguyen’s—and I’m holding one of the history books, the one that seemed to contain the most detail. We’d thought it safer to only filch the bare minimum; if we take too much my father will notice.
We’re almost around the corner when I hear footsteps approaching.
“Shit,” I hiss, then yank Gwendolynne back into the shadows. I recognize the heavy tread—the cadence of it—and fear twists itself into my gut like a knife. “My father is coming.”
Even in the darkened corridor I see her face blanch until it’s as pale and white as the risen moon. And of course she’s scared. She’s right to be scared. Hell, evenIam scared. After all, my father is approaching, and we’ve just discovered a bunch of possible dead-people trophies hidden in his third desk drawer.
It’s too late to escape; we can’t slip past him without him noticing, and we can’t retreat into the study since that’s where he’s probably headed. And if he catches us here…
Before I can overthink it, I do the only thing that might work. I lean into Gwendolynne, pressing her body against the wall with my own.
“What the hell are you doing?” she hisses. Her hands are at my chest, trying to shove me off.
“Shhh,” I urge, my voice low at her ear. “Just go with it.” My blood is pulsing through my head and I want to plead, want to beg, wantto make sure she does not give us away. But there’s no time. All I can hope for is that she’ll somehow catch on to my plan.
I press against her harder and, as she lets out a little gasp, I slide the book I’m holding beneath the hem of her shirt. She’s trembling against me, I can feel it, and I am pretty sure she’s holding her breath.
Shifting slightly, I keep my hand beneath her shirt, securing the book in place, then push my free hand up into the hair at the nape of her neck. Twining my fingers in her hair, I tilt her head, then move my lips down to the little hollow beneath her ear. My nose skims her hairline; her scent fills my nostrils.
She lets out a ragged breath, which hitches as my lips just brush the soft skin of her neck. “Briggs.” Her voice is shaky. “Don’t.”
“Don’t worry, Chan,” I murmur, my words vibrating against her skin. “I’m not going to kiss you. Now slip the ID into my pocket.”
Her lips part in surprise. “What?”
My voice drops to a whisper. “Slip. The ID. Into my pocket.” I can’t risk my father finding us with the evidence.
Locked in the same position, her hands fumble a bit, her fingers tracing along my belt before sliding the card into my front pocket. Her touch is hot, searing, leaving a trail of electricity prickling across my skin. The sensation makes me flex my hips unconsciously, and I draw in a sharp breath, grasping her hair tighter.
If anyone were to stumble across us, they’d see an amorous couple: the woman pushed up against the wall, the man kissing her neck, one hand shoved up her top.
The footsteps approach. Slow. Stop. “Harrisford.” My father’s deep voice is stern, his intonation disapproving.
I raise my head and blink at him slowly, letting my lips curl up into my cockiest grin. “Why, hello, Father.”
He doesn’t move for several moments, just stands there peering owlishly at me through his glasses. Then he shakes his head and sweeps past us. “Take it to your room, Harrisford. I shouldn’t need to tell you again.”
I do not move. Do not blink. Instead, I stay pressed up against Gwendolynne, a smirk plastered across my face. It’s only when he’s slammed the door behind him that I allow my expression to morph to a scowl.
I’m still staring at my father’s closed door when Gwendolynne’s voice sounds in my ear.
“Briggs,” she hisses. “You can move now.”
My gaze swivels to her face, to the flushed sheen lining her cheeks; her slightly parted lips; the languid, liquid brown of her large, long-lashed eyes.
I don’t know what I’m thinking, but I seem incapable of stopping myself. Perhaps I’m not even thinking—not with my head, anyway. Leaning down, I press a gentle kiss against her neck, right where my lips had hovered mere moments ago.
Then I push away from her and stride off, leaving her panting against the wall.
12
Gwendolynne
We’d come so close to getting caught.
It takes me several rapid heartbeats to regain my breath, and even longer to gather my wits. And then I’m hurrying after Harrisford as he strides through the corridors of his mansion.
What did he mean by kissing me on the neck? Mr.Briggs’s words are seared in my brain:I shouldn’t have to tell you again. Which means that Harrisford has done this before, in this house. It doesn’t surprise me, really, given hisreputation.
