Chapter 8: The Quiet Room

By Tuesday night I had stopped pretending I wasn't thinking about it.

Camille was asleep in the guest room, and Toby was asleep behind his door, with his charger plugged in.

The house was quiet.

I stood in the upstairs hall with the brass key in my hand and listened to Everett turning pages in the library below.

I went down.

He looked up when I came in.

He took his glasses off and set them on the papers.

"Adeline."

"I'm asking," I said.

He didn't move.

"That's the rule," he said. His voice had gone low. "You don't have to ask me tonight."

"I know the rule. I'm asking."

"Why?"

"Because I want to." I crossed the room and stood in front of his chair. "And because I told you I'd hate to waste a kiss on a down payment."

"I remember."

"Consider the down payment made."

He stood up slowly.

He was a head taller than me, and he stood close without touching me.

"Tell me what you want," he said.

"Come upstairs."

I took his hand and led him up the stairs.

At my door I turned the key in the lock behind us and put it in my pocket.

The room was dark except for the lamp.

I faced him and pulled my sweater over my head.

He looked at me, and his breath went out of him.

"You're sure."

"Yes."

"Then I'm going to touch you."

"Please do."

He kissed me.

It wasn't a careful kiss.

His hands came up into my hair and held my head, and his mouth was hot and slow and thorough.

I pulled his shirt out of his trousers and put both palms against his stomach, and he made a sound into my mouth.

He was solid and warm, and he shook under my hands.

"You're trembling," I said against his lips.

"I've been thinking about this since the car."

I unbuttoned his shirt myself.

He let me, and when I got it off his shoulders he lifted me and carried me to the bed.

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