Page 40 of Insurgent

“I will marry you.”

He smiles and grabs my face, kissing me with such emotion, it knocks the air from my lungs. He reaches around and unzips my dress. I grab the front of his jeans and undo the button before pulling the zipper down. Samuel treats me like glass, and I’m not sure if it’s because he really thinks I’m that fragile or he’s afraid if I break I’ll slice him in two.

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Staring at the clock on my bedside table, I decide sleep isn’t going to come easy tonight. Looking over at Samuel sleeping on his back with his hand resting on his stomach, I quietly slip out of bed.

Grabbing my thick knitted cream sweater from the end of the bed, I tiptoe out of the room. Walking into our kitchen, I pour myself a stiff drink before I head into the living room. The fire is out, the candles, too, but the smell of cranberries still drifts in the air. I snatch a throw from the couch before I slip outside.

The night air is crisp, making my nipples pucker beneath my silk tank. I wrap the sweater around me tighter. The outdoor sofa creaks when I take a seat and cross my legs so I can cover up my feet and legs.

With a heavy sigh, I look out at the road, taking a sip of my drink. The liquor warms me from the inside as my eyes land on a black car and the outline of a man leaning against it.

He brings a cigarillo to his lips, the end burning crimson as he hits it. I see him look up and a thick fog of smoke blows from his mouth into the night air. I look up, too, watching as the smoke dances into oblivion. My finger plays with the new ring on my hand.

So much could be said, but it seems neither of us will say anything. I look back at him, my heart in my throat. If this were a different lifetime…God, if he was a different man and not married to the lifestyle he’s chosen. If I were gullible to the ways of the world and I hadn’t started a life with Samuel, I’d stand and walk out to him.

In my mind, I imagine how it would go. How the cold porch steps would feel against my bare feet as I took them one at a time. How he’d realize I didn’t have on shoes, so he’d come to me, scowling me for being out in the cold, like I was still a little girl.

I’d roll my eyes but get back to the porch anyway, knowing he’d follow.

“Why don’t you have on shoes?” he questions.

I hurry and sit back on the sofa, covering my chilled feet with the throw. “I didn’t think I’d be walking.”

“Why did you?” he asks, walking up the steps.

“You were there,” I reply, like that’s all there is.

“So, because I was standing there, you decided to get pneumonia?” He smiles as he hits his smoke, looking dangerous in the night, but also looking more at home because of it.

“Don’t be so full of yourself,” I say, gripping onto my toes under the blanket.

Danny stands near the porch railing with Cole Haan oxfords on his feet, black with a white rim around the bottom. Black jeans cover his legs, and he wears a black shirt. The zippers on his jacket shine in the night. He makes black look like sin. Delicious and tempting.

“Wanna come in?” I ask.

“You sure about that?” he questions with a lifted brow.

“Yes,” I reply, standing. I walk to the door, knowing he’ll follow. I walk inside, tossing the blanket onto the couch as the door clicks shut.

I’m officially going to Hell, because I just invited the devil in.

“Want something to drink?” I ask.

“No,” he says, looking around the house. He’s seeing it for the first time, and I like watching that.

“Danny,” I say, getting his attention. He looks over at me. “Why are we doing this?”

“Because it’s all we know,” he answers.

“I’m tired.”

He looks to the floor and then back at me.

“Come here,” he says, his head slightly tilted.

My feet move gently across the floor, almost like I’m floating. I stand near him now, so close yet still too far.

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