I want him to know me, too.
“I’ve only had one other boyfriend,” I say, picturing Marcus the way I always do now, grinning like a fool, pointing to a road sign that says Baltimore. “Technically. I did kiss Steve Jamison in the seventh grade, but only to get him to stop throwing paper airplanes at me in woodshop.”
He doesn’t look back at me, but the lines of his neck move, like he’s working to swallow.
I imagine him as a kid, building Legos and skateboarding. Blushing when a girl takes the desk across the room. I know the real him, and he knows the real me, and maybe that—remembering we’re more than Dr. O’s assignments—is more important than the work we do.
“I can’t believe Grayson’s here,” I say.
Caleb nods.
“I think about him all the time,” I go on, and even though Caleb stiffens, I don’t stop. “I have dreams that he’s dead and it’s my fault.”
After a long beat, he says, “I have dreams like that about Camille.”
His mark, the mayor’s daughter. She sent the Wolves of Hellsgate motorcycle club after Caleb when she learned that he was behind her mother’s fall from political grace, but he doesn’t mention that, just like I don’t mention Grayson’s part in Susan’s death.
The guilt doesn’t make sense. Maybe we’re just messed up.
“Dr. O wants me to work him while he’s here. He seems to think Grayson likes me.”
Caleb’s hands clasp together, squeezing tightly. His head hangs forward.
“It’s a job,” I tell him. “That’s all.”
But it was more than that when I held Grayson’s hand earlier. That was real, too, as much as I tell myself it was part of the con.
I huddle tighter into the blanket.
“That sounds familiar,” he says.
My teeth clench together. “I’m not Margot.”
His ex-girlfriend got close with her mark, too, only she forgot that it was pretend, and when it came time to choose, she picked him, not Caleb.
“I know,” he says, though a muscle tics in his neck. He doesn’t need to say it out loud; I’ve been through enough with him to know when he’s worried.
He looks at our hands when I intertwine my fingers with his. The air is cold outside the blanket, so I pull his arm underneath, resting his wrist on my thigh.
“What if there was no question mark after four?” I say.
Slowly, his thumb arcs around the heel of my hand, sending warm tingles up my arm.
“Dr. O won’t be happy.”
Apparently the director told Caleb to back off on our relationship, too.
“He doesn’t have to know. And neither does Grayson. Anyway, we only have to hide it until he’s gone.”
I’m afraid Caleb will say no. That he doesn’t want to be hidden, and I don’t blame him—I don’t, either. But he squeezes my hand.
“We’ll have to be careful,” he says.
A giddy relief floods through me. “I can do careful.”
I know what’s at stake. If I alienate Grayson and he runs, or refuses to testify against his father like he said Dr. O mentioned, Caleb and I are both in trouble. If I don’t convince Grayson he’s safe here, that he can trust me, he’ll be out on his own, facing the wrath of a man Dr. O believes killed an intern.
We all have to play this safe.
“Of course,” I say, sliding my knee over Caleb’s. Beneath, I can feel the muscles of his thigh tense in response. “If you blow me off at the Winter Ball, we’re done.”
“Noted.”
His hands find my waist, and mine, his chest. I unzip his coat until there’s enough room to slide my fingers beneath, over the waffled fabric of his thermal shirt.
His eyes, lit only by my upturned cell light, grow dark. It stirs a wanting deep in my belly.
“So if you’re my secret girlfriend,” he says, the word tingling over my skin, “I think that means you get to kiss me as much as you want.”
His fingers fan over my back, easing me closer.
“Lucky me.”
He cranes his head from left to right, then he smiles, and I smile, and I know without a doubt he’s the best secret I’ve ever kept.
It doesn’t matter if I’ve done this before. There’s a burst of nerves beneath my breastbone just before we touch, a flare of heat that streaks out to my fingertips. I lean in and he meets me, his lips cool and feather soft as they brush from side to side. Tilting my head the slightest bit, I press closer, my eyes drifting closed as I revel in the firm feel of his lower lip between mine.
I deepen the kiss, gasping at the warmth of his mouth and the cold of his nose and cheeks. His hands fist in the back of my shirt and drive me closer still, sensation rioting through me at the feel of his tongue and his teeth. My muscles feel like pulled taffy, stretching and reforming and drawing even tighter, until both my legs are over his and I’m sitting on his lap, locked in the circle of his arms.
Pulling back just a little, I press my lips to the corner of his mouth, and his jaw, and just beneath his ear. He tenses, and his breaths grow uneven.
I feel like flying.
He can turn me upside down with the whisper of his fingertips on my back, but I can do the same to him. There’s power in that, and safety in knowing I’m free to try. To experiment. That there’s no judgment or doing this wrong.
I find the zipper of his coat and pull it down, pushing open the sides so I can spread my hands over the flat plains of his stomach. The blanket has fallen, pooling around our waists, and I slide deeper into his coat, seeking warmth, seeking him. He drags me into another searing kiss, and my fingers curl around the bottom of the back of his shirt, skimming over the smooth skin above the waistband of his jeans.
He breaks away with a jerk.
“Cold!” he howls. “Cold, cold, cold, cold!”
I erupt in giggles and take the only logical course of action, which is to spread my freezing hands over his bare stomach.
He looks at me with shock, then digs his fingers into my ribs. It tickles so much I nearly shriek. Then we’re wrestling, tickling each other, burying our laughter in each other’s necks.
“Shh,” he says. “Shh!” But I squeeze above his knees and in his writhing he nearly knocks us both off the ledge.
From below comes the click and suction of the front door opening, and we freeze, hands over each other’s mouths, still fighting the laughter that’s making us both quake. When we’ve gotten ahold of ourselves, he looks over the side of the roof and backsteps quickly, one finger over his lips to keep me quiet.
“Moore,” he whispers.
With a smile, he motions back toward the attic window, and though I don’t want to go, he’s right. We’ve been away awhile, and we can’t chance getting caught together after curfew, especially with Grayson here.
Bending low, I retrieve the cards that have slipped out of my pocket off the ground, and he settles the blanket around my shoulders. I follow him to the attic window, and he holds the glass panel up so I can slip through.
Inside, I align the cards to put back in my pocket, but the top one is staring up at me.
I have a new assignment.
My stomach plummets. “I do, too,” I say, as he squints to read the letters in the dark. To hell with Dr. O’s orders. Caleb gave me his trust, and he’s got mine in return. “I’m working at a club where Sterling’s campaign staff hangs out.”