Page 83 of Heathens
Yes, she’s fine. Physically, at least.
She needs food and rest.
I’ll call you later.
I was both shocked and elated at Benedict's commitment to helping Evelyn. The guilt at his father's actions riding him almost as hard as they rode me. I wouldn't question it. I trusted him. But the need to see her, to verify with my own eyes that she was okay—as okay as she could be, at least—was strong.
He found her in a house in the eighteenth arrondissement. It makes me ill—I’d been in the same vicinity as her so many times. Had I passed her in the street? Had she seen me from a driving car? Benedict said she’d been quiet, crying. She needed to adjust. I knew Bastian, Salem’s father, would take good care of her. She was in good hands.
She is okay.
She is okay.
I let out a long breath—one I may have been holding foryears.
A knock sounds and I walk to the peephole. Salem is there, his arm braced on the door, his distorted face looking directly at me. I pull the door open, and I'm suddenly enveloped inhim.
His warm arms, his smell, his light strokes on my back as I begin to sob against him, clutching his black shirt in my hands. I bring my hands to my face, smashed against him, as my body shudders.
“We won,” Salem murmurs, petting me everywhere. My back, my hair. He removes my wig and frees my hair, running his fingers through it. The motion calms me down instantly, and I step away, sniffling. “Auguste lost. He’s licking his wounds in his room right now—he told me he’s not feeling well, but I know better. He’s so transparent.” Salem smiles.
“I want to rip his throat out,” I growl, suddenly overcome with rage—hot, fiery anger.
Salem's brows furrow and a piece of his hair falls into his face as he places his hands in his pockets. “I know. Me too. In time, mon loup. In time.“
I sniff and wipe my cheeks. “Now what? I’m here, a-and she’s—she’s six hours away,” I hiccup, suddenly emotional. I am a mess.
“She’s being taken care of. She’s resting, adjusting, eating.”
I shake my head and look away. “I should’ve been there,” I murmur, wrapping my arms around my chest. “I should’ve been there with Benedict.”
“Do you want to go back? I’ll book you a flight. You can be there in two hours.” His face is honest—open. Sincere. The integrity of Salem Tempest knocks me down again and again. He is a rare breed. I look into his blue eyes—the vibrancy of that blue pierces me.Do I want to go back?Yes, with all my heart I want—need—to see my friend. But this man has just begun healing my heart in his own way, and I realize something else. Right now, I want time with him. Ineedtime with him.
I shake my head. “No. Today, tomorrow, it doesn’t make a difference. I trust Benedict—he needs to do this. For his soul. I’ll see her first thing when we get back to Paris tomorrow. Plus—your father and your brothers will take care of her. She’s in good hands.”
Salem nods, and his eyes sweep over my dress briefly. I can tell he's trying to restrain himself—trying to respect my space and my feelings. But as I look closer at his collar, his messy hair, the belt that's now around his waist when, just a few hours ago, it was on the floor of the train cabin...
I take another step back and pull one of my dress straps off of my shoulders.
“I’m free all night,” Salem murmurs, his eyes darkening. “Auguste is now... indisposed...” he trails off, unbuttoning his sleeves at his wrist. That action alone makes me clench my thighs together as he prowls closer and closer. The balcony door is open, a warm breeze flutters through and causes the other strap to fall from my shoulders.
I don’t respond. Instead, I reach back and unzip my dress, letting it fall to my feet. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and I’m clad only in white, lace underwear.
Salem growls and begins to unbutton his collar. I shake my head. He raises his eyebrows. “If I'm not mistaken,“ he purrs, taking another step closer to me as I back up, “I'd say you have a thing for clerical shirts,“ he finishes, giving me a lascivious, lopsided smile.
I swallow. “Only when you’re wearing them.”
He grunts—and slowly steps toward me. One step, then another. He's backing me up against the balcony railing now, visible to anyone who can see up twelve stories. Visible to anyone next to us, too. The sun is hot, beating down on my bare skin. His gaze is hotter, his eyes two blue flames. I lean against the stone columns, swallowing as he stands before me.
I’m overcome with—him. Totally and utterly consumed with his fire, his goodness, his voice and smell. He lifts me up in one fell swoop, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he sets me down on the railing. I look down and whimper.
“Salem—”
“Do you trust me?” he mutters, clutching my bare thighs.
I nod vigorously. “Yes, but I’m terrified of heights.” I squeeze my eyes shut. If he lets go, if he makes one wrong move... I’ve never yielded myself so thoroughly to another person before. One of his hands moves, sliding up my thigh, and I let out a gasp. “Salem—”
“Trust me,” he murmurs. “Put your trust in me completely, Lily. I’ve got you. I won’t let go.”
