Fall Into You (Morally Gray, #2)(19)

“What’s that look?”

“This is my inquisitive look.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I want to ask you lots of questions because you’re very interesting, but I know this is a one-night thing, so I don’t want to make it weird.”

Smiling, I stretch out on the mattress beside her and prop myself up on an elbow. “I think we blew past weird when you got weepy.”

“Oh yeah.” She brightens. “So it’s okay if I ask you stuff?”

Thinking of the graveyard of bones I’ve got hidden in my proverbial closet, I hesitate.

She studies me. “That’s a no.”

I say gently, “I want you to leave this room with only good memories. If we start talking about me…”

She stretches out beside me, mirroring my posture and gazing into my eyes. “You’re worried I won’t like you anymore?”

“Oh, I know you wouldn’t like me anymore.”

“That bad, huh?”

“That bad.”

“You could always lie to me.”

I can’t tell if she doesn’t believe me or if she’s just being sweet. I reach out and tuck a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “No,” I say sadly. “I couldn’t.”

We gaze silently into each other’s eyes. She searches my face as if she’s looking for something, but I don’t know what it might be.

Her voice low and soft and her eyes shining, she says, “How about this? Tell me a story. Make one up.”

I frown. “About myself?”

“No, about us. Like if we met in another life, in some normal way people do. If we were introduced through mutual friends, something like that.”

I answer without thinking. “I’d never allow the kind of friends I have to be around you.”

She’s studying me again. More closely now, her gaze sharpening. She repeats her question from moments ago.

“That bad, huh?”

“Yes. They’re that bad.”

“But you’re not.”

“I am.”

“You can’t be. You’re wonderful.”

Only with you. “You ever hear that saying, ‘Birds of a feather flock together?’”

“Yeah?”

“It’s true. My flock is made of predatory night birds with sharp talons and cold hearts.” My voice drops. “And I’m the worst of them.”

She reaches out and traces her fingertip over my lower lip. Her gaze follows her touch. She whispers, “Your heart isn’t cold.”

“Everyone who knows me would say otherwise.”

She meets my eyes then. She meets my eyes and says something that almost destroys me.

“Then everyone who knows you is wrong, Cole. Your heart isn’t cold. It’s warm, and it’s beautiful. You just keep it on ice so nobody can melt it.”

I’m grateful that she scoots closer and presses her face to my chest, because I know I wouldn’t be able to hide from those eyes of hers, those gorgeous green eyes that see straight down to the darkest corners of my black soul. I gather her in my arms and inhale several slow, deep breaths, willing my pulse to stop hammering.

“Once upon a time…” she prompts.

“Right.” After a rough throat clearing, I continue. “Once upon a time, a bird of prey at rest on a tree branch saw a beautiful dove in a clearing far below.”

“This clearing was in a hotel bar, I take it.”

“Who’s telling this story, me or you?”

I feel her smile against my chest, the curve of her cheek pressing against my heart. “You.”

“Then be quiet.”

“You would have made a good dictator.”

When I sigh, she whispers, “Sorry.”

“Where was I?”

“Two birds in a bar. I mean clearing.”

“Yes. So the bird of prey sees the beautiful dove—”

“Wait, you were supposed to be telling a story of how we met as people in another life, not birds in this one.”

“Are you kidding me with this?”

She pounds a fist on my shoulder. “I want my story! Tell it right!”

I’m laughing again, because apparently that’s my new thing.

It’s good we’re only spending one night together. If we started dating, my reputation as a cold-blooded, ruthless bastard would be ruined within a week.

“All right, my stubborn little dove,” I murmur, kissing her temple. “Here’s your story. Once upon a time, the most perfect angel God ever created—”

“Now you’ve got a Biblical theme going?” she interrupts, exasperated. “First it’s birds, then it’s the Bible. I hate to tell you this, but you’re a terrible story teller.”

I roll her to her back and kiss her roughly, only coming up for air when she’s trembling beneath me, sinking her nails into my back and whimpering with need.

“That’s a relief, because I’m done talking. Time to get fucked again, sweetheart.”

“Thank goodness. I was about to fall asleep.”

We grin at each other. Then I reach for another condom, thinking the dozens she has in her handbag won’t be enough.