I wanted to think about what might have happened the night before if Marc hadn’t interfered. I wanted the possibility of a little excitement I didn’t need anyone’s permission to enjoy.

Jace stared down at me as if he knew what I was thinking, his finger tracing a lazy, coiling pattern on the comforter between us. “You know, if Marc hadn’t stopped me, I’d have won our bet.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about the bet.” With no thought for what I was doing, I reached up for his arm, my eyes focused on the wel -defined curve of his biceps, where it lay half hidden by his sleeve. His pulse jumped as my fingers brushed his skin, and I realized what I was doing. Mortified, I tugged his sleeve down where a section of the hem was folded up, feigning concern for his appearance.

He grinned, clearly seeing through my lamentable act. “I didn’t want to talk about you snatching my keys. But me winning our bet is just about my favorite conversational topic in the world right now.”

“You didn’t win,” I reminded him, my hands clasped together tightly, each keeping the other out of trouble. I wanted to let them wander, to find out how soft his hair was and whether his chest could possibly be as firm as it looked. But that would be opening a door I just couldn’t walk through. Though I might not put up much of a struggle if someone were to give me a shove.

Starting something with Jace would be like spitting in Marc’s face. It would also be going against a direct order from my father, which could bring the full force of his wrath down on us both. But being alone with Jace made me feel daring and fearless, as if the consequences didn’t matter. His touch made me light-headed; it made my pulse race, as only Marc’s had ever done before. And that was awfully hard to resist. What Daddy doesn’t know won’t hurt me, I thought, stil just toying with the idea.

“I would have won if he hadn’t held me back,” Jace said, his voice almost wistful.

“Ah, what might have been…”

His eyes brightened. “Exactly.”

“I was kidding, Jace,” I said, marveling over how very blue his eyes were. Had they always been that blue? Surely not.

“I wasn’t.” He stared down at me, his focus shifting back and forth between my eyes. I knew I should look away, but I couldn’t do it. Before, Jace had always been safe, good for a little harmless flirting and ego-boosting, but nothing more. But last night something had changed. He had changed. And I’d been so sure I was the only one…

Jace tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his hand lingering longer than necessary against my skin. He lowered his face toward me. His lips brushed mine softly as his hand moved to cup the base of my skull, tilting my mouth up to meet his. A shudder thril ed its way through my body, bound for points south of the equator. I closed my eyes, breathing in his scent, so familiar yet somehow al -new and exhilarating.

He kissed me again, gently, hesitantly, as if waiting for me to push him away. I should have. But I didn’t. For some reason having more to do with lust than logic, I just didn’t. I hadn’t felt such a spark in years. Not since Marc. And I wanted that spark.

Jace took my failure to resist as consent, and he kissed me harder, deeper, his tongue parting my lips while his hand smoothed my hair across the pil ow. Eyes stil closed, my left hand found his lower back, where his spine curved beneath the hem of his shirt. My fingers clenched around the material, my arm drawing him closer. He moaned into my mouth.

My pulse quickened as his fingers trailed the length of my hair to my arm. He paused at the crook of my elbow before moving on to my waist. His touch danced across my skin, tickling my stomach as he traced the edge of my waistband toward the button just below my navel.

He reached the button and hesitated, pulling away from my lips. He left my mouth empty but stil open, stil waiting. I held my breath, afraid to move and break the spell. Then he kissed me again, his tongue plunging into my mouth as his hand tugged gently at the flap of denim surrounding the buttonhole.

The button gave way, and my eyes popped open. He’d gone too far. Too fast.

That touch wasn’t playful; it was intimate, and a little too bold.

I had one hand on his chest, just starting to push him away, when my bedroom door flew open, smashing into the doorstop with a startling thud.

Marc was on us before either of us could sit up, before I’d even realized who had come in. He pul ed Jace off me and heaved him across the room and into the wal , where the dent I’d made that morning was swal owed by the impression of Jace’s back in the Sheetrock.

I scrambled to my knees, kneeling on the bed as I stared at them both in shock. “Marc, what—?”

He ignored me, focusing his rage on Jace, who sat hunched over on the floor where he’d fal en. Ethan appeared in the doorway and started toward Jace, but Marc slammed the door in his face. The doorknob turned, but Marc ripped it from Ethan’s grasp, accidental y pulling him part of the way into the room.

“Get out,” Marc growled, every muscle visibly tensed and trembling with fury.

Ethan gestured toward Jace. “He’s hurt.”

“Out.” Marc thrust him into the hal , then shoved the door closed. Ethan didn’t try again, but the shadow of his feet remained beneath the door. He wouldn’t completely abandon his best friend.

“Marc…” I tried again, and this time he turned on me.

“Shut up, Faythe.”

I cringed, though he hadn’t shouted, because the look on his face was rage.