I glance over my shoulder and see a door—maybe a closet? Better than standing here in the open.

“Hide,” I whisper. I lunge across the room, dragging him behind me, fling open the door, shove him in ahead of me, crash into him from behind, yank the door closed behind me, and stumble right into his chest.

We’re in the dark, in a tiny supply closet, and there’s no room to move, and I realize I am pressing my face into the side of his neck, my palms against his shoulders, my boobs jammed right into his chest. Both of us breathing hard, neither of us moving.

In a moment he takes in a deep breath and shifts, and his arms come around me. His hands settle on my hips. He whispers, “Sorry, sorry,” but there’s nowhere else for them to go. We’re pressed flat against each other. He swallows and catches his breath when my cheek brushes his jaw, and his hands tighten on my hips. It’s too intimate. He’s too warm.

Oh. He smells so, so good. I can feel how hot my neck and cheeks are, his stubble against my jaw, the soft sigh that flutters a curl of hair against my ear. I’m so aware of his body against mine and the skin of his neck just millimeters away from my lips. Can he feel how hard my heart is pumping? I can feel his. Do I have hot-cocoa breath? This is horribly, terribly, agonizingly awkward. But oh god—I realize I could lose myself in how warm and solid and good-smelling he is, and being pressed against him feels so snuggly, ugh, and oh my god. In a flash, I wish Katherine didn’t like him.

Oh. Oh no.

The coast has to be clear by now, doesn’t it?

I freeze, trying not to breathe and trying not to think about our bodies. Eyes closed, ears strained listening to the outside, definitely not softening against his body.

Centuries of quivering in the dark later, he starts shifting, burrowing his shoulders back away from me the tiniest bit so there’s just a little more room between us, but not much, so he can turn his head to look at me. His face is an inch from mine, and our noses are brushing. His eyes are dark in the dim light that filters through the crack around the door.

I want to kiss him. He leans forward.

“I think we’re safe,” he says almost silently, and his lips just barely skate against the corner of my lips, a feather touch that makes me gasp the tiniest bit, sends an electric-shock flinch shuddering through him. He jerks back.