The Evolution of Mara Dyer (Mara Dyer #2)(69)

I smiled. “The T-shirt with all of the holes in it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I thought I’d be wearing a tux in your fantasies or something.”

“Like James Bond? That sounds like your fantasy,” I said, though the image of Noah in a crisp tuxedo with his artfully messy hair—his bowtie undone, hanging around his collar—I swallowed. My blood burned beneath my skin.

“Katie hates it.”

“The T-shirt?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s your sister.”

“So I should keep it?”

“Yes.”

“All right. I’m wearing the T-shirt. And below that?”

“What do you usually wear to bed?” I asked.

Noah said nothing. I opened my eyes to an arched brow and a devious grin.

Oh my God.

“Close. Your. Eyes,” he said. I did. “Now, where were we?”

“I was straddling you,” I said.

“Right. And I’m wearing . . .”

“Drawstring pants,” I said.

“Those are quite thin, you know.”

I’m aware.

“Whoa,” he said, and I felt the pressure of his hands on my shoulders. I opened my eyes.

“You swayed a bit,” he said, dropping his hands. “I thought you might fall off the bed.”

I blushed.

“Maybe we should take this to the floor,” he said, and stood. He stretched, and it was impossible to ignore the strong line of him, standing just inches away. I rose too quickly and wobbled on my feet.

He grinned and took a pillow from the bed and placed it on the floor, indicating that I should sit. I did.

“Right,” he said. “So what are you wearing?”

“I don’t know. A space suit. Who cares?”

“I think this should be as vivid as possible,” he said. “For you,” he clarified, and I chuckled. “Eyes closed,” he reminded me. “I’m going to have to institute a punishment for each time I have to tell you.”

“What did you have in mind?” I asked archly.

“Don’t tempt me. Now, what are you wearing?”

“A hoodie and drawstring pants too, I guess.”

“Anything underneath?”

“I don’t typically walk around without underwear.”

“Typically?”

“Only on special occasions.”

“Christ. I meant under your hoodie.”

“A tank top, I guess.”

“What color?”

“White tank. Black hoodie. Gray pants. I’m ready to move on now.”

I felt him nearer, his words close to my ear. “To the part where I lean back and pull you down with me?”

Yes.

“Over me,” he said.

Fuck.

“The part where I tell you that I want to feel the softness of the curls at the nape of your neck? To know what your hipbone would feel like against my mouth?” he murmured against my skin. “To memorize the slope of your navel and the arch of your neck and the swell of your—hey.”

I felt his warm hands on my shoulders. I opened my eyes. I must have been moving toward him while my eyes were closed, because I was almost in his lap.

“You should stay on your pillow,” he said.

But I don’t want to. “I don’t want to,” I said back. My fingertips ached with the need to touch.

“We shouldn’t rush this.”

But I want to. “Why not?” I asked.

He stared at me. At my mouth. “Because I want to kiss you again,” he said. “But not if any part of you is still afraid. Is any part of you still afraid?”

That I might hurt him? Kill him? If we kissed? If we stayed together?

“I’m not afraid of you, Noah,” I said out loud.

“Not consciously.”

“Not at all,” I said, shifting back and crossing my legs.

He tilted his head. He didn’t speak.

“I’m afraid of . . . myself,” I clarified. “I don’t—I don’t feel like I’m in control with you.”

His brow creased. I could see the gears turning in his mind.

“What are you thinking?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“Liar. You’re never thinking nothing.”

“I’m wondering what would make you feel as though you’re in control. What could make you trust yourself with me.”

“Any luck?”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Well.” I glanced at the clock. “We have a few hours before we have to be up again.”

“We should sleep,” he said, but didn’t move back to his bed.

I grinned. “We should go back to my room.”

That was when he stood. “Which is right between Joseph’s room and your parents’. And I thought I just told you I didn’t think we should rush anything?”

I rolled my eyes. “I meant my old bedroom.”

“Ah.”

I stood and wove my fingers into his. “Noah,” I said, my voice soft.

He turned and looked down at me. The shadow of a smile touched his mouth. “Tomorrow,” he said.