Arabesque: A Wings Companion

Chapter Sixteen

It really was Tamani's fault. Rowen was so focused on his nebulous warning that she wasn't really watching where she was going. Someone gripped her by the arm and pulled her into a closet, closing the door and plunging them into darkness. Panic fluttered in Rowen's stems until something illuminated Shawn's face.

Just Shawn. Not trolls, not a mysterious monster on the beach, just the human boy who refused to like her. Rowen closed her eyes and sighed, her whole body threatening to crumple in relief. But the blue-tinted light reflecting from Shawn's eyes was coming from his phone—and seeing it made Rowen realize she'd accidentally left her own phone on the kitchen counter, in spite of the promise Tamani had extracted that she'd keep it with her at all times. If he tried to call and she didn't answer, what would he do?

Rowen grimaced.

"Sorry," Shawn said with a grin that might have been appealing in regular lighting, but the phone shining beneath his chin just made him look spooky. "I dropped Meghan off outside her studio, but who knows when she'll pop back out and ..." He shrugged. "No need to make her upset."

"So, instead you're chatting with me in a dark closet," Rowen deadpanned.

"Only for a moment," he said in leaning toward her in mock offense. "You were right, and I should form my own opinion of you."

"Gracious," she said, raising one eyebrow.

"I'd really like to go back to the opinion we were forming of each other the day we met."

His face was close to Rowen's and when his warm breath curled around her she remembered what Tamani said about salty tears—wondered if his mouth would taste of salt, too. The scent that traveled on his breath wasn't salty at all—it was a rich, bitter smell that she recognized from the steaming concoctions Mitchell was always drinking. She tried to respond, but her throat seemed to close around her words, locking them in.

"We were off to a good start, don't you think?"

And then she felt his hands slide onto her hips. Not hard, not to pull her forward, just lightly sitting on her hips. She could easily have pulled away—but she didn't. It was the same place Mitchell had set his hand a thousand times in preparation for a lift; why did it feel different when Shawn did it? Why did she want to cover Shawn's hands with her own and pull herself closer? Closer to this human boy? It felt so terribly wrong and right all at once.

She found herself uncomfortably aware of the way her arms were folded across her chest—she didn't want to seem aloof—but when she loosened them, there was nowhere for them to go except onto Shawn's thick forearms.

Her fingers were like skittish butterflies, alighting on his skin, flinching away, settling again. She was breathing in fast, erratic puffs, and couldn't seem to stop as her fingers slid up his arms, almost of their own accord, up to his shoulders. Then her fingertips were tugging, gently, tugging him toward her.

Or were his fingertips pulling on her hips?

His forehead touched hers and his breathing was as ragged as her own, puffs of air that breezed by her chin. The tips of their noses touched, slid to the side, and when his mouth was just a whisper away, she heard Tamani's words. It wouldn't be the first time. Her conscience pricked, but like a roaring river, there was no halting what was about to happen.

Warm lips brushed hers. Almost a question.

May I?

Her fingers tightened on his shoulders and she pushed her mouth against his, tasting just a hint of the bitter scent she'd caught before. It was short. A brief, firm touching of mouths before she turned her head and looked away, feeling ... ashamed? Confused?