Page 124 of House of Marionne

I shove the door to shut it, but he stops it with his hand.

“Why are you here?”

“To talk.”

“Jordan—”

“To apologize.”

“Shouldn’t you be running after your father? I assume he’s still here for the parent reception or whatever.”

“I didn’t talk to them. Instead, I thought long and hard about what you said.”

“And—”

“May I come in?” His brows pull up in pleading and it tugs at my heart.

“Please,” he says.

I should shut the door and never look back. But I part it wider instead. “Briefly.”

He steps in, and I retreat to my bed.

“I was wrong for not being more forthright with my father about how I feel about you.” His eyes trace me, and I can feel him searching for some hint that I accept his admission of fault. That I forgive him. But I’m not sure apologizing afterward is good enough. His gaze falls to my legs, curled over one another. The knot at his throat bobs, and I pull my covers over them.

“My father is a difficult man to please. But he wields a lot of control in the Order. I don’t give a damn what he thinks, not truly. But I need him to think I do.”

“But you do.”

“I don’t. It’s bigger than him.”

“So it’s the Order you care about? Not his opinion?”

“Quell, this is my life. For now, he’s the gatekeeper. You have to be able to see that.”

“So what are you saying? You wouldn’t have done anything differently?”

“No, I—”

“It sounds like that’s exactly what you’re saying. Coming in here like I’m your pet you can keep and appease with the right words.” I hop up and head toward my door. “Because if that’s what you’re here for—”

“Stop.” His fingers tug at my wrist, more in demand than request. He pulls me into him and there’s no air between us. “I don’t see you that way. I could never.” He sighs. “It’s because I respect you and know I can’t give you everything you may want that I keep a distance.” His heartbeat picks up, and I can feel it against my chest. “It’s that reason only that I stop myself from saying, doing stupid things.” His gaze falls to my lips.

“Jordan, I need to know that it’s not just me imagining whatever this is.”

The strap on my thin nightshirt slips off my shoulder, and he pulls it back into place, his touch soft as summer rain. His thumb finds my jaw, kindling a flame deep inside me, throbbing with a heat, a wanting, I’ve never felt.

“It’s not.”

His fingers trace down my neck as if they move to music, brushing my skin feather soft. Across my collarbone and over my bare shoulder as if he’s admiring a fine sculpture. His arm tightens around my waist, and his gaze glows like a drunken sunrise. Because I know him, I can see there are more words hanging on his lips.

“Say it. Whatever you’re thinking.”

“I can’t.”

I force his eyes to mine. “You can.”

He bites his lip. “I want you,” he breathes, and somehow we are closer. His breath is warm on my lips, and I hang on them, teetering on the edge of a cliff, daring him to jump with me.

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