“It sounds like you covered your tracks,” he said, though a small frown appeared on his face. “But I would be disappointed if they sent you somewhere less stressful. That seems like it might be the worst-case scenario from everything you said.”
I started laughing, but it was the hysterical kind. “What in the world’s happened to me? I was doing crazy stuff way before Marcus broke the tattoo tonight. Meeting with rebels, chasing evil sorceresses, even buying that dress! Yelling at Stanton is just one more thing on a long list of insanity. It’s just like I said at Pies and Stuff: I don’t know who I am anymore.”
Adrian smiled and clasped my hands, taking a few steps toward me. “Well, first off,
“Sweet talker,” I scoffed. “You didn’t know anything about me the first time we met.”
“I knew you were beautiful,” he said. “I just hoped for the rest.”
He always got this glint in his eyes when he complimented my looks, like he was seeing so much more than just my actual appearance. It was disorienting and heady . . . but I didn’t mind. And that wasn’t the only thing I suddenly found overwhelming. How had he gotten so close to me without me even realizing it? It was like he had secret stealth abilities. His hands were warm on mine, our fingers locked together. I still had remnants of that earlier joy within me, and being connected to him amplified those feelings. The green of his eyes was as lovely as usual, and I wondered if mine had the same effect on him. There was a little amber mixed with the brown that he had once said looked like gold.
“Speaking of that dress,” he added, “I still haven’t seen it.”
I laughed softly. “You couldn’t handle it.”
He raised an eyebrow at that. “Is that a challenge, Sage? I can handle a lot.”
“Not if our history is any indication. Each time I wear some moderately attractive dress, you lose it.”
“That’s not exactly true,” he said. “I lose it no matter what you’re wearing. And that red dress was not ‘moderately attractive.’ It was like a piece of heaven here on earth. A red, silky piece of heaven.”
I should’ve rolled my eyes. I should’ve told him I wasn’t here for his personal entertainment. But there was something in the way he was looking at me and something in the way I felt tonight that made me want to see his reaction. Breaking the tattoo hadn’t affected anything between us, but it—and the deeds I’d done this weekend— had left me feeling bold. For the first time, I wanted to take a risk with him, despite my usual set of logical arguments. Besides, there was nothing dangerous in letting him look.
I manipulated the dream the way he’d taught me. A few moments later, the lacy minidress replaced my jeans and blouse. I even summoned the heels, which bumped my height up. I was still nowhere near as tall as him, but the small boost brought our faces closer together.
His eyes widened. Still holding my hands, he took a step back so that he could take in the whole look. There was almost something tangible to the way his gaze swept my body. I could practically feel every place it touched. By the time his eyes reached mine again, my breathing was heavy, and I was acutely aware that there really wasn’t that much clothing between the two of us. Maybe there was something dangerous in letting him look after all.
“A piece of heaven?” I managed to ask.
He slowly shook his head. “No. The other place. The one I’m going to burn in for thinking what I’m thinking.”
He’d moved toward me again. His hands released mine and moved to my waist, and I noticed I wasn’t the only one breathing heavily. He pulled me to him, bringing our bodies together. The world was all heat and electricity, thick with tension that was only one spark away from exploding around us. I was balancing on another precipice, which wasn’t easy to do in heels.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, and this time I was the one who drew him closer. “Damn,” he murmured.
“What?” I asked, never taking my eyes off his.
He ran his hands over my hips. “I’m not supposed to kiss you.”
“It’s okay.”
“What is?”
“It’s okay if I kiss you.”
Adrian Ivashkov wasn’t easy to surprise, but I surprised him then when I brought his mouth toward mine. I kissed him, and for a moment, he was too stunned to respond. That lasted for, oh, about a second. Then the intensity I’d come to know so well in him returned. He pushed me backward, lifting me so that I sat on the table. The tablecloth bunched up, knocking over some of the glasses. I heard what sounded like a china plate crash against the floor.
Whatever logic and reason I normally possessed had melted away. There was nothing but flesh and fire left, and I wasn’t going to lie to myself—at least not tonight. I wanted him. I arched my back, fully aware of how vulnerable that made me and that I was giving him an invitation. He accepted it and laid me back against the table, bringing his body down on top of mine. That crushing kiss of his moved from my mouth to the nape of my neck. He pushed down the edge of my dress and the bra strap underneath, exposing my shoulder and giving his lips more skin to conquer. A glass rolled off and smashed, soon followed by another. Adrian broke off his kissing, and I opened my eyes. He had an exasperated look on his face.
“A table,” he said. “A goddamned table.”
A few moments later, the table was gone. I was in his apartment, on his bed, and was glad that I no longer had silverware underneath me. With the venue change complete, his lips found mine again. The urgency in the way I responded surprised even me. I never would’ve thought myself capable of a feeling so primal, so removed from the reason that usually governed my actions. My nails dug into his back, and he trailed his lips down the edge of my chin, down the center of my neck. He kept going until he reached the bottom of the dress’s V-neck. I let out a small gasp, and he kissed all around the neckline, just enough to tease.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “The dress stays on.”
“Oh? Is that your decision to make?”
“Yes,” he said. “You’re not losing your virginity in a dream. If that’s even possible. I don’t want to deal with the philosophical side of it. And besides, there’s no need to rush anyway. Sometimes it’s worth lingering on the journey for a while before getting to the destination.”
Metaphors. This was the cost of making out with an artist.
I nearly said as much. Then his hand slid up my bare leg, and I was lost again. Maybe the dress was staying on, but he didn’t mind taking liberties with it. That hand slipped under my dress, running along the side of my leg and up to my hip. I burned where he touched me, and everything within me became focused on that hand. It was moving far too slowly, and I grabbed it, ready to urge it on.
Adrian chuckled and caught hold of my wrist, pulling my hand away and pinning it down against the covers. “Never thought I’d be the one slowing you down.”
I opened my eyes and met his. “I’m a quick study.”
All that burning and animal need within me must have shone through because he caught his breath and lost the smile. He released my wrist and cupped my face in his hands, bringing his face down only a whisper away from mine. “Good God, Sydney. You are—” The passion in his eyes turned to surprise, and he suddenly looked up.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, wondering if this was some weird part of “the journey.”
He grimaced and began to fade away before my eyes. “You’re being woken up.”
CHAPTER 22
I OPENED MY EYES, groggy from the sudden shock of being pulled out of the dream. My body felt sluggish, and I squinted against the light. The lamp I’d left on last night was joined by sunlight streaming in through the
