Page 36 of Never Bound

I figured I had about ten minutes to figure it out and make my case before Erica would be back in the kitchen wanting to know whether we wanted a lift back to campus—or seven hours in heaven.

“I mean, I’m never really ‘off,’” I clarified. “But I’m not doing late nights. No one is. The housekeeper has been staying up for a few hours in the evenings, but that’s it. She’s probably already in bed.”

“Are you saying you think we should stay?” she asked. “And do what, exactly? Hmm?”

“Well, um—” Was there any way to explain this that wouldn’t make me look like a complete perv?

“You should see the look on your face,” she said with a giggle, coming closer. “Here, I’ll do it for you.” She reached up with both hands to smooth the stray locks back from my forehead, where my own hand had been about to go. “Of course I want to stay. And Daddy isn’t back until the day after tomorrow. But we need to think about this carefully.”

I closed my eyes, leaning into the feel of her cool hands running through my hair. Even with chips in her manicure and cuts on her fingers, it felt better than any touch in recent memory. I leaned my elbow back against the counter. Her posture mirrored mine as we racked our brains for any possible roadblocks.

“Daddy said he would tell the housekeeper that we were going to campus.”

I looked up at the clock. “At this hour, though? From what I’ve observed, nothing happens on a university campus this late except drinking and sex, and we haven’t exactly disproven that.”

“But if she’s already in bed like you said, she won’t notice. Until early tomorrow, anyway. And we’ll be back by then.”

“All right,” I said, like I was going to argue with her about this. “But your mom—”

“Won’t be an issue, either. Not at this hour,” she said, glancing at the wall clock. “Trust me.”

“And the maid—”

“Also won’t be an issue.”

“Oh, shit.” Speaking of issues. “You didn’t kill her, did you?”

“No,” she said huffily. “Not that I didn’t briefly want to. But she informed me I don’t have any reason to.”

“Did you believe her?”

“Yes. But I never really doubted it.” Her reassuring smile obliterated my brief nervousness. “At any rate, I think I’ve defanged her. So if there ever was a night—”

“It would be tonight,” I finished, and the silence hung there, infused with meaning.

She nodded. “But there are still no guarantees.”

“Look,” I said, taking one of her hands, my scabbed-over fingers caressing each one of hers, slowly and languidly, each one the reminder of the promise we’d made when we’d agreed to only shed one article of clothing at a time.

Someday soon.

“I know you’re used to guarantees. But my life doesn’t have any. It never has. So it’s your call. Whatever you choose, that’s what we’ll do.”

Her eyes—gray as the cloud cover beneath their long lashes—looked down at the floor and then flicked up. One little word was starting to feel as strong as the force of gravity.

“Yes or no?” I asked.

But the decision was already made. It had been made weeks ago, at her bedroom desk, over that complex matrix of chemical reactions, in the microscopic interplay of heat and light, in the pull of a subtle glance, the friction of an accidental touch. It had been made in those moments when I would patiently wait for an answer, listening to our hour ticking away, until she got her head together and gave me one.

And so she did. “Yes.”

The smile broke over my face. I’d never say it, and I hoped I hadn’t pressured her, but I also hoped she knew which word I’d been praying—praying? Okay, praying—to hear.

“Oh,” I said, glancing up. “There’s one problem. They only have one spare bed. Don’t worry, though.” I nodded with resignation. “I’ll take the sofa.”

She stood there, dumbstruck.

I laughed as I gathered her into my arms. “You should see the look on your face.”

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