The Pale Waters (#1 Reclaimed Souls) by Della Roth Page B

up.” It feels like I’m cursing my own heart. You’ve wanted this for so long, Rahda. Why are you backing
out?
    “It’s precisely why we should not stop,” he
says urgently in between hungry kisses. “I just want to live for
this moment. But after tonight, things will be different…” His
words trail away.
    “Things are already different.” Dear
Goddess, I cannot think straight around him. I’m totally
compromising the mission.
    “You really don’t know, do you?” His voice
is less rushed. In that moment, I get the feeling that he knows
everything about me.
    “Know what?” I feel his fingers as he
buttons my shirt. I try to fling his hands away, but he’s holding
on tight.
     
    He hesitates before he says, “That I am
yours, Rahda. You only have to ask, and it is yours.” I’m not
certain, but it feels like he wanted to say something else, like we
were talking about two different things.
    “Then show me how to leave the Palace.”
Silence. “I’m leaving with or without your help, Roland.” I step
away and walk to the door. It hisses open. Dim light spills in.
    “Wait,” he calls. Regret fills his voice.
Regret and resignation. I’ve missed something, but I don’t know
what. It takes a full minute before he curses under his breath and
says, “I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”
    Just as I had hoped. I look down to hide my
smile.

FIFTEEN
     
    “WE’LL TAKE THE LIFTS,” ROLAND SAYS, leading
me in a new direction. I inspect him. He wears an ivory-white
collared shirt, pressed and starched, and coffee-colored trousers
embellished with faded sepia-toned belt, and dark brown boots. The
same brown hair that I ran my fingers through is now tidied up and
secured in a brown ribbon. I stare at his ass and imagine all sorts
of things, most of which involve the both of us being naked,
intertwined, and sweaty. Shaking my head, I dislodge the thought
and try to think straight.
    Roland, on the other hand, looks so calm,
reserved, and in control. So very much unlike a few minutes
ago.
    Our intimate moments are quick affairs;
heated, intense, like a quick-burning fire that extinguishes long
before it needs to. Like one or both of us think too much about
what we are doing and then purposefully halt it.
    He leads me through several more basement
hallways and corridors that are more like mazes. After a few
minutes, I hear the telltale hum of the elevator lifts.
    Roland checks his wristwatch and then steps
into the next lift.
    “Take the lift to the ninth floor. When you
get there, turn left and go up a set of stairs. I’ll leave the door
open.”
    “I thought we were leaving the
building.”
    He’s almost one floor up before he
responds.
    “I can’t exactly go out like this, now can
I? I must get changed. Don’t forget: ninth floor, then take the
stairs to your immediate left .”
    How hard can it be? Lift. Stairs. Got
it.
    “Why can’t I wait for you at the main
door?”
    Roland’s reply doesn’t reach me, but his
laughter does. I step into the next lift carefully. At least this
time, I’m not wearing a fabriskin robe and I do not trip on
anything and I rise uneventfully. But on the next floor, something
catches my eye. A small gold and red tube, butted against a
crumbling brick wall, and instantly I jump from the lift, land on
both feet. I look around to see if anyone notices me, but there’s
no one around to be noticed by. Not even service robots.
    I pick up the lipstick and shove it in a
pocket. It must have landed here last night without the servicebot
finding it. I didn’t even know it was missing, which tells me more
than I’m willing to admit to.
    My attraction to Roland is blinding me to
the real reason I’m here. I could easily put on the coral lipstick,
kiss Roland, and allow my lips to poison him.
    Quick, easy, ruthless.
    I could even do it now, before we leave the
Palace Skyscraper, but I won’t. I need to communicate with my
mentor. I must ensure nothing has changed.
    And