Page 91 of A House of Gold
"Croesus..."
"Don't." He kisses me again, shorter this time. "Don't name it. Not yet. Let me just..." Another kiss. "...have this. Just for tonight."
So I do.
I let him kiss me under impossible stars. Let him hold me like I'm precious instead of temporary. Let him touch me like I'm his to keep instead of his to lose.
Just for tonight.
Tomorrow, the walls will go back up. Tomorrow, we'll go back to employer and employee. Tomorrow, I'll remember that this can't last.
But tonight, tonight I let myself fall.
And he catches me.
We return to the gathering eventually. The other angels watch us with knowing eyes. Seraph's smile is sharp. Lysander looks amused. Even Kael nods slightly, like we've confirmed something he suspected.
They know. They can probably taste it on us, the shift, the change, the fact that we just crossed a line we can't uncross.
The meeting continues. More politics. More posturing. But I barely hear it.
Every time someone looks at me, Croesus's hand tightens on the arm of his throne, the one closest to me. And when Idris's voice slides into my mind, Croesus's response is a flat, dangerous, "Stay out of her head." into the cacophony of the room.
He's staking his claim in front of all of them, making it clear that for this year at least, I'm his.
When it finally ends, hours later, Croesus doesn't let me walk back alone. He escorts me to my room, stands in the doorway, looks at me like he wants to come in.
"Goodnight, Raven," he says instead.
"Goodnight."
He turns to leave. I catch his wrist.
"Thank you," I say. "For tonight. For the kiss. For..." I can't find the words.
He brings my hand to his lips, kisses my knuckles. "Sleep well. We have work in the morning."
And then he's gone.
I close the door, lean against it, touch my lips where he kissed me.
This is dangerous. More dangerous than any sin I've absorbed. Because falling for an angel who owns me for a year and has to let me go to the next house is a curse worse than greed.
But I'm falling anyway.
And I don't know how to stop.
21
And there's a note on the pillow when I wake.
Library. Come when you wake. We need to talk. - C
The handwriting is rushed. Messy. Not like his usual perfect script.
Something's wrong.
I dress quickly, my own clothes this time, jeans and a black tank top I grab off the floor. The gold dress is draped over a chair, still shimmering even in the dim morning light. I don't look at it too long. Don't think about how his hands felt sliding over silk, or how he kissed me like something precious.
