Diary of a Teenage Jewel Thief(56)
He takes a step forward and reaches out like he wants to touch my face, but he must decide against it, because he drops his hand back down to his side.
Rain starts in fits and spurts of light drizzles, and quickly deepens into heavier droplets. But I’m barely aware of the cold water dripping off my hair, streaking down my face, soaking into my clothes. Instead, I notice how the rain glistens in Will’s hair, turning the brown strands black before dripping off onto his shoulders. It runs in rivulets down his chest, over his muscles, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. As I watch, gooseflesh spreads across his skin. Because of the cold? Or because of my attention? The rain catches the dried blood at the corner of his mouth and washes it away, running a rich red until it drips off his chin. In no time, the shower has washed away all evidence of violence except the bruises and scrapes.
I unconsciously zero in on another drop when it lands on his collarbone and traces a haphazard path down the center of his chest. I follow it over well-defined abs, around his navel, until it finally vanishes behind his belt buckle. When it’s out of sight, I raise my gaze to Will’s face. Even with the split lip, the mottled purple-blue bruising on his left cheek, and the beginnings of a killer shiner around his left eye, he’s still gorgeous.
And he knows it. His expression is one of knowing, all cocky half grin and sparkling mischief in his eyes. He’s caught me admiring.
“See something you like?” He uses the line his friend used on me the day we met, and his voice is low and confident, like he knows he’s hooked me and is now just reeling me in.
I take a step forward, narrowing the distance between us, and place a hand on his shoulder. “Until you open your mouth. You’re hot until you speak,” I tease.
He feigns offense at my words but leans closer, effectively erasing the space between us. Every time I take a breath, the cotton of my shirt brushes against his bare chest, and his breath fans out in a warm arc over my cheek when he exhales. “Hot, huh? I guess I’ll have to find some way to keep my mouth busy, then.”
“Oh?” I’m pretty sure I know where this is leading. Every fiber of my being is hyper-focused on Will’s lips, on how close they are to mine. Fireworks explode in my brain and send warmth tingling through my entire body. He’s going to kiss me—the phrase repeats itself in my mind until the moment his lips land.
They’re soft on mine but insistent, pressing against my mouth like he owns this kiss, owns me. His hand comes to rest on my cheek with his fingertips splayed across my temple and into my hair. Tingles erupt where his palm sits against my cheekbone and spread along my scalp everywhere he touches. The feeling expands, every part of me, every nerve ending coming alive with sensation and awareness of him.
He steps forward without breaking our kiss, and I step backward in sync with him. We move like our kiss has been choreographed and well rehearsed. When my back meets the van door, I lean my weight against it, and Will presses himself heavily against me. His tongue dances across my lips, and I part them to allow him entrance. He doesn’t waste a minute slipping inside my open mouth to deepen the kiss.
The rain has chilled me, but his kiss is warming me in the sweetest of ways. I place my hands on his bare hips, just above his low-slung jeans, and gooseflesh breaks out across his skin beneath my touch. In that moment, he and I are the only two people in the world. Nothing exists except him and me and this moment. I tighten my hold on Will like he’s a lifeline and without him, I would sink into the oblivion of this kiss.
His lips move away from mine to trail across my chin, and tingles spread down my neck in response. My lips feel the loss of his warmth. But his kisses along my chin are arguably just as sweet, and I don’t know which I want more.
After a moment, he blazes a trail of kisses back up my face but bypasses my mouth. Instead, he brands the area next to my lips, then my cheek, my temple, and finally my forehead, burning the memory of the most delicate of kisses into my brain. He places one last chaste kiss to the top of my head, then leans down to press his forehead to mine. He sucks in a deep breath and releases it in a long, shaky exhale.
“I’m still mad at you, you know,” I half tease.
“I wanted so badly to tell you who I was. So many times. What I felt for you—what I feel for you, is real. But I was scared you wouldn’t believe me.”
I know he means it, and as frustrating as it is to find out my boyfriend was a plant, I understand my mother’s motives. And his. They were both trying to keep me safe. “I know.”
He breathes a soft sigh of relief, like those two words are the loveliest things he’s ever heard. “Flower, I am yours.”
His words resonate somewhere deep inside me, and my brain hitches on the realization that he knows who I am, what I am. He knows my deepest, darkest secret and still wants to be with me.
And in that moment, I am his.
Chapter Twenty-Six
February 27th,
Another Monday. I guess I’m back to the grind. When we fled France, I’d planned on visiting Europe again someday, but I didn’t quite picture my next Euro vacay being spent as the hostage of a sociopath determined to obtain evidence that could put him away for life. But in the end, it all worked out. I didn’t actually get to see a whole lot of Italy other than the countryside and Paolo’s villa, but we took down Petrov.
And Uncle Samuel is healing. I’m still pissed at him for working with Petrov, but in the end, he came through for us. Taking a bullet to the shoulder to save my life seems like a fair punishment for almost getting us killed. And he swears it will never happen again. He’s even quit drinking. Hopefully it sticks.