Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals, #1)(67)

He tries to scowl, but shudders at my nails raking up and down him.

“Tobias was…” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe I’m fucking telling you this. Tobias was your father’s attorney.”

I freeze.

“What?”

He grabs my face, holding me in place. If he didn’t, I probably would’ve bolted. Away from him, out of the car.

I’ve been filled with ice.

I pull my hand away from his erection, but he just watches me.

Tobias was my dad’s attorney.

The one who couldn’t stop him from going to jail.

The one who is on a first-name basis with Caleb Asher.

My dad’s attorney, who is going to call Caleb Asher later.

Why?

This is what self-destruction looks like. I fell for a monster.

I try to retreat, but his fingers just dig into my skin. He has me trapped against his body and the steering wheel, his hands on my face. His thumb caresses my cheek, just below my eye. Once, then twice.

He’s blurry.

Am I crying?

“Why?” I manage. “Caleb—”

“Do not ask me,” he warns. He leans forward and steals a kiss.

Steals my breath.

I can’t breathe.

“I need to know why—”

“You don’t.” His voice is deadly. He’s deadly. He kisses me again, biting my lip.

I hate that he’s using this to distract me. To revive me.

I’m so fucking cold.

“Come back, Margo,” he says against my lips. He presses kisses along the edge of my mouth, my jaw, my throat.

“Did you put my father in jail?”

I close my eyes, letting my head fall back.

His teeth nip my throat. His lips chase away the pain, back up, up, up. My jaw. The spot just below my ear. My earlobe. My temple.

How can he destroy me and make me feel better at the same time?

We’re fucked up.

I’m fucked up for enjoying this. For letting him melt me down to liquid again and again.

His lips touch my eyelid. His tongue flicks out and tastes my tears.

This is more than just… him trying to ease the pain. Him trying to erase what happened in our past.

My heart is splintering.

His lips find mine again, but everything is soft. His touch. His tongue, sweeping along the seam of my lips.

I exhale a long, shuddering breath.

When I open my eyes, he’s watching me. Maybe he’s trying to figure me out. If I’m stable, or if, once he releases me, I’ll run.

I would if my legs didn’t feel like jelly.

“How could you?” I whisper. “Was it your idea?”

He shakes his head. “We’re not doing this right now.”

I move back into my own seat, clicking my seat belt into place. My desire for answers chews at me, but he’s right. We can’t do this now. Not after that.

He starts the car. I close my eyes. Whether I actually fall asleep or just doze, I couldn’t say. But what feels like minutes later, he’s lifting me out of the car.

I keep my head tucked under his chin. Everything hurts.

“Is she okay?” Robert asks.

“She just fell asleep in the car,” Caleb answers. His voice is soft. “I didn’t want to wake her. I’ll just put her in bed…”

I snake my arms around his neck as he’s laying me down. He chuckles in my ear, his hands sliding along my forearms.

“I hate you,” I mumble, “but I still want you to stay.”

He exhales. “Your foster parents wouldn’t be happy with me.”

I adjust my grip, plastering him to me. It isn’t really fair for him—I have the leverage.

He lies next to me, petting my hair. “Okay, Margo.”

I sigh and inch closer. I still feel broken.

It’s unexpected. It’s sharp. If I move the wrong way, my heart may start bleeding. Best to stay completely still and hope that I heal overnight. That I can wish away all the bad pieces of Caleb—and me.

I fall asleep with his hand in my hair and my nose against his throat.





28





Amelie and Savannah have pulled a disappearing act.

It’s not surprising, Riley informs me. They like to take trips, and the school is resigned to accepting their halfhearted attendance. After all, their parents make considerable donations each year.

It’s because of the masquerade ball, they went to Paris to find dresses and masks.

Always a step above us little people, I suppose.

“Who are they going with?” I ask Riley.

She shrugs. “Last I heard, Amelie and Ian were going together. Not sure about Savannah.”

Ian Fletcher. He’s been keeping his distance, but I feel his stare like a hot coal against my skin. Why he’s taken such an interest is anyone’s guess.

“We need to pick out dresses,” she says.

We walk into the library. It’s remained our safe haven. So far, Caleb and Eli haven’t come searching for us. A few times Caleb has shot me questioning glances as I slipped into the class right after lunch. But he never asked, and I never mentioned it.

It’s been three days since Caleb and I went to New York City. He kept his distance on Sunday—letting me sort my emotions, I guess—and on Monday we were back to normal. As normal as we can be, anyway. And unsurprisingly, people have stopped making so many remarks. The picture drew attention at first, but they’ve all but forgotten it now.