I cleared my throat, spotting our brownie dishes. I gathered everything and rushed from the room, not returning until I heard the water running.
A T-shirt and flannel pajama shorts were not sexy, I told myself as I looked down at my outfit. But when he came out of the bathroom, shirtless with his hair wet, and took in the sight of me sitting on his bed, I felt as if I were wearing something silky and minuscule. I guess the shower hadn’t helped much.
“I should probably sleep on the couch,” I offered.
Please say no.
“No.” His eyes raked me a moment more before he blinked and swallowed. “We only have one night. I want you here with me.” He walked around to the opposite side of the bed. I flicked off the bedside lamp, and dim light from streetlamps spilled through the slats in his blinds. A definite tension permeated the space between us. Moving slowly, we both lifted the covers and slid beneath.
“Come here,” he whispered, reaching out for me. I moved in closer until we shared the same pillow, our bodies as close as they could be without touching. We faced each other, breathing in the same small space of air. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I searched his face, and he searched mine.
“You’re eighteen now,” he whispered.
“Yeah,” I whispered back. “Yippee.”
He snorted and scraped a hand through his damp hair. “Do you remember when you came to that record store in Atlanta last summer and you said all I had to do was say the word . . . ?”
“And I’d be yours.” I tried not to squirm with excitement. “Yes, I remember.”
“I . . .” He swallowed and I lay my hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeats quicken. “I want to . . . cripe, I sound like an idiot. What’ve you done to me?” He cleared his throat and started again, a fiery passion in his darkened eyes. “The thing is, I can’t share you. I need you to be mine. Only mine. When I think of someone else touching you—”
He broke off and made a low sound that sent shivers down my skin.
“Are you saying the word?” I blurted.
He closed his eyes and let out a breathy laugh. My heart soared.
“You want to be my boyfriend?”
He cringed. “Ugh. That bleedin’ word.”
I threw my arms around him. I couldn’t hold back the smile. I wanted to jump on his bed and sing. It was a stupid label, but there was power in those possessive words: boyfriend and girlfriend.
“So,” he said.
“So,” I repeated, still grinning.
“Let it be clear. This means no more snogging other people,” he told me.
“Or sleeping with them,” I added.
We both tensed. His jaw worked, and he nodded. “Or that, yes.”
“Unless . . .” I distanced myself enough to see his face. “When we have to work, Kaidan—”
“I’m not working anymore.” His voice was resolute, which terrified me. He wasn’t in a position to defy his father or cause the whisperers to suspect him. He’d never get away with it.
“I wouldn’t consider it cheating,” I said gently. He opened his mouth to protest and I hurried on. “I know you don’t want to work, and neither do I. I’m proud of how strong you’ve been, but if there’s ever a time when it’s necessary, I would understand.”
He looked away.
“You act as if the idea of me working doesn’t bother you.” The underlying hurt in his tone stabbed at me and I took his hand, needing him to understand. I swallowed down a lump of bile.
“I hate it, Kaidan. I can’t stand the thought of it. I want to, like, stab something when I think about that other Anna.” His eyebrows went up in alarm. “Sorry. That was psycho. All I’m saying is that working is better than the alternative. If it comes down to life or death, I need you to choose life. I know you wouldn’t do anything if you didn’t have to. I trust you.”
“You trust me,” he whispered. He threaded his fingers into the hair at my temple, an expression of fearful amazement on his face, as if my trust were a gift he’d never expected to receive and one he’d live in fear of losing.
“I don’t deserve you.” His forearm flexed and his hand left my hair as he rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling with his hands on his chest. “I’ve never deserved you.”
My insides clenched. “Kai . . . it’s not about deserving. You don’t have to try to prove yourself. I know where your heart is.”
“Of course you can easily say that because you don’t know all I’ve done or all I still want to do. My urges—”
I pressed a finger to his lips. “I wouldn’t love you any less. Right now it’s about moving forward and healing. And, to be honest, I’m ashamed of the things I’ve done this year, and the image I’ve created—like I don’t care about anything but partying—but it’s kept me alive, and I’ve tried to make amends where I can. I hate living a lie.”
“Yes,” he whispered.