Something Strange and Deadly (Something Strange and Deadly #1)(80)

Daniel planted his feet and crossed his arms. “I see what you’re doing, Empress. I know about your brother—I figured it out when you tried to save his wretched skin. I won’t let you see him.”

“It’s not like that.” I sidled past him, but he grabbed my left hand. His fingers scratched at my raw palm.

I groaned and yanked back my arm. His eyes grew wide.

“What is it?”

I gritted my teeth. “Nothing. Just some cuts from the explosion.”

“You hit the ground real hard.” He hung his head. “I thought I’d killed you.”

An emptiness eddied through my chest—I didn’t want his guilt. I didn’t deserve it.

“You did nothing wrong, Daniel.” I waved at myself. “See? I’m just fine.”

His gaze crept up and met mine. “You also scratched up your...” He trailed off and gestured to my face.

“Is it bad?”

“Not so bad.” He lifted his free hand to my cheek. “You’re still you.” His fingers brushed down the line of my jaw.

He set his thumb on my chin and guided my face to the side. His eyes flicked over the skin, and then he tipped my face the other way. “You’ll be right as rain after a few days of healing.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

As if scrutinizing the shape of my cheek, he leaned closer until I could feel his breath.

Then his lips touched my skin—only the slightest brush along my cheekbone.

My breath caught, and my heart with it. But I didn’t pull away. I couldn’t. I knew if I moved, if this moment ended, my chest would ache with this hollowness forever.

He slowly drew back his hand. I twisted my face to his, and before he could retreat, I reached out and pressed my good hand against his stomach.

He sucked in a breath, and I bit back my own gasp. He was the first boy I’d ever touched, and the stiffness of his body through his shirt was unexpected. And wonderful.

“Eleanor.” His voice was so low, I could barely hear it. “Eleanor, we can’t do this.”

“Oh,” I breathed, but I didn’t move. Nor did he.

He was so near. I couldn’t keep my gaze from his face. I wanted to memorize the way his lips shuddered with his breath; the way his tongue was just visible when his lips parted; the way his eyes didn’t break from my face; and above all, the way his stomach felt beneath the fabric of his clothes.

Then his body shook—only the slightest tremor—and he lowered his face.

His mouth reached mine, and in an instant I knew what the fascination with lips was all about. Even the gentlest touch—for that was all it was—sent my mind reeling and my heart racing. It was sweeter than I’d ever dreamed possible. His scent and his touch overwhelmed my brain, and I could think of nothing but Daniel.

He drew back, and I found I could barely breathe. My chest felt so tight with emotion—so full. His own breaths were short and shallow.

Then suddenly his lips were on mine again. And I kissed back. His hands rose to cradle my head, and he tugged me more tightly into the embrace. He pressed me to the lamppost, his body a shield to the world beyond, and I slipped my hand all the way around his waist.

His stubble scratched my chin, but I didn’t care.

Long, hard kisses turned into quick, desperate ones and then back again. This, whatever this was, had flared out of our control. His skin was as salty as it smelled—delicious and intoxicating.

Somewhere, deep in my mind, I knew there would be consequences. Now was not the time for passion. Yet my body betrayed me by shutting off those worries and taking control.

Think only of Daniel.

The church bells rang half past. They pierced my mind, and reality flew back into focus. Daniel jerked away from me.

His lips were swollen and his cheeks flushed. He panted, “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” My lips felt puffy and raw, and my heart banged like a timpani in my ears.

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have done this. I’m sorry.”

“I wanted you to... I wanted you to kiss me.”

He didn’t answer, but I knew he wanted it too. I could see it in the way his eyes ran over my face, in the way he leaned toward me, in the way his mouth hovered partly open.

But I could also see his sincere regret.

He slapped his cap on and drew it low over his face. “I made a mistake.”

My heart sank into my belly, and the hollowness erupted in my chest. “A mistake?” The words echoed strangely in my ears.

“Yes.” He avoided meeting my gaze.

I lowered my chin. His words hurt. For all that, I knew it was wrong, I never thought he would call it a mistake.

But I didn’t want sadness or regret. I’d had enough of those emotions, and they only made me feel weak, helpless. So I let anger come.

I narrowed my eyes into a harsh glare. “You’re the first man I’ve ever kissed, and you’ve decided I’m a mistake—a misfit.”

“Now hold your horses.” He straightened, and his eyes locked on mine. “It’s not like that.”

“No? Then what is it like?”

He opened his mouth, but I shot my left hand up and cut him off. I didn’t want excuses or explanations.

“Actually, Daniel, I don’t care. Now is hardly the time for such trivial”—I wrinkled my nose—“such trivial things. I have to go. I have work to do.”