Page 53 of Sacrifice
"I know you can." He dismounts, offering me a hand. "Humor me anyway."
"You and your need to be humored."
"Part of my charm."
"You still don't have charm."
"Then why'd you have dinner with me?"
"Temporary insanity."
"My favorite kind," he says, and follows me toward the building.
We climb the stairs slowly, neither of us rushing.
The air between us feels charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.
I'm hyperaware of him behind me—his breathing, his footsteps, the space between us that feels both too much and not enough.
"This was nice," I say at my door, fumbling for my keys. "The dinner. The conversation. All of it."
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm not. I just..." I turn to face him. "I expected you to be different. Pushier. More?—"
"More me?"
"Yeah."
"I can be patient when something matters." He steps closer, backing me against my door. "You matter."
"Emil—"
"I know you're not ready. I know you're still fighting this. But I'm not going anywhere, Saga. However long it takes."
He's close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
Close enough that I can feel the heat of him, smell the mix of leather and Thai spices and him.
"What if I'm never ready?" I whisper.
"You will be." He touches my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. "And I'll be here when you are."
He leans down, and for a moment I think he's going to kiss me.
Iwant him to kiss me.
But he presses his lips to my forehead instead, gentle and somehow more intimate than if he'd claimed my mouth.
"Goodnight, Saga."
He's turning away when I notice my door.
It's cracked open, wood splintered around the lock, darkness visible through the gap.
"Emil—"
He's already moving, pushing me behind him, gun appearing in his hand like magic.
