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Chapter 22
I flopped down next to where Malakai was reclining on the giant bed, leaning up on his elbow. The bounce of the mattress jostled me so my bare thigh grazed his leg and my arm pressed against his. Everything stilled.
He turned to me and smiled, the amber light from the bedside lamp warming his face further as the movie we’d put on—Brown Sugar, as a half-joke—burred low on the colossal flatscreen. His eyes sent a thrill through me as they skipped across my form. “You should keep that shirt.”
I’d forgotten to pack my pajamas in my confused state, so Malakai had lent me a T-shirt while he had changed into his sweats. His shirt skimmed me in a way that somehow made me hungrier for him. A sudden urgency wrapped an idea around my tongue.
“Let me do you.”
Malakai froze. “What?”
“Let meinterviewyou.”
I slipped off the bed and padded over to the grand mahogany desk at the corner of the Baptistes’ master bedroom, picked up Malakai’s camera, and flicked it on. I beckoned Malakai over, and he sat on the chair in front of me. I perched on the broad desk and lifted a leg so my foot restedbeside him on the chair. His gaze jumped to my thigh—inches from his face—then back to my eyes.
“Malakai Korede.”
“Oh, we’re really doing this?”
I smiled as I tilted the camera toward him. “It’s your turn.”
“That angle is really bad.”
“It’s arty.”
“It’s wonky. Also, the lighting.”
I switched on the reading lamp on the desk. “There. See?”
Malakai laughed. I cleared my throat theatrically, then said in a crisp, journalistic tone, “Malakai Korede, I have a few questions to ask you. The first being”—I let my eyes wander from the lens to his face—“you sure you like me?”
The sudden blaze in Malakai’s eyes answered me before he said, “Yes.”
Still, I needed to make sure this new ground was sturdy before I stepped onto it. I swallowed, forced myself not to whisper. “No, I mean... are yousuresure? On a scale of one to ten, where would you rank your certainty?”
Malakai got up to stand between my legs. “Eleven.”
I leaned back on the desk, lifting my other leg so it was on the chair, effectively bracing Malakai between my thighs. “That’s impossible.”
“You’re impossible, so it’s possible.”
Malakai’s eyes flashed into mine. He took the camera from me, switched it off, carefully placed it on the desk. He stepped into me, our chests now bumping, our faces so close together I could swear I was getting tipsier by the champagne on his breath. It tasted potent. His eyes scanned my face, his hand lifting to it, cupping my cheek.
“You are everything, Scotch. I like your mind. I like seeing it work up close. I like your eyes, especially when you’re rolling them at me. Yeah. Just like that. I like how you see things. Adds color to how I see things. Ilike that when you’re listening to a song you love, you close your eyes and let it take you places. I wanna go wherever you go to.
“I like your mouth.” His eyes dropped to it and I felt my lips tingle. “Not gonna lie—I’m kind of obsessed with your mouth. How something so spicy can be so sweet. I like it when I make your mouth laugh.” My lips curved in response.
“I like your skin.” He picked up my hand and swiped his thumb across my wrist. “I like feeling your pulse race beneath it. I like the person beneath it.”
I discovered the words “knees going weak” was not a silly, sentimental little saying, but a literal phenomenon. My joy was barging against my gates of caution, demanding freedom.
“My pulse?” I said, my tone light. “You being a vampire would be really inconvenient right now.”
Malakai smiled. I needed to joke to find my footing in this new place we were in. Vulnerability made me nervous. He knew. He gave me the space. “That’s why I said all the antivampire stuff before. Needed to throw you off the scent.”
He swept his thumb across my cheek. “How you feeling?”
“I feel like...” I paused. The truth felt steady in my mouth. “You’re the only guy that’s ever held my hand without the intention of getting something from me. You just hold my hand to hold it. To hold me. Like you like doing it or something. And it scares the shit out of me, every time, because I like you doing it. Because I don’t want you to let go. It feels good and safe and right.... You feel right to me.”
