“Then maybe we’re both already lost,” I say, covering her hand with mine.
For a long moment, we just stand there in the candlelit hallway, her palm pressed against my chest, my hand covering hers. I can feel the warmth of her skin, the slight tremor in her fingers that betrays how affected she is despite her bold words. She’s not backing down, not retreating from what she wants.
“You’re going to make me wait,” she says, and it’s not a question.
“I’m going to try to do the right thing,” I say, though we both know how flimsy that sounds.
Her eyes flash with something between frustration and amusement. “The right thing for who?”
I don’t have an answer for that, and she knows it. She rises up on her toes one more time, her lips brushing against my ear.
“When you’re lying in your bed tonight with your hand on your cock, thinking about what I offered,” she whispers, “remember that I’m just down the hall. And I’d do it better than you can.” Her lips curve into a smile that’s pure temptation. “Goodnight, Blue. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
She slips inside her room and closes the door with a soft click, leaving me standing in the hallway with my blood on fire and my dick throbbing.
I press my palm flat against her door, fighting the urge to follow her inside and finish what she started. My cock will be hard for hours from that kiss, from the way she looked at me like she wantedto devour me whole, from the invitation she offered and the way the girl says exactly what she wants.
I stay there for another minute, listening to the sounds of her moving around inside—the whisper of silk hitting the floor, the soft pad of bare feet on stone. Every sound makes my blood burn hotter.
Tomorrow I’ll see her at breakfast and pretend I’m not thinking about backing her against the nearest wall. Pretend I’m not already planning which Crow to hunt down next, how to capture them alive and deliver them to her like some twisted courtship offering. Pretend I can’t still taste her on my lips or feel the phantom heat of her fingers trailing down my chest.
Tomorrow I’ll have to acknowledge that everything changed tonight—not just with the message we sent the Crow, but with how badly I wanted to finish what we started in that dressing room. The line we crossed once. The line I’ll spend the rest of my life wanting to cross again.
Just another taste like we had at the White Note.
One more lick...
Peter’s daughter!
One more kiss...
Peter’s daughter!
The way she...
Peter’s fucking daughter!
But that kiss she just gave me was a declaration of war against my self-control. And her invitation into her bedroom was a promise that this battle is far from over.
She’s already winning.
Chapter Twenty
Saylor
There’s something perversely therapeutic about applying winged eyeliner when you’re planning to commit your first murder. I stand in front of the vanity mirror at 6 a.m., drawing liquid black lines with the same careful attention I imagine goes into slitting throats. Today calls for armor, and mine happens to be a fitted black dress with white polka dots, victory rolls that could survive a hurricane, and red lipstick dark enough to hide bloodstains.
If I’m going to ask a man to teach me how to kill people, I’m damn well going to look like I deserve the lesson.
The walk downstairs feels different this morning. My Mary Janes click a steady rhythm against the floors, but instead of nerves, I feel something closer to anticipation. Yesterday I was a grieving daughter playing dress-up in a world I didn’t understand. Today I’m someone who kissed a killer and asked for seconds.
Blue is already at the breakfast table, wearing a burgundy velvet smoking jacket that makes him look like he stepped out of a Sherlock Holmes story. His dark hair is perfectly styled, that blue-tinted beard groomed to aristocratic polish, and he’s reading stock reports instead of his usual newspaper.
When he looks up and sees me, something alters in his face. His eyes travel from my hair down to my patent leather shoes and back up again, lingering on the way the dress hugs my waist.
“Well,” he says, setting down his papers. “Someone’s ready to take on the world.”
I slide into my chair, accepting coffee from Wren with a grateful smile. The silence stretches between Blue and me, filled with everything we’re not saying. The kiss. The promise. The way he looked at me when I asked him to let me kill them myself.
