Deviation (Clone Chronicles #2)(10)

I don’t respond. I can’t.

He kisses me again. “It’s not your fault, Ven.” I nod, my lip trapped between my teeth.

His arms tighten around me and I let him pull me close, pressing my face against his chest. I don’t want empty words right now. The truth is, it is my fault. For being too helpless. Anger surges and I shove it away, concentrating on Linc’s attempt at comfort.

A few minutes pass. Linc doesn’t pull away. I’m grateful for his patience even though we both know we’re overstaying our welcome in this stolen space. Finally, I take a steadying breath and straighten.

“Do you think Daniel will keep his word?” I whisper. “About not giving them away?”

“I think he’s tougher than he looks,” Linc says, slowly, and I know he’s measuring his words. “And smarter.”

“He was different this time. At least for some of it. More … I don’t know. Normal. Or Daniel’s version of it, anyway.”

“He knows something,” Linc says and I know we’re both thinking how impossible it will be to find out what, at least while he’s in that cell.

I take a deep breath and then say the thing I’ve been thinking all day. “We have to get him out, Linc.”

He scowls, but doesn’t argue. “We need to get you out,” he says instead.

I shake my head. “I can’t. Morton, Anna, all of them need me.”

“They need to stay hidden. You already found a new home for them. You don’t need to be here any longer. Not if he’s going to put his hands on you.”

“He could’ve killed me,” I say.

“Exactly.”

“No, Linc. He could’ve but he didn’t. What does that mean?”

Linc grunts. “He was in a good mood? I don’t know.”

“I’m serious. I think he needs me. He won’t kill me.”

His eyes blaze. “You really want to test that theory?”

“I want to make a difference,” I shoot back.

“So far, the only people you’ve made a difference with are the paparazzi and the dressmakers.”

His words, the severity and the truth, shock me into silence. Linc’s shoulders droop. “Sorry,” he mutters. “That was harsh.”

“You’re right,” I say quietly. He looks at me. “I’ve talked a lot of crap but I haven’t backed it up.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“What?”

Linc’s brow quirks. “Talked a lot of crap?” he repeats.

“Oh, that. Obadiah.” I wave him away. “The point is I need to take action. I need to step up and be proactive.”

“That’s not what I meant, Ven.”

“It’s the truth, though. I need to—”

“No, you don’t. You need to be safe. I just wanted to prove my point so you’d go.” His eyes flash in a flare of temper, or passion, or something else that includes all of those. He clutches me harder and I understand.

I lay a hand on his shoulder. “I know you’re scared of losing me, or letting me take too many risks. But existing is a risk. I couldn’t hide even if I wanted to. But the truth is, I don’t want to. And I know you don’t either. Not really. You want to help, to matter for good. It’s one of the reasons I love you.”

He sighs and his lips press against my temple, holding there for a long moment. “No fair. You can’t use reasons for loving me. It’s cheating.”

My mouth curves. “Give me a little longer to figure something out. If I don’t, you can take me away from here.”

“Fine,” he says. “We’ll stay. But only until—”

“Thank you.” I press my mouth to his to cut off the rest.

His lips curve and then I’m lost in the moment. His mouth moves over mine, softly at first and then harder, more insistent. I am pressed against the wall and pulling him ever closer with handfuls of his shirt in my fists. The kiss goes deeper—until my awareness includes only the taste and smell and feel of him.

I slip my hands under his shirt and run them up the hard planes of his abdomen and chest. The curve of his hip is smooth and beautiful. He shivers underneath my touch and it sends a ripple of pleasure through me to know I make him react that way.

I lean closer, offering him more of my mouth and my body.

Without removing his mouth from mine, he whispers, “I need you, Ven.”

My body heat spikes at the pleasure of his words and his kisses. “I need you too,” I manage. The euphoria of simply touching him is overwhelming. It’s been weeks since I’ve touched him this way. Since he’s touched me.

His mouth is hot and feverish against mine. My chest heaves with the need for oxygen—but, given the choice, I’d rather hyperventilate if it means feeling his tongue run along the edges of my lips.

None of our kisses before compare to the fire building between us now. My body strains. My muscles liquefy. I’m positive there’s more to it but I have no idea what should come next. I have the urge to remove my clothes. My fingers fumble with the buttons on the front of my dress.

His hands wander over the exposed skin above my collar. The pressure of his palm against my bruised neck is too much. Reflexively, I wince and pull away. It’s only for a moment, and then I’m searching again for his mouth, but it’s enough to break the spell.