WANTS SHIFTED IN her faster than Jo could think, or even breathe.

She wanted him. She had him.

She wanted his lips. She had them.

She wanted his skin under her hands—well, that was still a work in progress.

From one moment to the next, she simultaneously wanted everything now and wanted to wait for it in blissful agony just as she had waited for this singular moment for what now felt like a millennium.

Her eyes slitted open, revealing a brief glimpse of his face. Long lashes covered the curve of his cheek, taking up most of her vision. In her periphery she could see his mouth moving to meet hers in a new and entirely delightful way.

His fingers buried themselves in her hair, pulling with need but tempered with a gentleness that she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted. Again, shifting wants. She was somewhere between “perfectly sated” with mere kisses and “rip off my panties.” Snow seemed to make the decision for her when he pulled away.

Snow’s usually red lips had deepened in color to bright cherry, his usually ghostly cheeks flushed with color. Jo was certain she looked much the same. For several long moments, they just breathed, and stared.

Without warning he practically dove for her. His hands on her hips, pulling them to him. Jo felt his entire length from toe to chest and she swelled with a startled breath to close any remaining gaps.

Jo wasn’t exactly sure when they’d made it onto the bed, but she knew now that it was possibly the most comfortable thing in the known or unknown universe. A veritable eternity of hours slept on it had worn it in a way that was simply perfect—not lumpy or awkwardly dipping, but the sort of cloud you sunk into to find support below.

Then again, the bed could’ve been a piece of plywood, all splinters and rough edges, and Jo still would’ve found it comfortable due entirely to the man who stared down at her—hands on either side of her head, one knee between her thighs digging pleasantly into their apex with every shift.

She trailed her fingers over his face, trying to commit every curve to memory.

“You’re not going to kick me out now, are you?” Jo was glad her whisper still had strength to it, even if her knees didn’t. Good thing she was lying down.

“I think we’re past that.”

“Glad you can finally see sense.”

“As if that were ever a question?” He arched an eyebrow.

“You had me wondering.”

The words broke the spell they’d fallen under, but they did not erase its effects. Snow eased away, shifting onto his back at her side. They were still flush against each other and he did not object when she shifted to place one of his arms behind her head.

For several long moments, neither said anything further, the daze of the kiss seeping into them like oil to a wick that would burn for hours to come.

“I want you to know that since the Society’s founding I haven’t—”

“I know.” Jo cut him off. She didn’t need to hear him say that he didn’t usually take people to bed. He was very obviously not the type, so her question trended in the opposite direction. “Why now? Why me?”

She felt the pillow that was his arm shift as he turned his head, so Jo turned hers as well, studying his face.

“That’s a difficult question.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He chuckled. “Why you?” he repeated, more thoughtful. Jo hung on his words, her chest tightening oddly in suspense. “I’ve been alive. . . for more years than it’s possible to count—especially with shifting time and jumping realities. In all that time, I was waiting, searching. So when I found what it was I’d been waiting for, there was—is—no question.”

The idea was almost profound, and gave her pause. Was she the same? She’d never felt so instantly head-over-heels with anyone else. Even if she wouldn’t dare call it love so quickly (lust did not equal love), there was a connection there—how did Nico phrase it? A foundation, unlike one she’d ever known. He was an enigma that felt like everything she’d ever wanted.

“You flatter me.” She half shrugged and looked back at the mural on the ceiling to take off some of the pressure of being the sole focus. Stars dotted a canvas of swirling blues with ethereal god-like figures dancing among them. Jo tilted her head, slightly; it was almost as if she could remember a story that these very images depicted. Like a vague childhood tale. . .

Snow said nothing else, and Jo was inclined to leave it be. It didn’t matter why he wanted her. It just mattered that he did.

“I don’t want this to change anything.” Damn Wayne for getting in her head now of all times. It was Snow’s turn to look at her first. Jo took her eyes off the ceiling and its hidden story to give him a long, hard stare. “With the team, with wishes. I don’t want this—whatever happens, whatever comes of it—to affect anyone but us.”

Clarity dawned on him and Snow gave a small hum that she took to be affirmation. “It is only about us.”

“Good.” A smile stretched between her cheeks. She could have her cake and eat it too. Things dared to look like they were improving for her.

“But to that end. . . you should likely return to them.”

She’d just said she didn’t want things to change, and her whole heart screamed in protest of leaving his bed. Still, once work was planted in her mind, it was hard to fall back into the bliss she’d lost herself in earlier.

“The wish, it’s looking positive.” There. Now she’d fulfilled what she said she’d come there for. So it wouldn’t be a lie if Eslar asked later.

Snow sat, his expression distant. Jo followed suit, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed. It was weird to talk about work when they were lying side by side.

“Is it?” he asked softly.

“I think the evacuation will be successful, after all.” Jo grabbed his hand. His head turned to her and Snow listened intently as she filled him in on the steps that Wayne and Takako had taken to see the evacuation substantiated. “We’ll reduce the Severity of Exchange, I know it.”

Pain.

That was a weird thing to flash through Snow’s eyes and it struck Jo right in the gut, leaving her dazed and breathless.

“You don’t think we can?” she dared to ask.

“I hope we can. For all of us.” Snow squeezed her hand tightly.

“What happens if we don’t?” The infamous question—one Jo couldn’t seem to get an answer to no matter how hard she tried—returned to her. It didn’t matter who she asked, or when, or how. Every time, it was dodged or passed off as a great unknown. And this time was no different. Jo was no fool; there was no way Snow out of all of them didn’t know what would happen.

“It won’t be good.” There was a deathly weight, as cold as the grave, to his voice.

“What happens?” Jo repeated, insisted, pushed.

“Jo—” More pain on his face. “—please, trust me, some things are better left unexplained. But know that I want nothing more than to defend this team—to defend you. It’s all I’ve ever worked for.”

It wasn’t an answer. But it was the truth, that much she could tell. Still, Jo sighed heavily at being put off again. Snow’s hand rose to her cheek, cupping it thoughtfully.

“Pray you don’t find out.”

“That’s easy for you to say when you have all the answers.” Even frustrated and in the dark, she still leaned into his touch. It was sturdy and comforting; it was a lifeline to the truth she so desperately needed.

“Nothing is easy for me.”

“Then let me help you.”

“Careful,” Snow whispered, “or I just may.”

Despite herself, a smile cracked through the confusion and disappointment of being thwarted yet again. No matter what Snow said, she’d find out the truth eventually. She could be patient for now, especially if she had his touches to tide her over.

“You’re right, I should go back to the group,” she said, rephrasing his earlier sentiment. Jo eased herself out of the plush bed and stood, her mind gradually returning to the wish.

“You should.” Snow made no motion from the bed, and Jo could not ignore the way his eyes lingered on her body from heel to head.

“Should I also. . .” She wasn’t trying to be seductive, which made her feel all the better about herself when pure sex oozed into her voice, spilling over the well of want he’d tapped into with his kisses. “Come back later?” Jo leaned over, both hands on the bedspread, halfway to the man who regarded her somewhere between art and a feast for famine.

“I should say you shouldn’t.”

“But you won’t.” Jo loved the way his eyes were glued to her lips as she spoke.

“But I won’t,” he repeated, enthralled by a hypnotic spell she didn’t know she’d cast.

“Later, then.”

He sealed the vow with a kiss.

The world was under her feet as Jo all but sauntered back to the Four-Way. The wish was going well, she was settling into the Society, and she’d finally cracked the tension with Snow in the best of ways. Jo was already looking forward to the next stretch of time between wishes. With nothing else to do. . . she wondered how much time she could spend in his room before someone noticed.

Jo was so preoccupied with the lingering blissful dizziness, the pleasant heat that had bubbled from her stomach and into her head, that it took until she had a mug in hand and coffee pot tipped for her to notice the tone of the room.

Everyone was gathered, huddled on the couches, glued to the television. Jo stared at the news and felt her own jaw go slack right before hot coffee overflowed onto her fingers and her mug shattered against the tile floor.