second of suspension, that tiny fraction of time when you’re weightless and doomed and you know that everything is about to crash down hard and hurt—but then an unyielding force cinched around my shoulders. I was yanked back to the rocks, arms and legs flying.
I landed against something soft, something that gave a grunt as we hit the boulders. I heard the stone that had slipped smacking end over end down the pile, loosening others, a showery rainfall sound that ended with wet thuds against the beach below. But even all that was nearly drowned beneath the song of Jesse, who held me fast against his chest.
I didn’t have to twist around to confirm it. The strange bliss of his touch was already spreading through me, so sweet and acute I might dissolve with it. I tried to jerk free, and his arm cinched tighter, a stranglehold at the base of my neck.
“Don’t be daft, Lora. Unless you’re ready to fly.”
Not mute. I tugged at his arm with both hands until it relaxed slightly.
“Let go,” I choked out.
He did, slowly, his palm dragging flat along my collarbone until he gripped my shoulder—oh, heavens, so sweet—holding me steady as I wobbled upright and inched around to face him.
As soon as his hand fell away, the bliss subsided. I was aching without it, angry without it. Our shadows mingled down the rocks like lovers still entwined.
So, this was Jesse:
Colors, brilliant and glimmering. Music. A good height, and a country boy’s tan and muscled strength. An easy, inviting smile and eyes long-lashed and green as sultry summer. He was probably just seventeen or eighteen but already beautiful in that severe way men sometimes could be, and I knew exactly why Malinda and the rest followed him with their eyes even while they disparaged him with their words. If Armand was the darkened ruby, then Jesse was pure, vibrant gold. His hair was gold, and his skin was gold, and his touch lit gold inside me, a torch that burned still in places I’d never considered.
The fiend in my heart had come awake, as well, basking in his song. It radiated hunger, keen as a bayonet blade.
What I felt was rather more like … agitation. Or fear.
“It’s a long fall,” Jesse said. “Worse at low tide.”
“Thank you,” I managed, begrudging. Then his words sank in. “Is that what this is?” I motioned to the beach. “The tide is out?”
“The tide rides high, and we’re an island. The tide pulls low, and we’re one with the mainland again. You could walk there from here, if you wanted. But you’ve only got a few hours. Then you’d have to take the bridge back, or else swim.”
“You do speak.” It came out as an accusation.
“When there’s someone around worth speaking to.” He turned about, began to scale the boulders behind us. Big hands, callused hands, going from rock to rock. “It’s too dangerous here, Lora. Come with me.”
I stood for a moment, debating, but even as I thought about climbing down instead of up, a new shower of rubble broke free below. The combined song of the boulders rose in pitch, sounding remarkably like an alarm.
I followed Jesse. I wanted to avoid the hand he held out to me for those last few vertical feet, but he said, impatient, “Grab on,” so I did. The scrubby grass growing at the top of the cliff felt like a godsend, wonderfully firm.
Again, I pulled free as soon as I could. Again, every part of me tingled, and that made me defensive.
“What were you doing here? Were you following me?”
“Yes,” he said.
No denial, no excuses. I blinked up at him, and his smile widened.
“Why?”
He didn’t answer, not at first. The green of his eyes seemed to shift, growing darker, a summer storm rolling in. It was pulling me with it, too, spellbinding. I stared up at him and felt a fresh heat wash over me, dry lightning charging the atmosphere. Everything around us glowed brighter and brighter, as if we ourselves were caught in an electric strand. I smelled cinnamon and vanilla and rain, a combination so delicious I nearly licked my lips.
I took a sustained breath instead. I looked away to the unclouded sky, and the spell unraveled.
“I wanted to make sure you’d be safe,” Jesse was saying, but something in his tone was tinged with a lie.
“Was it you who left the orange in my room last night?”
“You were hungry. And I thought you’d be up before Gladys