Page 48 of Redline Communion

“The vessel bears the mark of the house,” Alistair answers.

“The house bears witness.”

Cassian’s hands move lower, and my breathing changes before I can stop it. I hate that he notices.

I hate more that I want him to.

The oil makes his hands glide too easily over my skin, while the flower turns every pass into a sensation that keeps happening after he has already moved on. My nerves can’t seem to decide which moment they belong to.

Rafe stays close, his hand returning to my waist when I sway.

“You keep catching me,” I say.

“You keep leaning.”

“I am not.”

“You’re currently leaning.”

I straighten immediately, which makes the room shift half an inch to the left.

Rafe catches me again before I can pretend it didn’t.

“Easy.”

I laugh under my breath. “Everybody keeps saying that like anything about this is easy.”

Cassian pauses for less than a second, but I catch it.

Something in the way he looks at me has stopped belonging entirely to the ritual.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

His expression cracks before he manages to put most of it away, and apparently that is enough to make me reckless.

I catch the front of his robe and pull him closer.

His breath changes.

There.

That.

Not the priest or Alistair’s son, but the man from the private box who looked furious with himself afterward because wanting me had apparently violated some internal zoning ordinance.

Around us, the room continues changing one quiet piece at a time. A robe lands near the wall. A woman who had been standing alone now has somebody’s hand at her waist. Alistair keeps reading, and Dominic turns a page, which is somehow worse than if either of them acknowledged what is happening.

Rafe leans closer.

“Lo.”

“What?”

His eyes move over my face before dropping to my hand twisted in Cassian’s robe.