Page 53 of A Match Made in Hell
‘You’re sweating,’ Sath murmurs.
His other hand is on my back; he must be able to feel the moisture through my dress. I can’t bring myself to be embarrassed. The thirst is returning. Maybe that’s why he’s here, dancing with me, touching me, maybe this is all part of his temptation, because I’ve never wanted to ask for another drink more. I have to have it. The longer we stay like this, the more I’m gasping for air, my fingers tightening around his shoulders, digging into his shirt, curling themselves around the silken fabric.
‘Talk to me,’ I pant.
‘About what?’
‘Something. Anything.’ My brain scrambles to form a coherent sentence. I need more wine. ‘The other tasks. What’s left. You said something about anger, and . . .’
‘Wrath will be last. First you’ll have envy, then lust.’
‘Lust?’ I echo. My voice sounds high-pitched.
A ghost of a smile flickers over his lips. ‘A personal favourite.’
My throat feels more parched than ever. What will I have to resist forthat? Maybe he’ll bring me Noah. I’ll have to prepare an apology for before we get down to the tempting. I’ll tell him I’m sorry for being so exhausting, for all the times my moping dragged him down, for being dumb enough to die, and then I’ll show him how sin-free I am by passing the test with flying colours.
It’ll be easy. And then I’ll pass wrath just as easy-peasy because despite what people say Ido not have anger issues, and then I’ll go home, having proven myself perfect and ready to live my perfect life.
My cheeks hurt from smiling. I have no idea why Sath is frowning at me.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘I’ve . . . never seen you this happy,’ he says. ‘I wasn’t aware the idea of spending the night with me was so appealing.’
I freeze. Humans and demons gyrate around us like glitter in a shaken snow globe, while we’re the miniature figurines glued to the bottom. I gape up at him. ‘What do you mean, spend the night withyou?’
He cocks his head. ‘Who did you think would be tempting you?’
Noah. My perfectly safe boyfriend, who Mum chose for me for that very reason.
With Sath, the only safe option is to run in the opposite direction.
‘Well, that should be easy,’ I lie. ‘Because I have no interest inbeing tempted by you.’
‘Really?’ His hand slides down my back, settling on my waist and pushing me closer. The material of my dress is far too thin; I can detect every inch of his muscled body lined up against me. He leans down to murmur in my ear, ‘Then why aren’t you breathing?’
‘I’m dead,’ I remind him. Not that that’s stopped me from breathing before.
I hope he can’t feel how fast my heart is racing.
A knuckle skims up my ribcage. ‘That’s not why.’
‘Fuck you.’
‘That’s precisely what we’re trying to avoid.’
I really think I might hate him. He sounds endlessly amused, completely unaffected by everything; his mouth is still against my ear and I can tell his lips are curled, like I’m some silly human getting flustered over nothing.
Which I am. It’s nothing. His wine is making me hot and bothered, and thirst for that is making me thirsty foreverything, and as soon as this night is over I won’t have any interest in the way he feels warm and solid against me, his knuckle resting just below my breast, his other hand holding me against him like he’s the only thing between me staying upright or falling to the floor and never getting up again.
Okay, so that last part might be true. My knees areveryshaky.
He spins me round, my back flush against his chest, and his hands – those damn hands – are moving lower, down my waist to the top of my legs, the material of my dress bunching in his fists as he drags it upwards. Instinctively, I arch against him, reaching round and threading my hand through his hair.
Sath’s fingers find the slit in my dress, sliding beneath the fabric and over bare skin, and I don’t understand how lust can be any worse than this, because I’m burning and aching; somethinghard presses into me and I grind against it, making Sath hiss in my ear and move his hand further along the inside of my thigh, and I should be asking him what he thinks he’s doing, where he thinks that hand isgoing, but his mouth is against my ear, his breath warm on the side of my face. And then he says, ‘Have another drink, Willow.’
Bastard. I tread on his toe.
