Page 107 of Wicked Little Secret
“Me neither.”
“I heard Cassiopeia will be visible tonight.”
“So will Andromeda.”
She presses her eye tighter against the round eyepiece. “I think I see her.”
I smirk as I step forward to do the same. “I’m surprised you’ve never been here before.”
“I haven’t had the time.”
“You mean between Driscoll’s pool parties and girls’ nights?” I taunt.
“No,” she answers smartly, “I mean between making sons of bitches pay. You see Cepheus? I didn’t expect to…”
A short chuckle leaves me. “Fitting considering their story.”
“And what aboutourstory?”
I pause long enough to drink in the starry splendor I’m viewing through the telescope and then stand up straight. Nyssa’s still immersed in hers, eye pressed into the telescope so she can observe the vastness of time and space.
My fingers slip under her chin and ease her face away from the telescope.
We’re too steeped in shadows to truly see each other, yet I can feel her dark, deep-set eyes on me. I have her undivided attention, standing so close, her soft lips so parted…
“I’ve made my feelings clear,” I say huskily.
…arguably.
Nyssa still doesn’t understand the extent of them. They would frighten her. Make her retreat and grow distant. Such intensity scares women.
While I am all in, she’s confounded. She’s hesitant and fickle. So wild and young, I can’t blame her. Yet as the intensity of what I feel for her courses through me, it’s hard to slow my pace.
It’s hard to play nonchalant and pretend I can take heror leave her when I would give the very heart beating inside my chest if need be…
“You have,” she admits seconds later. She leans up into me, seeking the warm comfort of my kiss. “It means so much to me.”
Our lips meet in this secret pocket we’ve carved out for ourselves. We kiss among the dark shadows of the Castlebury Observatory, relieved no one else has to know. Her lips melt against mine like butter, so supple that I almost groan and kiss her even harder.
Half an hour later, we leave the domed building several feet apart. You’d think we were strangers the way she practically goes one way and I go mine.
“Theron.”
I stop short at the familiar voice.
Veronica appears among the others milling about. Some headed toward the Christmas Market. Others headed away. She appears in a wave of thick chestnut hair and imploring hazel eyes, the tip of her nose pink from the frigid temperatures.
In the past—only months ago—I would’ve seen it as my duty to keep her warm.
Now, instead, an indifferent coldness blows through my lungs. I give a polite nod. “Veronica.”
“You never come to the Christmas Market. Why now?”
None of your damn business.
Nyssa suddenly appears at my side. “Want to grab some mulled wine? Oh… am I interrupting?”
An uncertain second ticks by, carrying an equally uncertain and peculiar air with it. The three of us exist in a brief stalemate until Veronica cracks a bitter smile.