But I was terrified to fall asleep.
It only felt like a few minutes later that I opened my eyes. The fire was still going, so I must not have been out for very long. I blinked several times, but I was tired and the room stayed dull and blurry. I closed my eyes again, shivering against the cold air.
I reached for the blankets to pull them up further over my shoulders, but couldn’t find them. Half awake, I sat up and groped toward the end of the bed with my hand. But there was nothing there. Irritated, I finally opened my eyes completely, and realized that I hadn’t kicked my blankets off—my bed was made, and I was lying on top of the covers. I looked down.
And discovered I was wearing the Green Thing.
What the hell?
I kept blinking, but my vision wouldn’t clear. I felt groggy, not just tired, like I was drunk—or drugged.
I leaned a hand against my forehead, brushing a loose strand of hair—then frowned. My hair wasn’t in the usual, wavy mess; it was curled and hair sprayed, and longer than it should be. I blinked a few times, and my eyes felt odd, so I brushed my fingers over my lashes. They were stiff and gritty. I was definitely wearing mascara, maybe even fake eyelashes. I licked my lips and they tasted like cherry.
Something was not right.
The floor creaked. I looked up, heart hammering in my chest. The door handle twisted, squeaking the tiniest bit, sending a shock of adrenaline through my system. Slowly, barely discernible in the dark room, it opened.
“Caitlin?”
I stared incredulously at the figure in the doorway.
“Adrian?” I whispered, trying to keep quiet. “What are you doing here?”
He stepped forward into the firelight, looking concerned. “You called me.”
I stared at him with the same confused expression. “I did?”
He took a cautious step forward. “Yeah. You told me to come over immediately.”
I shivered. “I don’t remember that.”
“Cait, you’re freezing.” He came around the side of the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, feeling my cheek with the back of his hand. “You’re like ice.” He immediately wrapped his arms around me and chuckled, which didn’t seem right. He wasn’t much of a chuckler. “You didn’t have to wait for me like this. I would’ve found you under the covers, too.”
He rubbed my back lightly, comfortingly. I closed my eyes and let the heat from his body warm me as I tried to sort out everything in my head.
“You know, I’m kind of surprised you called,” he said, voice a low rumble. “I mean, after the way you almost bit my head off yesterday, I didn’t expect this. But I’m … glad.”
I looked up at him, intending to ask what he meant, but his eyes melted into a deep, warm silver, and I forgot the question. His fingers stroked up my spine. His other hand tilted my face. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against my neck. I frowned and he laughed softly. “You don’t believe me?”
“I’m not beautiful,” I murmured. What was going on?
Something. Something was definitely going on.
He sighed a little. “You’re right, you’re not beautiful.” Then he ran his fingers lightly down my jaw, my throat, and traced my collarbone with his fingers, very slowly. “You’re absolutely”—he pressed his lips against my neck in a delicate kiss—“sexy.”
I was about to say “Huh?” but when I turned my face in his direction, I turned right into his mouth. I was about to pull away and apologize, but he murmured, “I want you.”
I sat frozen. He pulled back a fraction of an inch to stare into my eyes. All I could see was liquid, dancing silver, beautiful in the darkness.
“You do?”
He didn’t answer. Well, he didn’t answer verbally. My stomach burst into a thousand butterflies as he pressed his lips against mine.
We stayed like that for a few moments: Adrian holding me, the flames leaping in the fireplace, the only sound was the beat of my own heart in my ears.
Finally, I kissed him back.
He immediately wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. I ran my fingers through his hair, tangled them in the curls, crawled on his lap, and kissed him again. He leaned forward, lowering us against the bed, pressing his lips against my throat in a kiss. I lay perfectly still, afraid to move, when he brushed my collarbone with his mouth, fingers running lightly over the beading on the Green Thing— —which I had not been wearing when I fell asleep.
“Adrian?” I murmured, fighting to hold on to logic.
“Hmm?” he rumbled, hovering over my skin.
I blinked, trying to collect my thoughts. Finally, I had it. “When did I call you?”
I felt his hand trace the sheer lace pattern down my rib cage as he said, “Not very long ago. You sounded insistent.”