Exodus (The Ravenhood #2)(42)

Laughter bursts from me. “You better not be using my toothbrush.”

“There was a spare in the cabinet.”

A few seconds later, I see the flicking of the light once, twice, three times before he climbs into bed with me.

“Better?” I press my lips together.

He rolls his eyes. “Laugh it up.”

When my smile dies, we lay there silent, facing the other on our pillows.

“Why did you come here? I’m not your girlfriend.”

“No, you aren’t.” His voice is wary, as is his stare, he’s exhausted.

“So, are you going to answer the question?”

“No.”

Up close, I take in the slight wave of his damp hair, his thick midnight black lashes, the smooth planes of his face, his mouth. His top lip a more masculine cupid’s bow, slightly smaller than the bottom. He returns my stare, his eyes roaming my face, and equally as probing.

I’m the first to speak.

“What’s your game?”

He fires right back. “What’s yours?”

We lay there, silent, eyes challenging.

“I won’t ever be able to believe a word you say, Tobias.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

“So why bother, after treating me like total shit, you suddenly have a conscience? Suddenly I’m worthy of,” I wave my hand around, “whatever the hell you’re doing?”

“Treating you with respect? Like I’ve wronged you. Like I’ve mistreated you horribly and I’m apologizing for it? I’m not a monster, Cecelia.”

“Debatable.”

He sighs. “As I said, I don’t expect you to believe me.”

“I don’t, and I won’t.”

His eyes dart past my shoulder, a deep line forming between his brows.

“Are you okay?”

He focuses back on me.

“Te soucies-tu vraiment de moi?” Do you really care about me?

“Tobias, I’m not fluent.”

He clears his throat, but the question seems to pain him. “Do you really care?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“You should hate me.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t. You want to, but that’s not who you are. You want to believe the best in people.”

“Is that so wrong?”

“No,” he swallows. “It’s not.”

“Just bad for business,” I conclude.

A faint dip of his chin before his eyes gloss over.

I lean in, unable to help my smile. “Pills kicking in, huh?”

A little smile forms on his lips, which in turn tugs at the edges of my heart. And in that moment, his words ring true. I’ve been looking for the good in him. But I can’t trust him, which leaves us nowhere. He sinks into the bed a second later, and my smile grows.

“Ohhhhh, you’re high as a kite.” I straddle his lap before leaning forward and pressing my nose to his. “All doped up.”

He grins up at me, his smile so blinding that I feel that familiar flap of wings.

His grin starts to fade as I peer down at him. He slowly lifts from where he lays and kisses me, his fingers stroking my face in a way that has me turning my head to ignore my reaction. It’s far too intimate.

“Don’t do that,” I lift to climb off his lap, and he stops me with his hands on my thighs.

“Do what?”

I change the subject. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“You’re better off not knowing.”

I pull back and nod. “I thought that would be your answer. Can’t give me an inch, huh?”

I don’t miss the ironic twist of his lips as he gently lifts his hips, his growing erection letting me know precisely what inches he would readily give me.

Rolling my eyes, I take my place beside him and click off my lamp. We lay in the dark, inches away, untouching. We’ve never been in bed together, not in the domestic sort of sense. And I curse my stupid emotions for feeling what I shouldn’t when he begins running the pads of his fingers along my arm.

Utter fucking disaster.

Minutes pass, as I stay quiet beside him. His touch lulls me into a state, a minute before he pauses his fingers.

“Why did you sleep with them both?”

“Whoa.”

I click the light back on and slide to sit at the head of the bed, peering down at him. If his pupils are any indication, then he’s been pulled way under. Those painkillers must be potent, or he’s a lightweight. Otherwise, he would never let me hear the hint of jealousy in his voice. And it is undeniable.

“Why do you want to know?”

I get a half shrug. “I’m curious.”

“No, you’re not, you’re judging me. And it’s none of your business.”

His voice is faint when he speaks. “Je n’en ai aucun droit.” I have no right.

“English, Tobias.”

“I have no right. Answer the question.”

His voice is so raw as if he’s been mulling this over and it pains him to ask. What do I have to lose by being honest? Nothing. This man knows me. He sees me more clearly than most others I’ve known for most of my life. But only because he’s studied me as his opposition.