When he spoke again, his voice was husky. “Now put your hands on the glass.”
I was confused and nervous. But, damn me, I was also turned on, and I hoped he couldn’t tell that my nipples had peaked beneath my bra, and that he couldn’t see the flush of my skin in the dark.
Before I could do what he asked, he moved behind me, taking my hands in his and guiding them to the pane. The connection was shocking, powerful, and a raging heat stormed through me as I let myself go, reveling in the incredible sensation of submitting to this man.
“Do you feel it, Angie? The pressure of the glass? It’s pushing back on you. It’s holding you up. It’s keeping you here, safe beside me.”
His words barely registered. All I knew was the way his voice caressed me, like a trail of kisses down my body. All I could feel was the pressure of his hands over mine, and the whisper of his breath on my skin, as tantalizing as a ray of summer sun.
“What if the glass were to tumble away?” His voice was soft and gentle, as if that was the most natural thing in the world to think about. “You wouldn’t fall, Angie. You’d soar.”
I squeezed my eyes tighter. He’d already captured the attention of my body, but now he’d captured my imagination, too.
“Maybe you wouldn’t purposefully push the glass out of the way, but if that barrier disappeared, you’d experience it to the fullest. You’d spread your arms, you’d embrace the tumble. You’d breathe in the air and feel the wind rushing around you, gathering you up. Lifting you up. Because that’s what you were thinking about, wasn’t it? Not jumping. Not falling—”
I drew in a breath, gasping as I leaned back against him, my ass against his crotch. He was hard, and so help me, I was wet.
“You want to fly, Angie,” he whispered, and then brushed his lips over the top of my ear. I trembled, and oh, dear god, if he touched me again I knew I’d come, my body exploding out to greet the stars.
And all I could do was stand there, the heat of our connection burning through me, and silently beg for him to never leave. For this moment to never end.
He moved his hands to my shoulders, then eased them around to place his palms against my ribs. His thumbs rested on my back and his fingertips brushed the swell of my breasts. I bit my lower lip, determined not to cry out, not to move. Not to do anything that might make him stop. That might end this wondrous fantasy.
His hands eased lower, encircling my waist. I’m not particularly small, but I felt petite and fragile right then, because I knew in that moment that he had the power to break me. To utterly and sweetly destroy me.
“Angie,” he said and began to turn me in his arms. I closed my eyes, savoring the moment. But before I could shift—before I could even absorb the possibility that he was going to kiss me—the moment shattered, torn apart by the high-pitched chirp of my cell phone.
He drew his hands away, and as he did, I heard another sound. A whimper.
I’m pretty sure it came from me.
I opened my eyes just in time to see Evan’s face shift into a stony, unreadable expression. I didn’t know what it looked like before, but I imagined there’d been lust in his eyes.
I felt something tight squeeze at my heart, because we’d just lost this moment. And I knew damn well that we could never, ever get it back.
“You should answer it,” he said.
“What?”
He glanced down to the tiny purse that I’d decided to carry tonight only because I had no pocket for my phone.
“Oh.” I’d already forgotten. “It’s a text.” I fumbled to retrieve it, then glanced at the display.
“Kevin?”
“Flynn,” I said quickly, not wanting to bring Kevin anywhere near this conversation. “Remember? The boy who lived down the street from Uncle Jahn in Kenilworth.”
“Probably not so much a boy anymore,” Evan said, in a tone that made the gooey feminine side of me shimmy with joy.
“No,” I said casually. “Not so much.”
I kept my focus on his face, and for a moment I thought that he was going to reach out for me. That he was going to pull me to him and press his lips to mine, and send us both soaring past that damn glass partition.
But the moment passed, and he turned away to look out over the darkened lake.
For a moment, we stood in silence. Then he spoke, low and steady. “I think about jumping, too.”
“Suicidal?” I quipped.
“No.” He turned back to me, and what I saw on his face wasn’t heat or lust but bald determination. “Arrogant.”
My brows puckered with confusion.
“I’m arrogant enough to think I can control my own fall,” he clarified.
“But you can’t,” I said, thinking of my sister. Of my life. Of my uncle. “Nobody can.”
His grin was wide, achingly sexy, and desperately sad. He reached out, then lightly stroked my cheek. “Watch me.”
I did, but only in the sense that I watched him leave. I stayed there, alone on the patio. Just me and my confusion and mortification. Not to mention two dozen people I barely knew. All of us on this Chicago rooftop, hurtling through space and time and the universe.
I stared after him, not moving. Not really even thinking. Behind me, the fireworks over the Navy Pier began to explode and suddenly the night sky was alive with color. I barely noticed. The only color I saw was Evan, his hue standing out against the backdrop of gray that had consumed me.
It took a full five minutes before I realized that I was still holding my phone.
I pulled up the message and, despite my confusion, I smiled.