Chain of Gold (The Last Hours, #1)

by Cassandra Clare

“I want you to kiss me,” she said. He never thought of saying no. The sun was bright as he reached for her, so bright it hurt his eyes. He drew her toward him: she was small and cool and slight, delicate as a bird. Her hat slipped from her head as she tilted her face up toward his. He felt the rustle of lace against his hands as they circled her waist, and the cool, soft press of her lips against his. The sun was a burning needle transfixing them both to the spot. Her chest rose and fell against his; she was trembling as if she were cold. Her hands gripped his shoulders. For a moment, he only felt: their lips against each other’s, the taste of her like sugar pastilles on his tongue. His eyes began to burn, though they were closed. He felt breathless and sick, as if he’d dived under salt water and come up for air too late. Something was wrong. With a choked gasp of nausea, he broke away from Grace. Her hand went to her mouth. There was a look on her face he had not expected—a look of undeniable panic.

NOT MEANT TO BE TOGETHER