Page 58 of Glass

His mouth firms. “I should have known better. I should have come for you. There’s no excuse.”

My heart swoops inside my chest. I cup his cheek, my finger tracing the dark stubble creeping over his skin. Drinking him in, his violet eyes liquid and lazy as he does the same to me.

“We’re here now,” I whisper. “Don’t waste any more time torturing yourself, Kit.”

He doesn’t answer. But he distracts me with his lips, enough that my mouth feels swollen and rumpled when we sneak out of the room an hour later, his hand wrapped tightly around mine.

“This could be fun,” I breathe, when he presses me into my bedroom door and glances over his shoulder. “Sneaking around.”

When I wiggle my eyebrows, he groans. “Don’t tempt me. I don’t agree with this plan.”

But it’s my choice, and he’s letting me make it. He tips up my chin, and I let my hands wander up his bare chest, my nail scraping over his nipple until he hisses and pulls himself away.

“Anastasia.” His voice turns heated. “Don’t make me push that door open.”

Swallowing, I drop my hand. Maybe I’m not ready for that quite yet.

He presses a final, sweet kiss to my forehead.

“I have missed you every day,” he murmurs, stepping back. He rubs a hand over his face. “Get inside, unless you want somebody to see us. Rafe has been getting up early to head into the city.”

He doesn’t sound disappointed at the thought. My eyes roll, but I give him a little wave and duck inside, pressing the doorclosed behind me. My forehead thumps into the wood, even as I brush my fingers across my mouth.

I want more of him. Want to spend hours exploring his skin, learning every part of him. My entire body flushes a deep red.

“Get to work, Anastasia,” I mutter.

Turning with a sigh, I’m heading over to the drawers when I catch sight of the bucket in the corner. I’ve been keeping it close, waiting for the right moment. And then I pause.

Replaying Kit’s words in my head.

Rafe has been getting up early to head into the city.

Slowly, the smile spreads across my face.

Payback’s gonna be abitch,Rafael Tate.

I don’t waste any time. I fly down the steps to the kitchen, praying Ellen isn’t already awake and letting out a breath of relief when I see it empty.

I know exactly what I’m looking for.

A dozen eggs, hastily cracked, go in first. Then the flour. I send a mental apology to Ellen as I grab the big bag she uses to bake with, tipping slowly until a huge clump falls out and I’m enveloped in a white cloud of dust.

Coughing, I grab the spoon and stir until it’s a clunky, lumpy mess.

I just need one more thing.

When I’m done, I can’t help whistling as I carry my precious cargo up the stairs and into the hall. I’m going to spend the whole damn day cleaning up this mess, and it’ll be worth every second for the look on his face.

I fly up the stepladder, carefully balancing the bucket over the door. If I get this wrong, it’ll just hit the floor. I close one eye and try to measure as best I can, until I hear the thick tread of shoes above my head.

Close enough. I hope.

Sliding down, I push the ladder out of the way and step back, crossing my arms.

I want a front fucking pageticketto this show.

I want Rafe to know it was me, to see the satisfaction on my face as he gets a little taste of his own medicine.