Page 57 of Wicked Endeavors

He leaned down until those eyes were all she could see. His voice was feather soft. “You look at me like I’m the answer. So what’s the question, Leya?”

The sound of her nickname sent a shiver down her spine. She straightened, tilted her chin up to project a lack of intimidation.

“What do you want?” she snapped. “That’s the only question I have.”

“I can’t answer that.”

“Why not?”

He swallowed. “You know why. Tell me you know.”

“I—” She faltered as his expression caught fire, the heat in his eyes igniting one in her body. She couldn’t breathe, not with him so close, not with him looking at her like… like… “I thought you were in love with Teo.”

Bas chuckled, a frayed and bitter thing. “I do love him. I’ll always love him. But I loved you first. Since I saw you again, it’s been impossible for me to look away.” One hand came up to cup her cheek. The touch of his callused palm made her swallow. His gentle fingers chased the line of her cheekbone. “I told you in the woods: Kill me, and end this.” He leaned even closer, until the slightest wind could send them careening into each other. “Or kiss me,” he whispered, his eyes on her mouth, “and ruin us both.”

Marisol kissed him.

Foolishly. Happily.

He grasped her sides and lifted her onto the countertop, stepping into the space she’d left behind. She had to tip her head back to meet his frenzied kisses. Her hands moved with equal fervor, unsure where to settle: his hair, his shoulders, his chest, his back. She could feel his muscles moving beneath his shirt as he stepped impossibly closer. Someone was whimpering, weak and breathless mm-mm-mms that didn’t seem as if they could possibly be coming from her. And yet he sighed her name like a revelation, his hands sliding from her hips to her thighs, and she realized that it was her.

She wanted him. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it started, but she did. It was not like with Teo, that bright spark of attraction that made her feel powerful. This was a need, something that made her feel raw. Every time he tried to pull away, she chased his mouth and swallowed his half-bitten curses. Every time she tried to lean back, he did something with his tongue that made her gasp with pleasure.

“We can’t,” he whispered into her mouth. “We can’t.”

“I know. I’m—” She exhaled shakily as he bit the line of her jaw. “I didn’t mean for—”

“You’re supposed to hate me. You have to hate me.”

“I do hate you.”

That was the problem, after all. Even when faced with the reality of Teo’s feelings, Marisol could think only of how Teo worshipped her. She was attracted to him, but how could she love him when only one boy had ever made her feel an emotion as powerful as love? Her hatred for Bas had kept her warm on chilly, lonely nights, and now, with her entire body burning at his touch, she realized that this was what true passion was. It was not just two bodies colliding but two hearts. It was the thorny, warring emotions she felt when she looked at Bas, remembering what he’d done and what he’d been through. Her desire to protect him and her desire to make him suffer. It was all-consuming, and Teo did not have enough of her to consume. He never would.

It was right here, with Bas. The boy she couldn’t want. The boy she couldn’t have.

Traitor. Victim. Lover. Enemy.

Marisol locked her legs around his waist. He was just as affected as she was, and that made her want to abandon all reason—except he was looking at her, panting, and there was something off about his expression. Something that made her feel less wanton and more exposed.

“I miss your real face,” he admitted, thumb brushing against her pulse. “This isn’t… you. I don’t want to—not until I can see you. Really see you.”

You’re the only one who ever has, she wanted to say. Instead, she whispered: “Kiss me.”

Where their first kisses had been devastating, this was soothing. Their mouths met as if they’d been doing this for years, and his thumb gently massaged her pulse point as he explored her mouth. This time, she let him pull away, his forehead on hers, their lips still in dangerous proximity.

“We can’t,” she reminded him.

He inhaled shakily. She lowered her legs. He stepped away.

Marisol cleared her throat and slid off the counter, swaying only slightly on knees that didn’t seem to want to hold her. She turned back to the mirror, bringing her breathing back to normal, and stared at herself again.

Now she almost recognized herself in those wild eyes and swollen lips. She looked like trouble. She felt like trouble. She was trouble.

It was the most like herself she’d felt in years.

She washed her face again, letting the water drown out the sounds of Bas piecing himself together behind her. She didn’t want his guilt or his obligations to take away from this stolen moment. If she could only have these few ruinous kisses, then she would keep them close to her battered heart.

But by the time she had washed her face, straightened her clothes, and reapplied her makeup, the washroom was empty and Bas was long gone.