Page 82 of The Next Lie

Then I follow, crowding her against the island until the edge catches at the small of her back. She makes a sound into my mouth that is half protest, half need.

I could keep going. God help me, I could.

I have built entire rooms inside myself to hold the things I would not take from her. Tonight, though, every door in me stands open.

So I stop. Abruptly. Savagely. Because one of us has to.

I pull back, breathing harder than I should be.

Her eyes open slowly. Her mouth is swollen. Her cheeks flushed. Her fingers are still fisted in my shirt, like her body has not gotten the same message as her mind.

Good. Let her remember that too.

“You just haven’t come to terms with it yet,” I say.

Her brows pull together. “With what?”

I brush my thumb once over her lower lip. The smear of blood there is mine.

“That you came here looking for a monster,” I say, “and found the one that belongs to you. The one you made, little ghost.”

She shoves me. It barely moves me, but I get a perverse kick out of it.

“You are unbelievable.”

“Yes.”

“Arrogant.”

“Keep going.”

“Deranged.”

“Frequently.”

“I hate you.”

“You said that already.”

“I’m saying it again for emphasis.”

I release her and step back before I forget why I stopped.

Her hands fall to her sides. The room feels colder without them on me.

I look toward the doorway. There’s more I could tell her, but I won’t. Not tonight. Too much truth at once makes people stupid. Reva is already dangerous enough without being broken open in the kitchen over a banana carcass and fifteen years of ghosts.

“I will arrange a meeting with Delia when it can be done safely,” I say.

Her face changes instantly, reminding me that hope can be more dangerous than anger.

“When?”

“When I know you’ll both survive it.”

“I want to see her.”

“I know.”