Winter (The Lunar Chronicles #4) - Marissa Meyer Page 0,192

door. They were surrounded by flowers and greenery of every imaginable color, their perfume thick and steaming in her throat. The ceiling rose several stories high and was made of the same leaded glass as the windows in the main corridor. Sofas and reading chairs were set in small groupings throughout the room and straight ahead they faced a series of desks overlooking the lake beyond.

“Good,” said Thorne. “I thought I remembered seeing something about an atrium. We’ll wait here until the halls clear. I’m hoping we can cross into one of the servant halls and avoid any more run-ins with guards for a while.”

Cress filled her lungs to near bursting and let it all out, but the breath did nothing to refresh her. She stepped into the room, putting much-needed space between her and Thorne.

She was an idiot. He had never once given her any indication that a real relationship could be in their future. He’d given her every chance to get used to this fact. But despite all his attempts to dissuade her from falling in love with him, her heart was still shattered.

What was worse, a kiss from a Lunar, of all things, had shattered it—and Thorne really couldn’t be blamed for that.

“Cress … listen…”

His fingers brushed her wrist, but she jerked away. “Don’t. I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair of me. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

She wiped her nose with the flimsy wing material of her ridiculous costume.

Thorne sighed and from the corner of her eye she caught him running a hand through his hair. She could feel his gaze burning into the back of her neck, so she turned away and pretended to inspect an enormous purple blossom.

He knew now, of course. She had given all her feelings away—had probably given them away a long time ago, but he’d been too concerned with hurting her to let on that he knew.

She could tell he wanted to talk more. She could feel unspoken words hovering in the air between them, suffocating her. He would apologize. He would tell her how much he cared for her—as a friend. As a member of his crew.

She didn’t want to hear it. Not now. Not ever, but especially not now, when there were more pressing issues to deal with.

“How long are we waiting here?” she asked, and though her voice was tinted with emotion, it had stopped shaking.

She heard a rustle and a quiet click of a portscreen. “A few more minutes, just to make sure they’ve rounded up the slower guests.”

She nodded.

A second later, she heard another sigh. “Cress?”

She shook her head. The little antenna balls bounced in the corner of her eyes—she’d forgotten she was wearing them. She dared to face him, hoping her face didn’t convey the misery underneath. “I’m all right. I just don’t want to talk about it.”

Thorne had situated himself against the closed door, his hands stuck in his pockets. His expression was tumultuous. Shame, maybe, mixed with doubt and nerves, and something else that was dark and heady and made her toes tingle.

He considered her for a long moment. “All right,” he said, finally. “I don’t want to talk about it, either.”

She started to nod, but was surprised when Thorne pushed away from the door. Cress blinked and stumbled back, startled by the sudden movement. Three, four steps. The backs of her thighs hit one of the desks.

“What—?”

In one movement, Thorne lifted her onto the desk and pressed her back against an enormous potted fern and—oh.

Cress had built a thousand fantasies around their rooftop kiss, but this kiss was something new.

Where before, the kiss had been gentle and protective, now there was something passionate. Determined. Cress’s body dissolved into nothing but sensation. His hands burned her waist through the skirt’s thin fabric. Her knees pressed against his hips, and he pulled her closer, closer, like he couldn’t get her close enough. A whimper escaped her mouth, only to be swallowed by his. She heard a moan, but it could have come from either of them.

And where, on the rooftop, the kiss had been cut too short by the battle raging on around them, this kiss went on, and on, and on …

Finally, when Cress was starting to feel faint, the kiss was broken with a needy inhale. Cress was trembling and she hoped he wasn’t about to set her back on her feet and inform her it was time to get on with their work, because she doubted she could walk for two steps,