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“That’s not what I meant. You haven’t changed at all.”
“You have.” I took a slow step toward her. “You’ve changed quite a bit actually.”
“What are you?”
“Someone you should stay away from.”
“I’m not the one crowding your personal space.”
She was right. I was on the other side of the terrace, close enough to touch her. And I wanted to. I could still remember the way her lips had felt against mine, how warm and soft they’d been. Everything about her had been soft and so unlike any of the angels I’d kissed. And I’d wanted to own her, to make her mine and no one else’s.
Piper Amato was a sorceress, and in a matter of seconds I felt her trapping me in her spell all over again.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. She wasn’t a short woman, but she was still half a foot shorter than me. She had to look up to meet my eyes, and it exposed her neck. She looked so vulnerable, but her eyes didn’t show any of the appropriate fear for a woman who was cornered against a railing, alone with a man who hadn’t aged a day in eight years.
She should be afraid of me. She had no idea what I was capable of.
My gaze zeroed in on her bow-shaped lips. There was a single freckle just under the left side of her lower lip. I reached up and brushed my thumb over it.
“Samuel,” she whispered. “What are you doing?”
I pulled my hand back too late. The damage was done. The pad of my thumb throbbed where it had just touched her skin, as if I’d touched a live wire instead.
I stepped back, but it did nothing to ease the tension in the air. The space between us thrummed with energy, captivating and terrifying. Even that single step back had taken effort, like Piper was a magnet and I wasn’t strong enough to resist the pull.
“Dance with me,” I heard myself say.
Piper glanced down to where my hand was outstretched in the space between us, palm up. Her eyes flicked back to me, and I couldn’t read the expression on her face. Being able to read souls let me see the heart of a person’s being, but I didn’t get any insight into their feelings or emotions. I was clueless about what she was thinking in this moment.
Five
Piper
Dance with me.
There were a hundred reasons why this could be a very bad idea. I didn’t know Samuel, hadn’t seen him since the night he took me to the rooftop of Youngblood. Over the past eight years, there were times when I wondered if I’d imagined the whole interaction, but I didn’t believe I could have made up that kiss. Not when I was fifteen. Probably not even now.
A part of me was sure Samuel was a figment of my imagination or a ghost. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said he hadn’t changed at all. It was like he’d been plucked out of my memory and put in front of me. Eight years, and looking at him, you’d think it was yesterday. The ghost option sounded more plausible than that he simply hadn’t aged at all over the years.
I stared at his outstretched hand. He’d done this last time too—told me to stay away from him and then come right back. The smart thing to do was probably to get as far away from Samuel as I could.
Instead, I placed my bare hand in his. His fingers closed around mine, and I felt his touch everywhere, and I meaneverywhere. His hands were warm and rough in a good way.
I didn’t care if this was a bad idea. I’d spent eight years trying to forget this man and our first kiss. Okay, so I didn’t actually try to forget at all. I wanted to move on though. I wanted to find the way I’d felt with him on the rooftop with someone else. But no one ever measured up. Now he was here, and I knew I’d never forgive myself if I let this opportunity pass me by.
Samuel led me back through the glass doors into the ballroom. He stopped in the middle of the dance floor and turned to face me. His free hand slipped around me, resting on my bare back.
The dress had seemed classy when I’d put it on earlier, but with Samuel’s palm touching my skin, I felt like the dress had been a risqué choice.
I placed my gloved hand on his biceps and tried to ignore the feel of his muscles bunching under his jacket.
“That’s an interesting fashion choice,” Samuel said, nodding at the single glove I wore.
I smiled. “The other one is with my seamstress’s daughter. She’s six.”
“So now you both have one glove? Why didn’t you give her both of them?”
“Because that wasn’t the point. This way we have something to share. It’s not just a gift—it’s a connection between us.”
