Chapter Twenty-Six
WHEN I WOKE again, it was still dark in the room. There was a kind of stillness in the air that told me it would be dark outside too, night time again. But I was fully awake, having slept all day.
And so was Philip. It was too dark to see more than his profile, but I felt his alertness like a tactile force.
The memories from last night beat heavy in the air. I didn’t know what to say. You shouldn’t have come inside me without permission seemed too tame. And he already knew that. You’re a horrible person and I’m never speaking to you again seemed a little dramatic considering I’d let him come in me several more times last night. He had washed me with a warm cloth by the end of it, but I still felt his come like a tickle against my folds. That was how full he had made me, that it was still there, still leaking out of me.
“Good morning,” he said.
The dry note in his voice made me smile. So we were going with avoidance. At least for now. “It’s nighttime. Are you a vampire then?”
“If so, I’ve made you one too.”
“Please, I was cramming for tests before this.” Of course I’d never stayed up quite that late or slept all day long. Still, it was nice to lie in Philip’s arms, speaking casually, without the dread of death and kidnapping. It was nice to pretend to be normal.
Normal wouldn’t be Philip, though. Normal would have been taking my sociology exam today. Had anyone noticed I’d been gone? Sloan would have. Being with him would have been normal. But I’d never felt the intensity between us the way it was with Philip, never felt an undeniable connection. I had never been held still while he pumped his come inside me. Take me.
I pushed the thought away and stroked Philip’s chest, feeling his muscles tighten and ripple beneath my fingertips. “I saw the little machines. In your library.”
He tensed up before releasing. “What about them?”
“You made them.” Not a question, but somehow I knew he would deny it.
He didn’t disappoint. “Just some random shit to fill the shelves. I figured it was better than a globe from 1873.”
That made me smile. Philip with his guard down was actually a lot of fun. “And a pipe?”
He huffed a laugh. “I do enjoy the occasional import.”
Of course he did. But I wasn’t going to let him get away that easy. “They were…” Thoughtful. And strangely touching. “Interesting.”
“Interesting,” he repeated drily. “Is that what you’d tell a five-year-old with finger paint?”
“Definitely not. That would be a work of art. The machines aren’t art.” I paused, considering them. They were too utilitarian to be art, all crude wire without any polish. But they were also fanciful. They didn’t serve a purpose, except they clearly meant something to him. “I think they show a part of you that would have been, if you hadn’t…”
“If I hadn’t been a criminal,” he said softly.
I bit my lip and studied the rough skin of his chest. A little farther down, his cut had healed a little, skin held together by invisible threads. My finger traced the healthy skin around it, and his muscles rippled underneath. “Does this hurt?”
“It was a shallow wound. Looks worse than it is.”
Which meant that yes, it still hurt. I had a feeling he could be close to death and still say it looked worse than it was. In fact, he may have been close to death that night. “I didn’t know if I should call 911.”
“You did the right thing. There are too many people who would take advantage of me being sedated. I wouldn’t have made it to the next morning.”
What an awful way to live, distrusting the entire world. “Why did you trust me? I might have taken advantage.”
“You can take advantage of me anytime.”
I smiled but didn’t laugh. A sense of melancholy overtook me. An image had formed in my mind of a man—still large and strong, still confident, but instead of a criminal he was some kind of engineer. And instead of fighting the world, he reveled in it.
He caught my chin and lifted. My gaze met his.
“I’m not a criminal because circumstances forced me,” he said softly, his eyes searching mine—for what? For me to excuse him? Or for me to condemn him? “Maybe at the beginning, but there came a time when I had enough money and enough power to do whatever the hell I wanted. I could have walked away. I chose this life instead.”
He didn’t want me to pity him. I could understand that, because I didn’t want him to pity me. “Do you ever regret it?”
“No,” he said, no reserve in his voice. “There are always people trying to back you into a corner. I own every fucking corner. How can I regret that?”
“And who do you back into a corner?”
“You have to ask, kitten?” He leaned forward and pressed a slow kiss against my lips. “You.”
A shiver ran down my spine, like someone walking over my grave. “About last night…”
“Adrian can get you a pill,” he said gruffly.
“Oh…oh.” I hadn’t even thought of it, so doped up on sex endorphins and exhausted from him moving in me all night long. “I guess that would be good.”
“You guess?”
Did he think I shouldn’t? I mean, it had been crazy last night, even in a lust-daze. And now it seemed impossible—adding a child to this mixed-up relationship. In a short time, we might not even have a relationship. “Yes. Of course. It would be crazy not to. I mean, two weeks ago our only contact was a blank postcard.”
Silence. His body slowly tensed, the way I imagined a panther would feel before striking—motionless to anyone observing, but powerful. Dangerous.
“Philip?” I whispered.
“That’s what I was missing,” he muttered, already pulling away. “Someone else knew about my obsession with you. Someone knew every fucking detail.”
Then he leaped from the bed and was gone.