Unravel Me: The Juliette Chronicles Book 2

explain.”
    I don’t move.
    “Please, love, I’m not going to do anything to hurt you. You should know that by now.”
    “I’m giving you five minutes. Then I have to sleep, okay? I’m exhausted.”
    “Okay,” he says. “Five minutes.”
    I take a deep breath. Crack the door open. Peek at him.
    He’s smiling. Looking entirely unapologetic.
    I shake my head.
    He slips past me and sits down directly on my bed.
    I close the door, make my way across the room from him, and sit on Sonya’s bed, suddenly all too aware of what I’m wearing and how incredibly exposed I feel. I cross my arms over the thin cotton clinging to my chest—even though I’m sure he can’t actually see me—and make an effort to ignore the cold chill in the air. I always forget just how much the suit does to regulate my body temperature so far belowground.
    Winston was a genius to design it for me.
    Winston.
    Winston and Brendan.
    Oh how I hope they’re okay.
    “So . . . what is it?” I ask Warner. I can’t see a single thing in this darkness; I can hardly make out the form of his silhouette. “You just left earlier, in the tunnel. Even though I asked you to wait.”
    A few beats of silence.
    “Your bed is so much more comfortable than mine,” he says quietly. “You have a pillow. And an actual blanket?” He laughs. “You’re living like a queen in these quarters. They treat you well.”
    “Warner.” I’m feeling nervous now. Anxious. Worried. Shivering a little and not from the cold. “What’s going on? Why are you here?”
    Nothing.
    Still nothing.
    Suddenly.
    A tight breath.
    “I want you to come with me.”
    The world stops spinning.
    “When I leave tomorrow,” he says. “I want you to come with me. I never had a chance to finish talking to you earlier and I thought asking you in the morning would be bad timing all around.”
    “You want me to come with you.” I’m not sure I’m still breathing.
    “Yes.”
    “You want me to run away with you.” This can’t possibly be happening.
    A pause. “Yes.”
    “I can’t believe it.” I’m shaking my head over and over and over again. “You really have lost your mind.”
    I can almost hear him smile in the dark. “Where’s your face? I feel like I’m talking to a ghost.”
    “I’m right here.”
    “Where?”
    I stand up. “I’m here.”
    “I still can’t see you,” he says, but his voice is suddenly much closer than it was before. “Can you see me?”
    “No,” I lie, and I’m trying to ignore the immediate tension, the electricity humming in the air between us.
    I take a step back.
    I feel his hands on my arms, I feel his skin against my skin and I’m holding my breath. I don’t move an inch. I don’t say a word as his hands drop to my waist, to the thin material making a poor attempt to cover my body. His fingers graze the soft skin of my lower back, right underneath the hem of my shirt and I’m losing count of the number of times my heart skips a beat.
    I’m struggling to get oxygen in my lungs.
    I’m struggling to keep my hands to myself.
    “Is it even possible,” he whispers, “that you can’t feel this fire between us?” His hands are traveling up my arms again, his touch so light, his fingers slipping under the straps of my shirt and it’s ripping me apart, it’s aching in my core, it’s a pulse beating in every inch of my body and I’m trying to convince myself not to lose my head when I feel the straps fall down and everything stops.
    The air is still.
    My skin is scared.
    Even my thoughts are whispering.
    2
    4
    6 seconds I forget to breathe.
    Then I feel his lips against my shoulder, soft and scorching and tender, so gentle I could almost believe it’s the kiss of a breeze and not a boy.
    Again.
    This time on my collarbone and it’s like I’m dreaming, reliving the caress of a forgotten memory and it’s like an ache looking to be soothed, it’s a steaming pan thrown in ice water, it’s a flushed cheek pressed to a cool pillow on a hot hot hot night and I’m thinking yes , I’m thinking this , I’m thinking thank you thank you thank you
    before I remember his mouth is on my body and I’m doing nothing to stop him.
    He pulls back.
    My eyes refuse to open.
    His finger t-touches my bottom lip.
    He traces the shape of my mouth, the curves the seam the dip and my lips part even though I asked them not to and he steps closer. I feel him so much closer, filling the air around me until there’s nothing but him and his