Page 203 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

Lucian pulls me close until our chests touch. He leans into my ear and whispers, “It used to be far easier to make you nervous.” We dance slowly, taking small steps through the small room. “But I like it this way as well.” His eyes seem to break through my barriers. “There’s no facet of you I wouldn’t like.”

My blood pumps faster when I feel his heart thumping against my chest.

He’s… nervous.

I like that I told him. I like that he knows about my screwed-up life and still looks at me with some kind of wonder.

I like that he’s seen me kill and still thinks about wanting me.

“Well, my favorite is the one that hates you,” I say with a smile.

“So long as she still touches me. But for you, darling, I’m not above begging.”

He hasn’t called me darling in months.

I lean back. I wonder if Lucian can see the emotion written on my face even as I try to hide it. Because the way he’s staring at me is too intense. Too intimate that it has me looking at his hand until he says, “No one deserves the kind of life you told me of. Least of all you.”

I don’t know if I’m anything more than the bad.

I scoff a small laugh, changing the subject. “And here I was, thinking I’d never inspire endearment out of you again, darling!”

“Oh.” Lucian chuckles too, but it’s short-lived. “As if every time I look at you I don’t think about doing things I shouldn’t.”

I blush. Which is ridiculous. He could be talking about killing me for all I know.

“Then tell me,” I say, desperate for something a little less serious. “In what ways do I inspire you? Other than terms of endearment and booping noses?” I mean it teasingly but Lucian sways us through the room, lifting my arm over my head and spinning me. Then he pulls me into him, my back pressing against his chest. If I turned my head just an inch, my nose would touch his chin.

“I fall to pieces,” he whispers.

“I told you I’d be your undoing,” I say, but my voice is anything but steady.

“I never doubted it,” he whispers, so silently I’m not sure I didn’t imagine it. “If you meant what you said about not being a good person I don’t know where that leaves me. Beneath you, perhaps. But I think that’s where I’ve been this entire time. Because I swear the moment I first laid eyes on you a part of me knew this was where my life ended and began. Falling for you.”

I want to believe it. I want to look into his eyes and know he means it.

“You’re good at this,” I say. “Spewing romantic shit and seeing if it sticks.”

Spinning again, I end up facing him and the world flips, my back arching down. But I think I trust him enough to know he won’t let me fall.

His eyes crash on mine like a storm.

“Tell me I’m not crazy, Desdemona.” He’s not, but I might be because my name on his tongue is driving me into a frenzy. “Tell me you feel what I feel. Tell me your heart is on fire every time your eyes are on me. Tell me that through every harrowing hour of hating me, you couldn’t forget what it felt like to hold me.”

“Aibek—”

“Because I couldn’t.”

I try to swallow this lump in my throat.

“But if you still hate me, you’ll have to hate me enough for the both of us, because despite all my efforts I could never not want you.” I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. He pulls me upright until I’m standing and removes his hands from my body. It’s the most irrational part of my brain that demands me to tell him to put them back. “Perhaps I should have kept that to myself?—”

“No—”

“—but I promise to bleed until we’re even?—”

I grab the collar of his fancy, untucked shirt and pull his lips to mine.

Heat rushes to my skin, to my face, my lips, and I feel so alive. My hands slide from the collar of his shirt to his neck, inching further back until my fingers slip into his hair.

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