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“But the question is still… Do you want me to kiss you?” Leonid asks.

For once, there isn’t a thought in my head—logical or not, rational or otherwise—when I find myself, somehow, nodding.

Chapter 13 - Leonid

There’s no hesitation before her head is bobbing up and down. Still, I don’t reach for her. Even with that gesture of assent, I don’t kiss her.

I want to. Fuck, I want to so badly. Every synapse in my body is screaming at me to close the distance and take what she’s just offered me. Except… the nod itself was barely perceptible, and not nearly steady enough to satisfy me. A lesser man might savor it, taking the fact that Meera Gallagher just gave me explicit permission to kiss her. How she did it without a single logical, rational, or otherwise scientific thought in her stunning head. Pure instinct. But I’m not a lesser man. It isn’t about whether it’s enough for me; I suspect, it won’t be enough for her, after the fact.

Her eyes are wide and the quiver in her hands trepidatious. I don’t exactly inspire confidence in her convictions.

So, I won’t kiss her. Not yet. I can’t.

Instead, I stay rooted exactly where I am and appraise her. A delicious flush is already climbing her neck. I can practically see the gears re-engaging behind those incredible eyes. I know there’s a chance she’s about to talk herself out of it—and if she does, then that’s her fucking right.

I still feel it in my fucking stomach when her lips part.

“You know what gets me about you?” I provoke.

Her brow begins to furrow, features twisting in frustration. “If you’re about to mock me right now, I swear—”

“You’re the most contrary woman I’ve ever met.” The words come out easily, because it’s impossible to keep them caged behind my teeth. “You talked your way through a school visit with a mic in your bra and didn’t break a sweat. And then you looked like you were about to cry when you climbed into the car. You teach kids who couldn’t give less of a shit about science and make them give a shit, because you care that much. You always look one second away from bolting, but you drove an SUV through a shoot-out like a fucking mercenary. You look at me like you hate my fucking guts ninety per cent of the time, but you saved my life. You made friends with my sister-in-law. You sat by my bedside and held my hand.” I shake my head at her—and myself, too, because this is a terrible idea and I still mean every word that falls out of my mouth. “And all of that’s on top of your being the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever laid my goddamn eyes on.”

Meera stares at me. The flush has spread from her neck to her cheeks, blooming across her dark skin in a way that makes me want to trace it with my tongue. Her lips are still parted, but nothing’s coming out.

And it’s probably fucked up, but I like it. I like making her speechless in a way that has, for once, nothing to do with fear. She deserves to be rendered speechless by something other than fear for a change.

“Leonid—” she starts, her voice choked up with overwhelm.

“You don’t know what to do with that, do you?”

She crosses her arms over her chest, a subconscious barrier she throws up. It only makes me want to unspool those limbs and rearrange her hands until they’re on me. “I don’t need you to—It’s not—” She squirms, so uncomfortable. So bad at taking the praise.

“Who the fuck’s been around you?” I ask, and I can hear the edge in my own voice, the genuine irritation whetting it. “What kind of men have you had in your life who didn’t tell you this every fucking day? Because someone should be. You should know this about yourself, Meera. It shouldn’t be news to you. You’re so fucking badass. You’ve got the kind of face men would go to war for. And this body? Jesus.”

“Stop,” she insists. But she doesn’t mean it, and we both know it.

“You are extraordinary,” I tell her, bluntly, stubbornly, because it’s the truth and she’s going to hear it whether she’s ready for it or not. “Brave and brilliant and sharp as a fucking knife. So beautiful it makes me—”

Her hand claps over my mouth. It lands with a smack! Her palm is warm and still carries a faint trace of cooking oil and garlic. Her eyes are wide, mortified, almost angry.

Extraordinary, I think.

“Would you shut up,” she gasps. “Please. I can’t—I don’t know what to do when you—just stop talking. For the love of God. Stop saying things.”

I could eat her up. That’s the first, unhinged thought that flashes through me. Every nerve ending in my body has just been lit up in the wake of a single touch from this woman. A hand on my mouth, and I’m on fucking fire.

Whatever she sees in my eyes makes her breath catch.

Carefully, I raise my hand and wrap my fingers around her wrist. It still looks raw, the skin pink and fragile. I’m gentle as I peel her palm away from my mouth. Her fingers tremble in my grasp, and I hold her gaze while I lower my mouth to the center of her palm. I press my lips to it. The skin is warm and soft and smells like everything she’s just made for us.

I feel her pulse jackhammer against the pads of my fingers.

I nip at the heel of her palm. I let her feel the edge of my teeth scrape over her skin without ever hurting her. I never want to hurt her. Her breath shatters into an exhale I feel against my forehead, warm and staccato. She smells so good, I can’t help but take her index finger into my mouth.

There are still remnants of congealed sauce on it. I taste it first—savory, warm, delicious—and then it’s just her. Just Meera. Just the salt of her skin, the faint sweetness underneath it, the uniqueness of her fingerprint against my tongue. I suck, languid and leisurely. I never take my eyes off hers.

Meera makes a broken sound at the back of her throat.