“Never,” he said softly in my ear. His breath touched my skin, and I had the sudden desire to squirm

just because I had to move, and my clothes were hot and confining. “Do you understand?”

“Um,” was my totally profound response.

He reached up, his hands cupping my face, and leaned into me, bumping my knees aside. Stared

down at me, and his expression wasn’t the hungry-wolf look he’d worn while staring at my mother.

It was something else.

Just what I didn’t know. It was just . . . something else. Something more vulnerable. Like he was

afraid at any second I’d flinch back or tell him not to, or something.

I couldn’t stand to see him look that way. So I closed my eyes and tipped my chin up a little, and he

kissed me again. It wasn’t the same this time.

No, this time it was better. And again I forgot about everything else, including Graves. For a few

seconds I was just me again.

And it was great.

Then the real world came crashing back in. I stiffened, and he drew back. He still held my face gently, his skin very warm against mine, and I found out I was touching his ribs, running my palms up

and down like I was playing with Gran’s washboard.

I pulled my hands away. “Um,” I said again. “Christophe.”

“Dru.” Slightly amused. I kept forgetting how well his face worked together.

“I think . . .” I couldn’t even say what I was thinking. Except Wow. And more wow, and a side helping of um.

Yeah. Embarrassing. And Graves . . .

Graves had left me behind. There it was. He’d left me, and Christophe had come back. Was that

how it was?

“You’re right,” he said, as if I’d said something profound. “There are still things to do. And we

should clean up. Both of us.”

I nodded. He leaned in again, and I was a little disappointed when he only kissed my cheek, a chaste

pressure of lips.

“Do you trust me now?” he asked, and I could only nod. And wonder why he asked me that, of all

things.

Jealousy

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

After you have a bad case of stomach flu or something, when you’ve thrown up everything you’ve

ever even thought of eating, there comes a point when you actually feel pretty good. It’s usually after you finish a long session of heaving, when you flush, wipe your mouth, maybe brush your teeth

gingerly for the tenth time, and find out you can walk. Shakily, like a newborn colt.

The world looks clearer and sharper, and you think you might have the flu beat—but the trembling

in your arms and legs tells you you’re lying to yourself.

That was how I felt. Bruised and shaky, but pretty good, at least for a little while. I figured if I could