Page 46 of The Thief
"I know."
"I might leave tomorrow and never look back."
"I know that too."
But he's still moving closer, still looking at me like I'm worth the risk. Like whatever this is between us might be worth exploring, even if it ends badly.
When he kisses me, it's gentle at first. Careful, like he's giving me time to change my mind. But when I don't pull away, and when I kiss him back, it deepens into something hungry, desperate.
Like we're both drowning and this is the only thing that makes sense.
His hands cup my face, his thumbs tracing my cheekbones. I can taste whiskey on his lips, feel the controlled strength in his touch. This is a man who could break me without trying, but he's holding me like I'm made of glass.
It makes me want to trust him. Makes me want to believe this could be real, could be worth the risk.
But trust is a luxury I can't afford. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
I pull back, breaking the kiss. I put distance between us before I do something stupid like fall for a man whose job is protecting me.
"I can't," I say.
"Can't what?"
"This. Whatever this is. I can't trust it."
Pain flickers in his eyes, quickly hidden. "Because of the job?"
"Because of everything. My father lied to me my entire life. My mother walked away without a word. Everyone I've ever trusted has either died or disappeared."
"I'm not them."
"Aren't you? You're here because Henry pays you to be here. When the job's done, when I'm safe, what happens then?"
"I don't know."
"Neither do I. And that's the problem."
We sit in silence, the weight of what just happened and what didn't happen pressing down between us.
"I should go," Freddie says finally.
"Yeah. You should."
But neither of us moves. We sit there, looking at each other, both wanting something we can't have. Both knowing this is as close as we can get without destroying whatever fragile thing we've built.
Finally, he stands, straightens his jacket, and runs a hand through his hair.
"For what it's worth," he says, "I'd choose you. Job or no job, money or no money. I'd choose you."
The words hit like a punch to the chest. Honest, painful, everything I want to hear and everything I can't afford to believe.
"Don't," I say.
"Don't what?"
"Don't make promises you can't keep."
"Who says I can't keep them?"
