The Wish Collector
Page 29

There was a note of something almost reverent in his tone and her heart swelled as relief washed through her.
It surprised her that she was so pleased by his compliment when she’d never been a girl who cared overly much about her appearance, instead choosing to focus on her talents, her skills, the things she was in control of.
But she was still a girl, and to hear that this man, whose opinion she’d come to care about, thought she was beautiful brought her joy. It made her very aware of the reason he was so fearful of revealing his scars to her.
“I went to meet you that night,” he said, turning his head in a way that made her think he favored one eye. “I watched you. I . . . just wasn’t ready.”
He’d been there that night? Oh. She exhaled a breath, stepping ever closer, seeking his warmth. He wasn’t ready to show her his face yet—his scars—and she wouldn’t push him, but there had already been so much separation between them, and the pull she felt toward him was difficult to resist.
“It’s okay. You’re here now.” Her brows drew inward as the reality of that settled over her. “How are you here now? How did you know about this?”
He let out a soft, embarrassed-sounding chuckle. “I wanted to see you dance. I went to your rehearsal.” He shook his head slightly. “I’m sorry, I know that sounds sort of—”
“It sounds sweet. I wish you had told me. I wish I had known you were there. I would have danced just for you.”
Their gazes locked for a single heartbeat, and even though his was mostly hidden, something still flowed between them that Clara wasn’t sure what to name.
Jonah broke eye contact, leaning against the wall behind him. In the moonlight, Clara could see the beat of his pulse in the exposed portion of his throat. It sent a strange thrill through her. She wanted to touch it, to feel the life throbbing through him, but she sensed it would cause him to retreat further. He already seemed poised to leave at the slightest provocation, and she was desperate for him to stay.
“There was a flyer for the masquerade ball in the lobby.” His lip—the beautifully shaped half of his mouth she could see—quirked slightly again. “It seemed too perfect to resist.” His mouth straightened out. “I won’t stay long.”
“Why?” She took his hands and he glanced down at their joined fingers. “You’re safe here with me.” She smiled at him. “I’m so proud of you. It must have been hard to leave Windisle. But you’re here. You did it.”
“Yes. I did it.” He cocked his head very slightly. “I don’t know how often I’ll do it from now on, but thank you for helping me remember there’s a world outside Windisle. And if it’s dark enough—”
“Oh, Jonah”—she squeezed his hands—“you don’t have to wait for the darkness to come outside. You can live in the light.” But a small needle of guilt poked at her chest. She felt like she was pushing him again and didn’t want him to resent her for that. She wanted to inspire him, to make him feel safe, not to pressure him. “But at your own pace. This”—she squeezed his hands again—“is the most wonderful surprise of my life.”
He laughed softly, but there was something to the set of his mouth that told her he was pleased by what she’d said. And she hoped he knew she wasn’t exaggerating in the least.
Jonah glanced toward the door where the music from the performance came to a lingering end and then back to their linked fingers.
He held on to her as he turned his palms up, looking at the tops of her hands. He ran a thumb over one of her knuckles and let out a shuddery breath as a tremor went through her too, and the muscles in her stomach clenched as their eyes locked once more.
She couldn’t see the entirety of his face, but lord, no one had ever looked at her with the same intensity. She’d called him her friend, but this didn’t feel friendly to Clara. Just the touch of his hands, his presence felt . . . erotic, and she swallowed, feeling out of her element, overwhelmed by feelings she hadn’t experienced before, her blood pulsing so furiously in her veins she felt lightheaded.
She’d had two serious boyfriends and had been physical with them. But it hadn’t been like this—nothing close—and all she was doing was holding Jonah’s hands, a man whose face she’d only seen online, a man who was terribly scarred under that mask of his. Although, he really only had one side completely covered. The skin that was exposed on the other side was smooth and uninjured and she could see the same beauty in that small portion of him that she’d seen in his online photograph.
Be wary of the man with two faces. He’ll hurt you if you let him.
Spiders skittered down her spine at the memory of the fortune teller’s words. She shook them off and they scattered, disappearing into the fragrant night air.
“Do you believe in prophecy, Jonah?” Her words were halting, as she’d uttered them without thinking. Truly she felt half in a daze and half so singularly focused it was making her head ache.
Jonah’s thumb did another stroke of her knuckle and she swore more heat emanated from him. It was a pleasant night, not overly hot. But Clara felt positively flushed.
“Prophecy?”
“Yes. Do you believe our futures are already determined?”
Jonah shook his head. “No, I believe we choose our own paths. I chose mine and it—”
“Brought you to me,” Clara finished, though she knew that’s not where he’d been going. He’d been about to say it’d brought him to Windisle or that it’d made him a murderer or something like that. She wouldn’t let him.
Jonah’s lips tipped. “Yes.” He sounded thoughtful. “Yes, I guess it did.”
He raised their hands, loosening his fingers and pulling back slightly and then pushing them forward again. Clara let out a sigh laced with pleasure, and Jonah’s fingers tightened on hers. “Why do you ask about prophecy?” His voice sounded strained, deeper.
“I . . . I.” She shook her head, having lost the thread of conversation as his fingers did a slow glide through hers. No, this definitely did not feel friendly. “Never mind.”
A new song began, the music inside of the ballroom flowing softly through the open door of the courtyard. “Dance with me?”
He hesitated, his fingers halting in their movement as a breath escaped him. “Clara—”
“Just one dance?” she whispered. What if he decided not to venture out again? What if this masquerade ball, where he could safely hide his face, was the only chance she got to dance with him?
“All right,” he murmured, stepping toward her and slowly, so slowly, taking her in his arms, his solid heat enveloping her. She melted into him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve danced.”
His breath ghosted her cheek as she wrapped her arms around him, beginning to sway slightly to the music barely making its way to where they stood.
She danced every day. She was used to men pressed against her, to their hands on her body. She was so used to it, that sometimes she became desensitized to how her body could react to physical touch in her personal relationships. A hazard of the job, she’d told herself. And yet this, this slight grazing of Jonah’s body against her own, made her feel as if she were buzzing with electricity.
“I was wondering . . .” Jonah began, his words trailing away.
“Yes?” she whispered, the word breathy, shivers breaking out over her skin at the sound of his voice so close to her ear.
“That night you were waiting at the fountain, you kept gazing up at the stars.” He paused, bringing his mouth even closer and causing her body to pulse. “What were you thinking?”
For a moment she was caught off guard by the question, her entire being so present in that moment, it was difficult to cast her mind back to a different time. “I . . . I was wondering how many lifetimes we might get to be with the ones we love. I was wondering—hoping—that there’s something after this. Another life, another chance.” She turned her head minutely, bringing her mouth closer to the side of his neck and a small tremor went through him. “Love can’t just disappear when this life is through, can it, Jonah? Even if our bodies turn to dust, the love we feel must go somewhere.”