Stunned (The Lucidites Book 2) (21 page)

He laughs loudly, then points at my cup. “Keep drinking that and I won’t have to wait long.”

I freeze and thrust the drink at his chest. He takes it with a wink.

“So did my invitation to this party get lost in the mail, because if so, I’ll totally petition to get Patrick fired.”

“Didn’t think you’d come, and I’m certain you probably don’t think this celebration is a good idea.”

“You know, Trent, you’re not as dumb as you look.”

“And I assure you I’m every bit as seductive as I look.”

I laugh, a genuine one. “Well, I didn’t think this was a good idea at first, but I can see the importance of letting off some steam before the big event. Will you promise to send everybody back to their room at a decent time?”

“Yes, mom.”

I tuck my head down and slide through dancing people. Light grows brighter as I edge closer to the hallway. Snaking my way through the tight crowd of bodies, I have a brief moment of claustrophobia. Only once I reach the threshold does my breath return. I’m not certain how hanging out in an overcrowded room is fun, but more power to the rest of them. The corridor feels double its normal size as I head back to my safe haven.

“Not so fast.”

I freeze. He’s talking to me.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

R
igid, I straighten before turning around to face George. He continues to stride forward until he’s only two feet from me. “Don’t leave,” he says, a chastised tone to his voice.

The light in the hallway is bright, still messing with my eyes after the disco ball. “I’ve had a long day, that’s all,” I say. “I need to get some rest for tomorrow.”

“So you’re not dream traveling later then.” His tone is not questioning, but rather bitter.

“Probably not,” I say.

“Okay, well then that settles it.” George strides around me, blocking my room.

“Settles what?” I ask, worried he’s about to do something stupid.

“Well, it’s pretty much my last chance.” His eyes bore into me with a new intensity. “It’s my last chance before everything comes to a head. And after that it will all change.”

What does he mean?
“George…” I plead. “Please—”

“Roya, give me a chance. I promise I’m not here to hurt or pressure you. I only want to take advantage of the precious time we have left.” His ominous words carry an urgent awakening through my being. He holds out his arm for me. “Would you accompany me? I have something I want to show you.”

I hesitate, staring at his arm, then his eyes. We
don’t
know what dangers we’ll face tomorrow. I’ve tried not to think about it and honestly, I don’t want to spend the rest of the night consumed with thoughts of the unknown. Wrapping my arm around his I allow him to lead me off. With a sturdy force, George guides me to the elevator. His finger presses the 5 with an excited hesitation. Nervous tension mounts within me as I search my brain for what could be on that level that he’d want to show me.

Once we arrive he escorts me out of the elevator without a single glance. His grip around my arm is both gentle and commanding, which I don’t just permit, but relish. Right past the Panther room he stops at a doorway labeled “Shhh.” I’ve been by it a million times. George pauses, seems to waver, about to say something, then hits the button with his elbow. The door slides back.

A soothing musk of leather and fresh polished wood hits my nostrils. George drops his grip on me and I step forward. Compared to the cold hallway, the space I enter is rich with mahogany and warm with soft sconce lighting. Marble greets my feet oddly. Most places in the Institute are covered in the iridescent blue carpet. Here black and cream marble spiral together until they disappear into each other in the center of a great atrium. The design is the same as the amulet Trey wears. A yin yang of sorts. My feet bring me to the center of the spiral, but my eyes continue to scan the area. Five open stories tower above me, all uniform in design with shelves lining their spaces. Only one type of item occupies the mahogany shelves: Books. Hundreds of thousands of books. Millions of pages cloaked in dust and inspiration and wisdom.

Once. Twice. Three times I rotate, taking in the vast richness around me. Just when I think the Institute can’t surprise me I learn inside its stainless steel walls is the most incredible warmth of intelligence I could have imagined. A library. It looks to be modeled straight from the Library of Congress with its arches, marble columns, and vibrant murals blanketing the walls. This place is the antithesis of the modern design found everywhere else in the Institute. It’s perfect.

Two sets of majestic staircases stand on either side of me, both zigzagging from level to level. Balconies stretch off each floor, with a view of the marble display under our feet. The immediate area is devoid of people, but in places like this anyone can hide in alcoves and behind shelves of books. One of the many reasons I love libraries. Everyone is lost and not wanting to be found in a library.

I rush forward to the shelves, touching the first set of books I come to. They’re real under my fingertips. As real as flesh and dirt and water. Running my fingers along the shelf of books, I pace forward, sucking in the velvety dust immediately unleashed by my touch upon these unused volumes.

“What do you think?” George asks in a hush a few feet behind me.

That’s the most appropriate question I’ve ever heard him ask. Without turning to face him, I say, “I think this place is incredible.” Hungry to suck in everything, I scan, trying to delineate the different sections. Fiction is on the first floor. Does it just compose the first or could more volumes be housed on the second and third floor too? And still that leaves so many possibilities, all waiting to be explored. At once I long to know this place intimately, but then also relish the mystery and opportunity to discover each new volume when the time is right.

Strolling footsteps snake me through the aisles. Fingertips still greet a row of books, welcoming them into my life. Anticipation builds in me until I realize I’m breezing through the aisles, laughing. It’s only once I’m deep within the catacombs of the first level that I double over, delirious with excitement. This library is majestically secretive and quiet and lonely. I love it.

Excited to share my overpowering joy, I turn to George, who’s trailing behind me. An awe-inspiring look is upon his eyes as he stares directly at me.

“Thank you,” I say, as he catches up to me. “I had no idea this was here. It’s incredible. It’s…” I can find no words to express how overwhelmed I feel right now. The expression of understanding on George’s face tells me he’s already privy to my true emotions.

“Roya, how you feel about this place right now is how I feel about you all of the time.”

The smile etched upon my lips falters. I step back. George makes up the distance quickly though. “I’m not trying to scare you. But Roya, don’t you want to know? Wouldn’t it be nice to know how you make other people feel, for once?”

His words jolt me like I’m free falling. Simultaneously I’m paralyzed by their allure and also fearful of their true meaning. “George, you promised. You said you weren’t going to pressure me again.”

“And I’m not. I knew you’d love it here, but I had no idea how much. When I felt your emotions, such brazen affection, I knew I had to say something. I’ll never get another opportunity to express the equivalence of my emotion for you.”

I stare at him, down the long dark aisle. His brown eyes are hooded by blond hair, but I can still see the softness around them.

“It’s different than last time, Roya,” he continues. “I’m not urging you to tell me how you feel. I won’t ever ask that of you again. I promised you that, but it’s unfair of you to silence me. And still, whatever you feel for me I’m not begging for more. I won’t do that either. All I want is the opportunity to make sure my case is clear to you.”

The space between us is simultaneously too small and too large. Everything escapes me, words, actions, emotions. I let them bound out of me, unshielded—all messy and untamed. George’s eyes shift back and forth between mine, and I’m frozen between two solid rows of pages. Frozen by his searching gaze.

Finally the floodgate of my emotions dissipates. Abruptly he turns, striding for the exit. “It’s late. I should get you back.”

It takes me a moment to realize I’m no longer entranced in his emotional net. I shake my head, recapturing my wits, and stride behind him.

“George,” I say, trying to locate my suddenly missing breath.

“It’s all right, Roya. I’m not asking for anything. I just wanted you to enjoy this place. I knew you would.” He picks up his pace, intent on leaving me behind.

“Stop, please,” I say, sounding small. Gently he halts, pauses, and turns, facing me with a masked expression.

“Thank you for showing me this place. It’s…” Anything I say will be indicative of how he feels for me. Do I want to vocalize that?

“You’re welcome,” George says, sounding defeated. “I really didn’t come here to confess anything to you.”

“I believe you,” I say, hoping the pages swallow our words.

A quiet complaint falls out of his mouth. “You have so much emotion inside. Why won’t you let it out? Why do you bottle your feelings?”

“Because…” I stare at him, then search the rows for an answer. “Because I need them for battle,” I say without making eye contact.

“That will probably work as an answer… until you have no more battles left to fight,” he says in a tight whisper and turns to leave.

We exit the library and board the elevator without a word. Inside the silver confines I feel George’s tension. It’s palpable in this small space. The stainless steel walls seem to ensure that emotions and thoughts are revealed instead of absorbed. Instantly I yearn for the porous marble and wood of the library.

Again George has confessed himself to me, and again I’ve offered him nothing in return. I’m not sure why I continue to push him away, especially since his whispered words in my ear the other night brought down walls I’d guarded to the point of exhaustion for too long.
Leaning on someone doesn’t make you weak.
I feel safe with George, but I also don’t want anything to ever ruin that. And every time we erase another obstacle between us I fear my refuge is disintegrating. Maybe he was right when he said the night of the party that I was playing games with him. But I’m stupid, because this isn’t a game I know how to win.

He holds the elevator open while I disembark. I walk ahead of him, then pause at my door, the first room on this side of the rooming corridor. George turns after a few paces and searches me. “Goodnight, Roya,” he says, his voice catching on my name.

“No, wait,” I say, stepping forward. “George, the night of the party you asked me how I specifically felt about you. Do you still want to know?”

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t this. His expression is a mix of consternation and anticipation. “Yes. But you don’t have to.”

“And I don’t want to. I’m not ready right now, but I also don’t want that to be your last appeal.”

“I don’t need you to prove anything to me, if that’s what you’re implying. I know how you feel. But for once, it would be nice to hear it from your own lips.”

“Is that what you need?”

“Yes, but not yet. If you’re going to tell me, do it after tomorrow,” he says, tone morose, and adds, “if it’s still the way you feel.”

“Nothing is going to change the way I feel about you.” The cynical look in his eyes fractures my heart, sending me into a quiet frenzy to convince us both that we belong in each other’s arms right now. “George.” I tip my head back to look at him. Words are stuck in the hollow of my throat. Obviously I’ve hurt him by not saying enough, but I can’t…not right now.

I step, the movement so small, it could hardly be classified as one. Still, I find myself closer to George. His true expression is plastered behind a stone face. The beat of the music from Trent’s room echoes down the corridor, but I’m a million miles from there. George and I are chained to each other through our silent, staring eyes, alone inside a bubble. One in which there’s only room for his arms to hold me like before. Tomorrow we face danger and death and who knows what other evils. Tonight I need his arms around me, erasing my pain—or at least attempting to.

Reaching out, he cups my shoulder, yanking me forward until I’m pressed up against him. “Oh, Roya, what am I going to do with you?” he says, wrapping his arms around me, wrenching me in tightly. I bury my face in his chest, like the other night. In the flesh he smells of jasmine and wood; it must be his cologne. It’s seductive.

My focus remains on his steady breath, the only thing I’m sure I can count on in this moment. I wrap my arms around his torso and press every inch of me against him. I never want to leave this moment. Not even the idea of people spilling out of Trent’s room deters me from wanting to stay safe in my refuge.

“You know,” George says, breathing into my hair, “I’ll stay like this as long as you want me to.”

I slide back and look into his tranquil, brown eyes. “I know you will.”

With everything that weighs on my shoulders right now all I can think about is my own curiosities: What does his lips feel like pressed against mine? Does he know how long and hard to kiss me? Or will his desire overwhelm the moment?

An inviting smile stretches across George’s face, reaching all the way up to his eyes. I’m not masking my emotions and he’s picking them up like pansies from an open field. His next moves are not as graceful as the expression he’s just adorned. He fumbles several times to find a path to my face, not always tilting the right direction at the right time and retreating when meeting an obstacle. But when he finds my lips he seizes them and lays claim in a way I’ve yet to imagine possible. And every curiosity I had is put to rest. Of course I should have known: George kisses me exactly as long and hard as I desire. His kiss is elegantly perfect.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

T
he lecture hall is quiet except for the soft buzzing of the overhead lights. Words blur on the page in front of me. I must have already read through my notes thirty times in the last hour. The door at my back slides open. Half of me hopes it’s George and the other half prays it’s not. Being alone with him right now is probably not a good idea.