Noah placed one of his fingers under my chin and tilted my head. “What are you doing?”
“We can do other things,” I breathed, as I slipped his shirt off his shoulders. I wasn’t completely sure if that was true but I was completely sure that at that moment, I didn’t care. I was desperate to feel his skin against mine. I was desperate to try. I gripped the hem of my T-shirt and started to pull it up.
Noah reached down and clasped my wrists gently. “You want to sleep with me, but you won’t kiss me?”
Well, yeah. I opened my mouth to speak, then closed it, because I thought that might not fly.
Noah lifted me off of his lap. “No,” he said, and shrugged his shirt back on.
“No?” I asked.
“No.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Why not? You’ve done it before.”
Noah looked away. “For fun.”
“I can be fun,” I said quietly.
“I know.” Noah’s expression leveled me.
“You don’t trust me,” I said quietly.
Noah measured his words before he spoke. “You don’t trust yourself, Mara. I am not going to die if you kiss me; I told you that already. But you still think I’m going to. So, no.”
“You’re kidding me,” I said, incredulous. Noah, Noah Shaw, was slamming on the brakes.
“Does this look like my kidding face?” Noah composed his expression into one of mock seriousness.
I ignored it and stood up. “You don’t want me.”
Noah threw his head back and laughed, rich and loose. A blush crept up into my cheeks. I wanted to punch him in the throat.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said as he stood. “I could barely keep my hands off you last night, even after seeing what you’d been through this week. Even after knowing how wrecked you were when you told me. And I’m going to spend an eternity in hell for that dream I had about you on your birthday. But if I could call it up again, I’d spend it twice.”
He took my hand and turned it over in his, studying it. “Mara, I have never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. And when you’re ready for me to show you,” he said, brushing my hair to the side, “I’m going to kiss you.” His thumb grazed my ear and his hand curved around my neck. He leaned me backward and my eyes fluttered closed. I breathed in the scent of him as he leaned in and kissed the hollow under my ear. My pulse raced under his lips.
“And I won’t settle for anything less.”
Noah pulled away and drew me up with him. I was disoriented, but not enough to ignore the cocky grin he was wearing.
“I hate you,” I muttered.
Noah smiled wider. “I know.”
57
I COULDN’T GO TO SCHOOL THE NEXT DAY, EITHER— that much was obvious. Who knew what triggered the deaths—was a stray thought enough? Or did I have to envision it? And what about the animals that died, even thought I never explicitly wanted them to? What about Rachel?
I needed to rebuild my world and figure out my place in it before I would be safe around the general population. I told my mother that I wanted to stay home, that going back to school yesterday was a little too much for me and I wanted to wait until after my appointment with Dr. Maillard today to try it again. Given my recent behavior, she was happy to oblige.
I made it to lunch without incident. But as I stood in the kitchen midway through making myself a sandwich, someone started pounding on the front door.
I froze. They didn’t go away.
I crept soundlessly to the foyer and looked through the peephole. I let out a sigh of relief. Noah stood on my front step, disheveled and furious.
“Get in the car,” he said. “There’s something you need to see.”
“What? What are you—”
“It’s about your father’s case. We need to make it to the courthouse before the trial’s over. I’ll explain, but come.”
My mind raced to catch up but I followed Noah without hesitating, locking the door behind me. He didn’t stand on ceremony and I flung open the passenger door and dove in. Noah backed out of the driveway in seconds, then reached into the backseat and withdrew a newspaper. He dropped The Miami Herald in my lap as he wove between lanes, ignoring the irritated honking that followed.
I read the headline: crime scene photos leaked on final day of palmer trial. I scanned the photos; a few of the crime scene and one of Leon Lassiter, my father’s client. Then I skimmed the article. It gave a detailed overview of the case, but I was missing something.
“I don’t understand,” I said, focusing on Noah’s clenched jaw and angry stare.
“Did you look at the photos? Carefully?”
My eyes roamed the pictures, disturbing though they were. Two of them showed Jordana Palmer’s dismembered body lying piecemeal in the tall grass, with chunks of flesh ripped from her calves, her arms, her torso. The third was a landscape, taken from the distance, with markers showing the position and location where the body was found. The little concrete shed where Noah and I had found Joseph was cast in a penumbral shadow by the flash.