You,” Noah said, tucking my head under his chin, “are a strange girl, Sasha Alexander.”
We lay together on top of a heap of hastily-gathered blankets and pillows, manically shoved into the bottom of my walk-in closet. I pressed myself against him, cocooned in his warmth and all the blankets I’d shoveled in, as if being in an enclosed space behind a thick mirrored door could somehow protect him from my guardians.
As if it could somehow protect him from myself.
I’d left the door cracked so that a single beam of light cast itself across our bodies. It also let me see if any guardians were lurking, or worst of all, if some member of the household decided now was a good time to question me about last night’s party.
“You have no idea,” I murmured, peeking through the crack. So far, so good. No Desire, no Guilt, no…
Noah hauled me back from the crack in the door, his arm around my waist, and flipped me so that I rested on top of him. “Why the hiding?” he asked, his eyes colorless but intense in the shadows. His scarred hands made slow circles across the small of my back.