Clockwork Prince (The Infernal Devices, #2)

by Cassandra Clare

He flinched away from her, and she dropped her hand, hurt. “Jem, what is it? You don’t want me to touch you?” “Not like that,” he flared, and then flushed even darker than before. “Like what?” She was honestly bewildered; this was behavior she might have expected from Will, but not from Jem—this mysteriousness, this anger. “As if you were a nurse and I were your patient.” His voice was firm but uneven. “You think because I am ill that I am not like—” He drew a ragged breath. “Do you think I do not know,” he said, “that when you take my hand, it is only so that you can feel my pulse? Do you think I do not know that when you look into my eyes, it is only to see how much of the drug I have taken? If I were another man, a normal man, I might have hopes, presumptions even; I might—” His words seemed to catch, either because he realized he had said too much or because he had run out of breath; he was gasping, his cheeks flushed. She shook her head, feeling her plaits tickle her neck. “This is the fever speaking, not you.” His eyes darkened, and he began to turn away from her. “You can’t even believe I could want you,” he said in a half whisper. “That I am alive enough, healthy enough—” “No—” Without thinking, she caught at his arm. He stiffened. “James, that isn’t at all what I meant—” He curled his fingers around her hand where it lay on his arm. His own scorched her skin, as hot as fire. And then he turned her and drew her toward him. They stood face-to-face, chest to chest. H...