He was being earnest, but his plea struck me as sad. As if he were looking for affection, though he couldn’t quite put it into words. He didn’t know the language, but it didn’t stop him from wanting it. And, despite the circumstances, I couldn’t fault him for that.
Even a twisted tree would reach for the sun.
“You’re making that face. The one I can’t read.” He ran his fingertips down my cheek, then grazed my lips.
“I wear pajamas, you’re allowed to hold me, and I’ll try to be comfortable with you by”—deep breath—“touching you. And then I get to go to the city Monday?”
“Yes.” He pressed his forehead to mine. “Say yes.”
I convinced myself that touching him was a small price to pay for a chance at escape, that giving in to his wishes would help my cause more than his. But just as with our previous deal, I couldn’t deny the basest part of me that warmed beneath his touch, and worse, that wanted to feel him. Saying yes was giving him another piece of my soul, and I could only hope that I’d get them all back whenever I regained my freedom.
“Yes.”
“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” He smiled, true delight lighting his angular features. “Now put your hands on me.”
25
Sebastian
Tentative fingers along my sides, her soft breath tickling my shoulder. I wanted to dive into her, to explore every depth, map out everything that made her tick. But I would settle for this—her gentle touch. I needed to build trust. The newest deal—one of her creation—was a brilliant solution to that little problem.
Just like newborns with their mothers, simple physical contact could create a bond so strong that nothing could shatter it. And here we were, her in my arms and a contentment I’d never experienced filling my mind to bursting.
“Everything here is yours,” I whispered in her ear as her fingers grew bolder, teasing along my back and then farther up to my neck.
She shivered and placed her other palm over my heart. Her touch flowed along my skin, and I never wanted it to stop.
Meeting my eyes, she placed her palm on my cheek. “Are you doing some robot math right now?”
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t. I was simply existing, my mind silent except for thoughts of her. “No.”
She ran her fingers to my brow and brushed the hair from my face. “How old are you?”
I smiled. “Thirty-two.”
“Ever been married?” Her fingers continued their inspection, teasing around my ear.
“No.”
“Long-term relationship?”
“No.”
She nodded. “Your dad said you were”—her small white teeth nibbled her bottom lip—“aloof, I think was the word he used.”
“I was until you.”
“Lucky me.”
“I think so.” I slipped my fingers beneath the hem of her t-shirt and rubbed her lower back. “I’ve never taken anyone prisoner before you.”
She crinkled her nose. “The fact that you can say that with a blasé attitude is messed up.”
“Perhaps, but I see it differently.”
“You’ve said. This will all make sense to me eventually, right? And I’ll be fine with it?”
“Yes.” No hesitation.
“Has it ever occurred to you that it won’t work out that way?” She dropped her hand to my shoulder and rested it there.
“No. Because I’m not letting you go, and I know you feel it, too.”
Her nails dug into me. “What does a robot know about feelings, much less my feelings?”
“When you were eight, you rescued a porcupine den when a neighbor began clearing land that threatened their habitat. Even though you had to go to the ER after getting quilled by one of them, you still made sure they were relocated and safe.”
She gawked at me. “How did y—?”
“Newspaper article from your hometown paper.” I shrugged. “When you were sixteen, you were named homecoming queen. The homecoming king, your boyfriend at the time, was the all-American sort. Clean cut, athletic, typical good guy. But in photos from that night, your gaze was always drawn to the leather-wearing, motorcycle-riding young man who was eventually thrown out of the dance for drinking and smoking on school grounds.”
Her eyebrows hit her hairline.
“Your yearbook and a few ancient Myspace posts.”
“Stalker.”
“Yes.” I inched my fingers higher up the skin along her back while she was distracted. “Your favorite movie? The Silence of the Lambs. Favorite book? Tess of the D’Ubervilles. I found out all of this after we met. Each fact building on the last until I had a solid image of you, one that matched the what my intuition had already told me. You were made for me. Your whole life, you’ve played the fair damsel, waiting for her prince charming to sweep her off her feet. But that’s not who you are.”
“You have no idea who I am.” She drew her hand away.
I tsked. “Your trip to the city is in danger.”
She scowled and draped her arm over my side, her fingertips brushing against my back.