Page 101 of Nothing More

Something went wrong, she thought, but didn’t have to say.

Appetite thus cooled, she set her spoon down, and joined him in gazing at the terrace. It was dark, now, night gripping hard and black to the skyline, beaten back in soft yellow cones by the strategic landscape lighting that spilled across the flags. It was windy, the hiss and rush of it pressing at the glass, tossing the frail branches of the potted fruit trees.

Ian’s whispered words from earlier returned to her now, and before she could think better of it, she said, “There’s a hidden staircase out there.”

She heard the rustle of his hair as his head turned; felt the weight of his gaze. He didn’t ask for details, but she knew he wanted them.

She nodded toward the doors. “Past the jacuzzi, he said. A trapdoor, and a staircase that connects to the fire escape on the floor below. Presumably, it goes all the way down to the street.”

She didn’t sayclimb up whenever you want. I’ll put my hair down like Rapunzel and you can sweep me off my feet like a prince.

His chair scraped back, and she glanced over, finally, startled to see him getting to his feet. When he stepped around the table, and headed for the doors, Raven got up and followed.

The door was locked, the key still in the hole, and he turned it and went out. Again, Raven followed, and let out an involuntary hiss when the cold wind slapped her in the face.

Toly paused, and glanced back over his shoulder, an admonishment plain in the quirk of his brows, but he didn’t tell her to stay, and continued on across the flags.

Raven folded her arms tight, tucked her hands into her sweater sleeves, and stayed right behind him.

A narrow set of stairs led up to a path that bordered the jacuzzi, its thick cover down to keep it clean. An idle thought of hot, bubbling water, and slippery skin sliding against hers passed through her mind, quickly abandoned as Toly pushed between two shrubs, dropped down off the ledge, and knelt to rummage around in the pine straw.

“Here,” he said, after a moment’s searching, and then he heaved up a three-by-three trapdoor, its hinges silent, ambient city light beaming up gently toward them. Just as Ian had said, there was a staircase, and a bit of metal grating at the bottom of it.

“Seems a bit of a security risk at the moment, doesn’t it?” she asked, hunching her shoulders tighter as the wind cut through her clothes. Goosebumps had broken out all across her body, and her ears ached, even after so short a time.

“There’s a lock,” he said over his shoulder. “You’d need the key, though.”

The door thumped back down with a swirl of pine straw and dead leaves. Toly stood, and climbed back up onto the path with her, dusting his hands off. He was in a thin long-sleeve shirt, but unlike her, wasn’t shivering or rubbing his arms and curling in on himself in misery.

“Honestly,” she said, as he turned to her. “Mustyou be a cliché?”

The landscape lights offered a warm enough glow to see the way his brows lifted in silent question.

“You’re not even shivering,” she accused.

He blinked, and then, slowly, delightfully, a smile broke across his face, and though it was a bare scrap of a thing, crooked, only a hint of teeth showing, it transformed his face in a way that no amount of Tenny’s careful makeup application could.

“What?” he asked, and she realized she was smiling back.

The lovely lines of his face, the set of his shoulders, the way he stood tall, too used to Moscow to be bothered by the cold, compelled her to honesty. “You shouldn’t wear makeup. Ever. Not even the eyeliner at the office.”

His expression froze a moment, a flicker of surprise. And then his grin deepened, a sinister upward tick at the corners; his chin dipped a fraction, and his eyes looked black in the dimness. Pleased. Full of intent.

She shivered, from a fresh wave of boldness rather than the cold. “And, though a long climb up a fire escape through a locked trapdoor in the shrubbery is lovely…I’m going to tell Ian to make sure you have your own keycard. You ought to come up the civilized way, as if you’ve been invited.”

“AmI invited?”

“Yes. It’s a standing invitation.”

In the wavering shadows of the potted trees, wind buffeting her hair across her eyes, she didn’t see him move. He was right in front of her, suddenly, hands warm on her upper arms – and then on her face, as he pushed her hair back along her crown, and held it gathered at her nape, tipping her head back. She went without resistance, throat bared to him, pulse leaping eagerly at the base of it. His breath fanned across her face, warm and close enough to beat back the cold, and she caught a glimpse of the wild gleam in his eyes just before he kissed her.

It was fierce and intimate straight away. Push and flex of his tongue, scrape of her teeth over his lip. He angled his head and went in deeper, and Raven released her own arms in favor of feeling up his chest, seeking out the heat of him through his too-thin shirt. Her heart was knocking wildly, and she felt the leap of his beneath muscle and bone, a great surge like an animal pouncing.

She opened her mouth to him, eager to be devoured.

He pulled back finally – both their breathing ragged and uneven – and skimmed his lips along her cheek. Raven was beyond caring about the little whimper that escaped her lips. She wanted him, who cared?

He said, “You’re freezing.”