Nightfall by Evelyn Glass Page A

clinging to him.
     
    “Bedroom,” he said, his voice filled with a growl. He stood, holding a hand out to her, and led her through the house.
     
    They walked up the flight of stairs at the center of the house. The house was impeccably clean, not a hint of dust on a picture frame or a cobweb in a corner. It added to the sense, somehow, that no one had lived here in a very long time. It felt more like a museum than a home.
     
    When he opened the door to the bedroom, though, that feeling vanished. Here was the place where he lived, even if it had been only for a day. The sheets on the bed were rumpled, tangled, as if he had come back here, and then slept poorly. There were clothes in a dresser, the top drawer partially opened, and clothing in disarray. “Do you keep a wardrobe in all your houses?” She asked, her tone light.
     
    His answer surprised her. “Yes. Nothing fancy, of course, just a few changes. Jeans, shirts, necessities.” He said this like his response was completely normal.
     
    “How many houses do you have?”
     
    He shrugged. “My family has traveled over the years. I travel as well. For business. It’s easier than hotel arrangements.”
     
    “No one has lived here as long as I’ve been in Sweetwater. The house has just… sat empty.”
     
    Julian’s gaze sharpened somewhat. “It’s been many years between visits, yes.”
     
    “You weren’t here before your— rock climbing adventure.” She crossed her arms under her breasts and shook her head. “I would have known if the house had been opened. Someone in town would have known, and I know everyone in town.”
     
    “People tell you things, I take it?”
     
    “I have one of those sorts of faces.”
     
    “You do,” he said, smiling. “I’m sorry that I can’t explain in detail. Please believe me when I say that it’s for your safety, no matter how odd it seems.”
     
    He stayed where he was, and she didn’t uncross her arms. “Are you some kind of secret agent? FBI? CIA? S.H.I.E.L.D.?”
     
    The serious expression that had covered his face cracked, and he laughed too hard. “No. No, not at all.” A moment of silence, considering, and then he drew closer to her, running his hands down her arms. “Well, actually, not entirely unlike that. Not for a government, and not in the capacity that you’re thinking. But talking about it— it wouldn’t be a good idea.”
     
    She laughed, something easy and quiet slipping through her body. “So if you tell me, you’ll have to kill me, that’s what you’re saying?”
     
    He rolled his eyes and moved towards her, fast as running water and twice as smooth. He kissed her, his mouth teasing over hers again, and she relaxed into the kiss, letting her fingers slip up his arms, pushing up the sleeves of his T-shirt, then tighten a little so that she could drag her nails ever so lightly over his skin.
     
    He sighed, and then, between one blink and another, her vision was darkened. She felt fabric fall over her eyelids. It was lightweight, but when she tried to look through the darkness, she didn’t see a thing. It tightened behind her head as he knotted it in place. “All right?”
     
    She let herself take stock for a moment, surveying the extreme pace of her heartbeat, the way her breath had climbed up high in her chest, and the way her fingers were tingling with energy, so much so that she wondered if she’d see it sparkling between her fingertips, if she held them up to her eyes. “Yes,” she said.
     
    “The bed is just behind you. Take two steps back, and you’ll be at the edge.” There was a command in his voice. It was odd to move when she couldn’t see, to trust that the floor would be there when her foot reached for it. But it was, and when the back of her knees hit the bed, she sat. “Shame you’re wearing jeans,” he said. His fingers traced from her collarbone down to the top of her breast, and she shivered. The contact was so intense when it was just his