Call of Water (Madame Tan's Freakshow #1) - Marina Simcoe Page 0,65

the mug back on the table, getting up.

“Nothing, just tired.” I made another step back as he took one closer. “We should have a nap. You can have the guest bedroom. I’ll stay here...”

He put his hands on my shoulders, leaning lower to catch my gaze.

“What happened? You look even paler than you did last night fresh out of the freezing river.”

There was concern in his eyes. But what exactly was he worried about? I couldn’t tell, because I really didn’t know him at all. He wasn’t even a human... That fact still wouldn’t settle in my brain. When he stood in front of me like this, in jeans and barefoot, not slashing the bracks or taming the Niagara Falls, he looked so much more like an ordinary man.

Gorgeous, but still very much human.

“All’s good, Zeph. I have my things back. I’ll help you get back home too. We can call Lero, let him know you’re okay, get him to send your passport...”

“That’s not what I’m asking.” Sliding two fingers up my throat, he lifted my chin up, forcing me to face him. “You look nervous. Unsure.”

I swallowed against his fingers, my skin tingling from the caress which obviously wasn’t even intended as a caress on his part.

“I’m fine, really.” I attempted to sound confident.

“Distant...” He didn’t appear to hear me.

I closed my eyes to avoid his inquisitive stare since he wouldn’t let go of my chin.

“Tell me about the day we met,” he said softly. “In that cabaret in Paris.”

“I’m sure you’ll remember it yourself when the effects of womora have worn off.” There was no way for me to know that for sure, but I would use any excuse to avoid taking him into my memories of that night.

“Maybe. But I’d like to hear it from you. Now.”

“Well, like I said...” I rushed to get it over with. “Lero owns a cabaret. You were singing there the night my friend and I came to see the show. You asked me to dance...”

“And then?” He no longer held my chin, but he didn’t remove his hand from me either, sliding it to the side of my neck instead.

“We had ice cream...” I kept my eyes closed as the memories of that night rushed over me anew, strengthened by the sensation of his hand on my neck. “And drank strawberry champagne, which is not a real Champagne at all, by the way.”

All of that seemed to be so far away even as Zeph stood next to me. Maybe because so much had happened since.

“Did I kiss you then?” he asked suddenly.

I snapped my eyes open at his question. His gaze hooded, he stared at my mouth. My throat felt suddenly dry, and I licked my lips.

“Oh Zeph, please. No...” I begged, feeling weak in the knees. “I can’t. Not again.”

“You didn’t like me kissing you?” His brows moved closer to each other.

Liked it? I loved it. Every slide of his tongue, every suck on my lip, every nibble of his teeth, the blissful sensation of floating in space as he kissed me—I loved all of that so much, I couldn’t forget a thing even after so many months had passed.

The problem with having been touched by him once was that I knew exactly how it felt. I liked it, craved, and didn’t know how to fight my need for it.

I also knew exactly how horrible it felt when it all ended...

“I can’t do it again, Zeph.” I stepped with my back to the wall, away from his touch.

“What happened?” His frown deepened as he followed me, stopping but an inch or two from my chest. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, not like that.” I shook my head. “You took me home, to your place. And you were gentle, loving even...” I blinked, willing the approaching tears away. I had not cried over Zeph, not for a moment in all of the months that had passed. I was certainly not going to cry now in front of him. “And it felt...so good. You see, Zeph...” I exhaled a shuddered breath, meeting his questioning gaze. “It would have been so much better if you remembered it yourself, because all I can give you is my own recollection of that night. And for me, it was magical. But I can’t tell you what it was for you, because I never really knew how you felt about me, and I still don’t know.”

I refused to lie to myself by assuming something that might not be