Page 88 of Icing Hearts

“Of course I do.”

“So no fight about me talking to him?”

“No.”

“Good. When that’s through, we can focus on us.”

One thing is for certain. As the hours tick down I can’t ignore that I’ll be seeing the chief for my day of reckoning. The closer I get, the more certain I am that nothing will work out for me. At least not the way I want it to. It’s too unlikely. My father staying away from me for good, and Tory and I being together? Far too good to be true. The other shoe will drop, and I’ll be left at a loss.

Just before we board the plane, Tory takes my hand and pulls me into an alcove.

“Do you have any idea how good this feels?” He plants a chaste kiss to my nose. One arm rises on either side of me. Tory is painfully close but doesn’t touch me.

“Mm, actually, I’ve been thinking about it. You’re quite the coward for never speaking up and telling me how you felt—never trying to decipher how I felt for you and realize that none of it was in true jest.” The words seem cruel and calculated, but he takes them and twists them into something better—closer to how I mean them.

“Oh yes, I certainly am a coward. For that and for the fact that—since we started this nebulous little thing of ours—I’ve dreamed of my lips destroying yours in a blissful embrace. But I’ve never so much as touched you. A coward indeed. When you look up coward in the dictionary, you’ll simply find my headshot.”

“At least the coward is beautiful.” I twist my hands behind my back and jut my hips forward while he cages me in.

“No,” Tory argues. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I am the beholder and you’re my beholden,” he swoons.

I love when he talks like this. There’s just something about a tattooed, brutish man speaking so softly and reverently that makes me forget the anxiety of returning home. I think that’s why he’s doing it. To keep me focused on him and us.

“Stop speaking in riddles and kiss me already,” I demand.

“Oh yes, a coward indeed. And a fool as well.” He drifts closer.

“As am I. But a fool only for you. You mustn’t worry, I’ll be gentle.” I mimic the accent of a typical 1950s starlet—drawling, seductive yet innocent all at once.

“I won’t be. Five seconds. You have five seconds before I perish without your touch, Clara. Do you really want my blood on your hands?”

“So dramatic,” I tease, gliding a finger down the center of his chest.

“Skin,” he demands, his voice full of cunning and velvet.

I trace his jawline with a whisper of my knuckles, and he shivers. “Such power,” I giggle.

“Such responsibility.” His brows furrow, and he gives a quick shake of his head. “Wield it wisely.”

“I won’t.”

His mouth crashes into mine, searching every part of me. I nearly let him find me. But I’m not ready yet.

When we finally separate, he sighs. “It’s like breathing. Maybe easier.”

“Certainly easier.”

He is enchanting. In this moment, there is nothing and no one other than him. And then, a few hours later, it all comes crashing down. This is the last truly easy moment I’m going to have before everything shatters. Into a hundred. Thousand. Million pieces. Everything I want is right at my fingertips before it’s all ripped away.

Chapter 54

Tory

Clara looks at me, eyes full of trepidation as we pull up to her house. A few lights are on, seeping a warm glow out onto the snow-covered ground. She looks like she wants to be anywhere but here. Including, but not limited to, the bottom of the ocean and Inside a deep freezer.

I give her hand a squeeze and lean in close. “You don’t have to say anything. You don’t even have to be there. You can go upstairs.”

She nods. “Okay. You’re gonna do this.”

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