Toy Soldiers (Helford #1)

(14) Spell

“Oh, come on,” Jonathon said, staring at me in amused surprise. “You have to have heard of them.”

I shrugged daintily and shot him a grin. “Nope. Never.”

“We’re going to have to change that,” he told me certainly, squeezing my hand tight to drive his point across. I felt a smile tugging at my lips as he led me forward, through the softly silent Parisian backstreets, the sky above us inky black and robbed of all stars under the straining city lights. But there was still come kind of beauty in the darkness. Made you feel like you were walking on the world. Our entwined hands swung slightly with the momentum in which we walked and I felt my eyes pull down to it, to the foreign sight of his hand dwarfing mine. “I’ll have to educate your taste in music.”

“I don’t listen to music a lot.” I brushed his obvious horror off with a shrug of my shoulders. “And aren’t they an old band anyway? Like, from a while ago?”

He’s still completely horrified as he whispered to me, “You’re dissing AC/DC.”

“Sorry?” I tried to apologize, but I ended up smiling. He shook his head at me, still going into shock, but I saw a smile behind the surprise in his eyes.

He moved so that he nudged me with his shoulders, but he was still holding back his laugh. “You’ve been living under a rock, Caitie Foerst. And for that, I am sorry.”

“I just don’t listen to music,” I uselessly mumbled for the third time in the last five minutes. His only response was finally allowing his laugh to escape from his lips, the sound loud and boisterous and echoing through the night, bouncing off the walls of the structures surrounding us. I curled my fingers around his a little bit tighter, just to make sure that he was still real.

Even I had to admit that the night had been magical. I wasn’t much for being heartfelt but I couldn’t deny it even if I tried—the boy with the goofy but charming smile had wooed me tonight. And I was finding it harder and harder to push myself away from him.

Every time I looked at him, something sharp stabbed at my stomach. I realized that it was fear.

Too soon, too late, we stopped outside of the building that he presumed was mine. We hesitated at the door, and I busied myself with peering through the windows and into the dimly lit lobby, everyone assumed to be up in their rooms sleeping through the fitful night I knew I was in store for. I turned back to Jonathon and caught him staring at me, something enigmatic on his face and in his eyes. He squeezed my hand and it was in his touch, too.

“I guess this is where I leave you,” he said slowly, blowing out a long breath. I nodded slowly but offered no words, biting my lip. I didn’t let go of his hand and he didn’t let go of mine, either, so I could only assume that the feeling I wasn’t supposed to be having—the one that begged and pleaded with me to never let this boy go—was similar to what he himself was feeling. The thought should have given me hope, but instead it filled me with a cold dread.

I glanced at the building and I glanced back. He was still watching me, weighing the words carefully on the tip of his tongue.

“Goodnight, Caitie,” he whispered to the stars.

And then, as to be expected, he leaned forward and kissed me.

I had been kissed before. I had been kissed and I had kissed and I had done a lot of things that went further than kissing. But when Jonathon’s lips touched mine, just the slightest whisper of a touch, heat spread to every inch of my body. My stomach flipped not uncomfortably, dancing with butterflies as he leaned in further, pressing his lips closer, and I realized that with that touch he had stolen my breath away like a thief in the night. I wanted so much to step away, to make the feelings rattling around uncertainly and uncontrollably in my chest leave me behind, but I knew that I had stepped off of the cliff, and now I was free-falling.