Page 33 of The Idol

I nodded once, trying to seem composed. I don’t think it worked. My pulse was already loud in my ears.

“Does anyone ever touch you?”

My entire body jolted.

Heat shot straight up my neck, blooming all the way to the tips of my ears. My stomach dropped; my mind flashed instantly—wildly—back to his teasing, to the way he’d spoken about bodies and mouths and hands like it was nothing.

Touch me?

Did he mean—

Here?

Now?

I choked on air.

“I-I don’t—no, I mean—why would—?” My voice cracked embarrassingly, and I clamped my mouth shut, staring at him in wide-eyed horror.

Jace blinked, then a slow grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Oh,” he said softly, amusement threading through his voice. “Not like that.”

I wanted the chapel floor to open and take me whole.

He laughed under his breath—not mocking, not mean, just amused and startled, like he genuinely hadn’t expected me to gothere. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes still crinkled.

“I mean,” he clarified, “do people here ever touch your hand? Or your feet? Like… for a blessing or something. You’re always barefoot up there. I just wondered if that’s part of it.”

My heart was still hammering wildly, but I managed to shake my head. “They’re not supposed to,” I whispered.

“Not supposed to,” he repeated, like he was testing the words in his mouth. His gaze dropped, slowly, to where my feet rested against the stone. Probably too pale. Cold from the draft. Completely exposed.

He shifted closer.

I felt the shift more than I saw it—the air tightening, the faint heat of him brushing the edge of my space. My breath caught.

“Elior,” he murmured.

The way he said my name felt like a hand on my ribs, keeping me frozen in place. His fingers came forward, hovering just above my ankle. He didn’t touch me. Not yet. He waited, giving me a chance to flinch or refuse or stop him.

I didn’t move.

I couldn’t have moved if I’d tried.

Very slowly—painfully slowly—he set his fingertips against my skin.

A shiver tore through me so sharp I nearly gasped. My toes curled. My back straightened. My lungs tightened.

Jace exhaled like he’d been holding his own breath.

His fingers were gentle pinpricks of heat against my skin.

“See?” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Not that kind of touch.”

It felt exactly likethatkind of touch. Or, well, at least what Ithoughtthat kind of touch would be like.

My chest felt too tight, full of something vast and terrifying and unbelievably soft. My vision blurred at the edges. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I wanted to reach for him, but didn’t dare.

“Jace…” I whispered.