Page 41 of Redline Communion

She laughs into my shoulder, and I bend down and kiss the stain.

Her breath catches.

I do it again, slower this time, letting my mouth move from her collarbone to the side of her neck while her fingers curl into my shirt. The joke fades out of the room without either of us having to acknowledge it.

I slide my hand along her jaw and turn her face toward mine. When I kiss her, she meets me halfway.

I try not to make it mean too much.

That lasts maybe three seconds.

Dominic’s monitors, the reports, Nico coming home, whatever date has everybody in the house moving faster while they tell her less — all of it crowds in anyway, and my hand tightens against her face.

“Rafe.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

She pulls back enough to look at me, her fingers still hooked in my collar.

“Acting like this is the last time you’re ever going to see me.”

I go still.

She watches my face. “Is it?”

“No.”

“Then why are you kissing me like you’re leaving for war?”

“I’m not.”

“You’re a terrible liar tonight.”

“Only tonight?”

“Tonight you’re not even putting your back into it.”

My mouth opens, and nothing comes out.

I could tell her about the surveillance first. Start there. Give her one true thing and see what it pulls loose.

Instead, I picture her looking around the apartment, checking the corners, trying to remember what I’ve seen and what Dominic has.

“I’m good,” I say.

Her eyes narrow. “Rafe.”

“I just wanted to see you.”

“You see me all the time.”

“Not like this.”

She looks down at herself. “Covered in dinner?”