Page 86 of Lost in the Moonlight

As we headed downstairs, fingers twined, I knew it was wrong, that staying would make me hate myself. But he’d lured me once again with his lovely words and even lovelier kisses. He’d said it was already too late to stop the pain if I backed away now, and I knew it was true for me too. I could already feel theopen wound that would sear through me when I walked out his door. I was branded by our time together.

But I also knew it would only get worse for both of us the longer I stayed.

We were playing with fire. The first time my face appeared next to his on some online site, it would burn my world to ash—and my mom’s along with it.

And yet, surrounded by the flames Lincoln stoked just by looking at me, I couldn’t force myself away. I’d never thought of myself as weak or stupid. I’d been a liar because I’d had to be. But I’d never been selfish and spineless. I was both of those things now because I didn’t want to lose the feelings that swarmed through me when Lincoln touched me, when he looked at me as if I was something miraculous.

So, as we walked into his kitchen, I bargained with the fate Lincoln believed in, trading the happiness of these handful of hours we had left in today for a lifetime of missing it. I’d brand us both when I left, but the mark would fade. It had to. Like a very old tattoo that had lost its vibrancy, the heartache would become something less.

When I offered to make breakfast, he shook his head, told me to sit, and then brought the leftover strawberry chiffon over to the table with two forks and no plates.

“Dessert for breakfast,” I laughed, running my hand through his dark hair, pushing back the lock that forever fell forward.

“The breakfast of the very best champions.”

While we ate straight from the dish, my eyes kept going to the canvas he had propped up on the counter. It was me more than Sienna. And yet, it wasn’t fully me either.

The woman was lying in a meadow surrounded by thorny vines and blossoming flowers. Butterflies flitted through the air.You could almost smell the heady scent of the grass and hear the buzz of the insects. But the woman’s eyes remained firmly closed. She didn’t budge. She was locked away in a deep slumber cast by some spell. I wasn’t sure how I knew she was cursed rather than just sleeping. But I did. She was stuck there like Rip Van Winkle…no…

“Sleeping Beauty?” I asked.

He looked over at the drawing and back. “I was inspired while you slept through the last half ofA Knight’s Tale.”

“It’s weird.”

“What?”

“Seeing me…but not me…” I waved toward the drawing pad I’d borrowed the day before as well.

“I can’t seem to stop. Every time I look at you, an entire kaleidoscope of images hits me. So many that I’m considering naming the galleryAn Homage to Willow.” His lips quirked, and I smacked him in the chest with a hand.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“There’s that word again. Maybe I should require you to pay a penalty each time you use it.” His eyes flared, and my body responded. Even sore in the very best kind of way, I still ached for him.

If I only had this singular day, I’d make the most of it. I smiled coyly at him from under my lashes, and said, “You could try to charge a penalty, but there’d be little you could do to enforce it.”

His voice was gritty and dark when he responded, “You wanna make a bet?”

I shouldn’t like it. I shouldn’t want to dance along the sensual edge those words promised, but I did. I shrugged as if I doubted him, allowing Katerina’s oversized sweatshirt to bare a shoulder.

“I can make you beg to pay the penalty, Sweetness.”

I scooped up some of the dessert, licked the fork while he watched with heated eyes, and then leaned in so close our lips brushed. “Ridiculous,” I taunted.

I was flat on my back on the table before I could take another breath. The sweatshirt was gone, and one taut tip was covered with strawberry cream. Then, he was feasting on me. Nips and laps and feathery touches that had me writhing, had me aching and crying out…and finally…begging.

? ? ?

We spent the day like we’d begun it—alternating between sleep, making love, and devouring food. I’d wake to him drawing me. He’d wake to me skimming through art on my phone, trying to find the perfect next dessert piece. And once we were both awake, we’d start the whole process over again with hands and mouths and bodies joined.

By the time the doorbell rang with a delivery from Remi’s Italian Restaurant, my body had finally calledgive, and the bubble had started to pop once more. I wasn’t sure when Lincoln had cleaned up the broken glass, but the missing pane he’d boarded over reminded me of what had happened the night before. We hadn’t heard back from Hardy either, and I still hadn’t told my mom about the latest threat.

Worse, it reminded me of what could happen if I stayed.

The smell of the pasta and garlic bread turned in my stomach as guilt landed home, starting the timer counting down on our time together.

I’d savor these last few moments.

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