Filed to story: Kissed by Claw and Fang
“Your what? Your job?” I ask, my stomach clenching at the thought. “Did my uncle ask you to be nice to me or something?”
He laughs, but there’s still no amusement in the sound. No joy. Just a soul-deep cynicism that has my eyes watering all over again but for very different reasons. “I’m the last person Stone would ever ask to be friends with you.”
If I were more polite and less concerned about him, I’d be inclined to drop the subject entirely. But politeness has never been one of my virtues-I’ve got too much curiosity for that-so instead, I call him on his shit. “And why is that exactly?”
“It means I’m not a nice person. I don’t do nice things. Ever. So it’s ridiculous to compliment me on your perception of what I do.”
“Really?” I shoot him a skeptical look. “Because I hate to be the one to break it to you, but cheering up a sad girl is a nice thing to do. So is carrying her back to her dorm when she hurts her ankle and chasing off guys who think pranks that can kill people are funny. So is charming the cook into making an injured girl waffles. All nice things, Zane.”
For the first time, he looks uncomfortable, but he still won’t back down. “I didn’t do it for you.”
“Oh yeah? Then who did you do it for?”
He doesn’t have an answer. Of course he doesn’t.
“That’s what I thought.” I grin up at him, all cocky and obnoxious because, on this, I can be. “Looks to me like you’re just going to have to accept the fact that you did something sweet. You won’t burn at the stake, I promise.”
“They only burn witches.”
He sounds so serious that I can’t stop myself from laughing. “Well, I’m pretty sure we’re safe, then.”
“Don’t be too sure about that.”
I start to ask him what he means, but a violent shiver racks me at the same time-blanket or no blanket, it’s freaking cold out here-and Zane takes the decision into his own hands. “Come on. Time to get you inside.”
Hard to argue when my teeth are about a minute away from chattering. But when I glance up at the window we came out of, I can’t help wondering, “How exactly are we going to get back in? And by we, I mean me.” Dropping three feet out of a window is one thing. Boosting myself back up is another thing entirely.
But Zane just shakes his head. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you, Ivy.”
Before I can figure out why those words sizzle through me like a lightning bolt, he’s grabbing onto the windowsill and swinging himself inside. The whole move takes about one point four seconds, and I have to admit, I’m impressed. Then again, nearly everything Zane does impresses me, whether he means it to or not.
He impresses me.
More, he makes me feel not so alone at a time when I’ve never been lonelier.
He’s back in moments, poking his head and upper body out of the window. “Give me your hands.”
I lift my arms up without a second thought, and he grabs onto my forearms, right below the elbow, and pulls. Seconds later, I’m back through the window and standing an inch, maybe two, from Zane.
And for once, his eyes aren’t dead. They’re on fire.
And they’re focused directly. On. Me.
All’s Fair in Love and
Earthquakes
I stare back at him, not sure what to expect…or what to do. There’s a part of me that thinks he’s going to back up and a part of me that really hopes he doesn’t. A part of me that wonders what it would feel like to kiss him and a part of me that thinks I should run for the hills, because Zane might not be an alien, but he’s not like any boy I’ve ever met, either. And I am more than honest enough to admit that, much as I may want him, there’s no way I can actually handle him.
In the end, he doesn’t kiss me. But he doesn’t back up, either. And neither do I. So we stand there for I don’t know how long, him looking down, me looking up, the air between us loaded, heavy, electric.
I’m in it now, captivated by everything Zane is and everything he isn’t, despite my misgivings. I wait for him to make a move, but he doesn’t. He just keeps looking at me with those midnight eyes of his, emotion he rarely shows seething right below the surface. It makes me ache for him. Makes me physically hurt as I remember the question he asked earlier, the one that started all this.
I finally have the words-or in this case, the word-to answer him. “Overwhelming,” I say just as he starts to slide the blanket from my shoulders.
He freezes, the blanket, and his hands, hovering somewhere around the middle of my back. “What are you talking about?”
“You asked me what it was like to just let go and purge my emotions the way I did. It feels overwhelming sometimes, even a little terrifying. But what you just did for me…made me feel safe in a way I haven’t in quite a while. So thank you. Seriously.”
“Ivy…”
I take one step closer, until my breasts are just brushing against his chest. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’ve never made a move on a guy in my life, and Zane isn’t just any guy. I’m flying blind, but that doesn’t matter now. Nothing does except touching him somehow.
I want him to feel the strength of my arms around him, the softness of my body against his. And I want to feel the warm power of him against my own.
Except he’s not warm at all, that hoodie of his obviously no defense against the weather, despite what he said.
“Zane, you’re freezing!” I pull the blanket from his hands and throw it around his shoulders before wrapping it all the way around him. Then I rub my hands up and down his blanket-covered arms, trying to chafe some warmth back into him.
“I’m fine,” he says, trying to back away.
“You’re obviously not fine. I’ve never felt anyone as cold as you are right now.”
“I’m fine,” he insists again, and this time he does take a step back. Several steps, in fact.
Everything inside me stops. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to invade your personal space…” I break off, because I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know what I’ve done that is so wrong.
“Ivy…” His voice trails off, too. And in that moment, he looks different than all the other times. He isn’t confident, isn’t amused, isn’t even stoically silent as he was when I was yelling at him in the art studio.
No, right now he just looks…vulnerable.
There’s a desire in his eyes, a craving that has nothing to do with wanting me and everything to do with needing me. Needing my comfort. Needing my touch.