Page 57 of Even Robots Die (Even Ever After #3)

Florentine

W hen we’re back outside, Brice doesn’t try to ask the questions I saw swirl in his eyes while we were down in the catacombs. Instead, he bends, circles my waist and propels us into the sky.

I barely have time to stop my scream from passing my lips when we’re already airborne and my arms are tightly wound around his neck.

My legs are dangling under me, and I have no idea what to do with them.

Or quite the opposite. I know exactly what I want to do with them—wrap them around Brice’s hips.

I feel one of his arms moving and all my mind can conjure is the fact he’s going to let me fall to my death.

Another scream slips past my lips, and my legs wrap around Brice of their own accord.

I imagined it to look sexy, but right this instant I look more like a frightened koala that doesn’t want to release its hold than anything else. I’m pretty sure Brice will have the indent of all my nails on the skin of his shoulders by the time we arrive.

I hear him chuckle against the top of my head.

“I’m glad I can elicit other reactions in your body than anger,” he says with a gravelly voice.

“You’re an ass,” I say.

He chuckles some more and even if I know what just happened was to get a reaction out of me, and that it won’t happen again, I don’t release my hold on him.

The arm that I felt loosen a few seconds ago moves under my thigh and then I feel the heat of his hand sear the underside of it, completely eradicating the chill of the wind from my body.

Brice doesn’t say anything and waits a few minutes—or maybe just a few seconds, but my mind is so clouded by the feel of his hand through the thin layer of my pants that I’m not sure I have any notion of time left in my brain—and then he releases the arm still at my waist and brings his hand to the same position as the other.

I can feel his fingers digging into my skin before his hold makes me jump in the air and I find myself looking into his eyes.

But that’s not the only thing this little jump aligned.

I can feel him.

I can feel his cock against my pussy even through the thin layer of my pants and the thick one of his cargo pants.

It’s like my brain just short-circuited, and I have to forcefully convince myself that this is not one of my wet dreams. I can’t start rubbing myself on him, even if that’s all I can think about right now.

This is reality and unlike what usually happens in my dreams, Brice has never hinted even once that he finds me attractive.

“You’re awfully silent when you’re not furious,” Brice tells me and even with the wind, I can feel it like a caress on my skin.

“Where are we going?” I ask him instead of addressing his comment.

“Wherever you want.”

I’m taken aback by his answer and I don't know how to reply. He seems to understand, so he keeps talking.

“We can either go back to Notre Dame so you can see that your family is settled in their own rooms, or …”

I half expect for the second option to be ‘to go back to Blois so I can fix him’ but with his next words, I realize this man pays much more attention to me than anyone else.

“Or we can go wherever it is you build all those weapons for the revolution. I have a feeling that’s where you think the best. But I would understand if you want to relay any piece of information you find to your sisters.”

It’s not like there is a lot to communicate for now, so I give Brice the address of the basement I’m secretly renting.

My family doesn’t even know about it. Not that I really had to hide it. They’ve never thought to ask, and I never provided any information about it.

Brice will be the first to set foot inside besides me.

I don’t really know how I feel about it.

It’s not like he’s important in my life. I had seen him a handful of times before he tricked me into working for him—yes, that’s what I’m calling it now.

So, why do I let him in on things I’ve never shared with anyone before?

You know why. He sees you, and that’s so foreign and unusual that you want to cling to the feeling.

The way I want to keep clinging to his frame, too.

He lands in the park that’s two streets down from the address I gave him and I’m grateful, because the little walk we have until we reach the stairs that lead down the basement gives me enough time to collect myself and forget the fact that I was a thread away from rubbing myself against him like a bitch in heat.

It should have given me enough time to forget the heat of his hands under my thighs, but that proves to be more difficult to erase.

It's like those handprints are now seared into my skin and I’m not sure I can ever forget them.

I go down the stairs, and Brice follows me, always on the lookout. When we landed, he made sure none of the sentinels were patrolling the area like when I got home earlier today.

God, it was only this morning.

It feels like a lifetime ago already.

I unlock the three different locks on the door and let myself in as I turn the light on.

Brice follows right after me and locks us in.

When he turns to look at my space, I wonder what he sees.

I know that anyone who isn’t me would deem this space a mess.

The room has no window and the only light comes from the old school neons on the ceiling.

It casts a glow almost too bright for most eyes, but when I tinker I need all the light I can get so I don't mess anything up.

Especially when I work with nano components.

There are piles of documents on three of the four tables that make up the space.

Two of them are against the wall on the left and are the most buried under documents.

There is no apparent order in all of this, but I can guarantee that I could find anything I want in there.

The third table is on the right when we enter and is probably the one that holds the most random things. I call it my ‘to sort’ table and really, this one is just the chaos that it looks to be.

The central table—if it can be called that—is shaped into a big ‘U’ and has a seat right in the middle. It’s my working table.

When I'm between projects, this table is the most pristine of them all. But right now it’s crowded with bits and pieces of steel, and right in the middle against the wall is my new project.

My wings.

It’s not lost on me that I spent weeks making wings in my basement before staying in Blois, and that the first time I actually flew in something other than a jet or a car was today.

The aim was to feel the wind on my skin while I flew, and I was basically a coward clinging to the man at my back as if my life depended on it the first time it happened.

I’ll blame it on the fact I wasn’t the one in control.

I just need to know that I’m the one piloting what’s making me fly. I just need to know how it’s built and that I can trust it.

I don’t trust Brice enough for that.

Brice takes a good look at my lab.

“Of course they had to be bird’s wings,” he says with both annoyance and amusement. “Are you trying to make me furious, Miss Furious?”