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“You are a terrible host.”
“I am an excellent host. I have provided music, wine, criminals, and emotional confusion.” I list the items upon my fingers.
“An impressive menu.”
“I thought so.” I turn to invade her space. The silence changes. Warmer now. More dangerous. Her gaze drops to my mouth. Mine, traitorous and utterly enslaved, drops to hers. Hovering in anticipation.
“I have longed to kiss you,” I admit.
Her eyes lift. There is no going back after a sentence like that, and I have never cared for retreat.
“Then why haven’t you?” she asks.
“Because I did not want to steal it.”
Her face stills. I raise one hand, stopping just beside her cheek. An offering.
“If you allow me,” I say, “I would like to admire you properly.”
“Admire?” The word leaves her lips as though she does not trust it.
As though admiration has always come with teeth.
“Yes.” I pant.
“What does proper admiration look like to you, Lazarus?”
My hand touches her cheek then, reverently. Her eyes flutter for one fraction of a second, and the sight nearly ruins me.
“It begins here,” I whisper, brushing my thumb along the edge of her jaw. Her breath catches.
“Then here.”
I lower my mouth to her cheek, not her lips, and press a kiss there. Softly and carefully. Her hand tightens in the front of my coat.
“Lazarus.” A plea. A question.
I kiss the corner of her mouth. “Here.”
Her grip sharpens and I move to her temple. “Here.”
Then the delicate place beneath her ear. “Here.”
Her breathing changes and I feel it against my skin. A slight tremor, a small surrender she has not yet agreed to name. When I draw back, her eyes are dark.
“You are avoiding my mouth,” she says.
“I am savoring the journey.”
“You are insufferable.”
“I am devoted.” The word slips out too easily. Her expression shifts. Perhaps no one has ever offered her that without chains attached. I would kill anyone who tried. Including myself, if necessary. She studies me as though I am another deception she must unravel.
“Devoted,” she repeats.
“Yes.”
“To what?”
