Page 25 of Stay Close
I can hear histhought like he’s saying it out loud.Stop me.
I won’t.I lean forward the smallest bit, and his eyes narrow—not like he’s assessing a potential threat. Like he wants to kiss me.
Good. I’ve been aware of him on a microscopic level for weeks. Lucas in his dark suits, frowning over dossiers and online profiles, making notes and texting his security agency under my watchful eye. When he runs, it’s art. The memory of him neutralizing unknown assailants has done things to my brain chemistry. But being in the same room while he practices diligent, meticulous study habits is a very particular, Edie-specific kind of attractive, and it’s driving me slowly insane.
I go up on my toes in the tiny space and rest my hands on his shirtfront. I have no cache of facts to help me. No flashcards to make it easier. “I think we should kiss,” I say, holding his gaze.
I don’t know how to make any approach but a direct one. He doesn’t run or wrestle me to the ground or put me in a headlock. He doesn’t pull up his contract to read Section C, paragraph three. Instead, he releases a breath, and his head drifts down a notch.
I close the distance, and when our lips touch, he flinches slightly, like I’ve shocked him with static electricity. It’s so fast that I’m only able to register the warmth of our breath mingling, the band of muscle under my hand, the tense way he holds himself back.
When I lift my head, my lips twist and my mind supplies a verdict. That wasn’t great. It was tiny. Even someone who spent her sixteenth birthday composing essays on international trade in developing countries knows how small that kiss was. I drop my forehead and the only place it can go is against his chest. Why was I so sure that the only things worth learning would come from a textbook? Those things can’t help me now. I can’t call a timeout to consult a YouTube Teen for relationship coaching.
I swear, the next time an assailant comes at me with a weapon, I’m going to jump into his oncoming path just to save myself the mortification of having to see Lucas every day.
All right. I can fix this. Just make a quick apology and pretend I’m ready for sleep. I lift my head, ready to stun him with politeness, when his hand slides away from the wall to rest under my jaw, thumb gently tracing the curve of my cheek. I am held. Even if I wanted to run, I couldn’t.
“Hold on,” he says, dipping his head.
When the second chance comes, I rise to meet his kiss, inhaling the sweet, velvety scent of his aftershave. My fingertips find the pulse at the base of his neck just as his lips touch mine.
At first, I think there’s barely enough room for this, crowded in on three sides. I wait for the awkwardness, the fumbling and knocking against the stone walls, as we shift. The inevitable apologies that it’s not perfect. But it is perfect.
He holds me when I move, slipping a hand to my waist and pulling me to him, losing his head.
When we stop to draw breath, I give a shaky laugh.
We aren’t anything alike. He has a big family. I’m an only child. My mother grumbles about Dickens and Gaskell. My father has uttered the sentence, “Actually, therearemany cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse.” But Lucas and I fit together like we were made for kissing.
His chest rises and falls. He rests his head against mine. “Edie.”
I look up and my breath hitches.
A tap on the door jerks us apart, and I whack my head on the wall, reminding me of how little room we have. “I think it’s—” I begin.
“After you,” he says with a gesture, raking a hand through his hair.
My heart is banging in my chest when I open the door to find Caroline holding an oversized gift basket. I ease a hand over my mouth, sure she’ll notice my swollen lips. Lucas reaches past me, taking the basket from her and placing it on the coffeetable. “Were you expecting this?” he asks, flicking me a security professional's glance.
Caroline answers. “The Vorburgian delegation is feeling put out that you’re being housed at the expense of Sondmark. They beg you to accept this small”—she coughs—“token of appreciation for your hard work. If you need help unpacking it—”
“You’ve already done too much,” I say, working the cellophane loose. She smiles as she goes, and I tug the wire ribbon.
“Nice touch,” Lucas says when I discard it. He traces a line of tiny Vorburgian flags printed on the satin. “What will you do with all this stuff?”
“You burned through my blood sugar. I could use an apple.” A hot flush rises on my cheeks. “I didn’t mean—”
Lucas chuckles. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. But I don’t know what to make of his words.
Did he want to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss him? Or does he go around kissing his clients all the time? He was a personal guard to the four members of the hottest girl group in the eastern hemisphere, I recall.
Every bit of blood sugar is smoked off in a fit of nerves, and my fingers attack a package of seasoned nuts. I pop several into my mouth.
“It’s an assortment of cured meats and cheeses,” I say, stacking the offerings as they come. “Rokpol,” I sound out, giving the wedge of marbled blue cheese a sniff. “That’s rare.” I continue my catalog. “Tickets to a concert at the embassy, abottle of wine, an amber necklace.” I wince as I gaze down at the jewelry case. “We’re getting into dangerous territory.”
“Why?” His voice is too close. His hand curls around mine, and he takes the necklace from its case. He moves, and I fix my attention on the basket, finding a cache of dark Vorburgian chocolate when his hands reach forward, each holding one end of the necklace.
“It’s too valuable,” I say. “I’d have to report it to my firm. They’re sure to say—”
