“This doesn’t absolve you, Miss Bonnivarde.” I reach for the one she’s nodding at, miraculously intact. “We agreed on half passed ten. I’ve been waiting.”
“It’s not even quarter till, and anyway, I had to stop at—wait.” Her eyes narrow. I’ve yet to taste the muffin, but I begin to worry I’ve dropped crumbs on my cravat, so accusatory is her glare. “Did you actuallymissme?”
“What?”
“Oh my god. You totally missed me!” Her smile is relentless. An attack on all things good and decent.
Heat licks up my spine. “I wasinconveniencedby you, notbereftof you.”
“Your ears turn red when you’re lying. You know that, right?”
“If my ears are red, it’s because I’ve been standing about on this chilly autumn morn awaiting a student who not eight hours ago professed her eagerness to begin her studies, yet somehow didnothave the common decency to arrive at the agreed-upon meeting place at the agreed-upon time, which doesn’t bode well for?—”
“I get it, Professor.” She’s still grinning, damn her. “I’m very miss-able.”
“Oh, for the… To miss something—an object, a person—requires some sort of social or emotional connection, Miss Bonnivarde. Intimate knowledge, of which I have so very little of you. Therefore, technically speaking, missing you would be an impossibility, unless I were under some sort of spell, the probability of which is nearly zero, considering you’ve only just discovered you’re a witch and have yet to cast your first spell, and are in fact continuing to delay that inevitability with your lateness and your inappropriate line of inquiry. All of which is to say…” I take a breath, and the opportunity to sample the muffin, which is rather more delicious than I presumed. Then, just in case it’s still unclear, because she’s still smirking at me as if she knows all my secrets, “I did notmissyou.”
She helps herself to one of the remaining muffin halves. Banana walnut, if I had to guess. “Are you always so freaking literal?”
“I amprecise. Witches above all else should appreciate the power of words. Spells can easily go awry with a single misplaced word. Best always to say what you mean, and?—”
“Wait. Don’t tell me.” She presses one of her blue-painted fingertips to her temple, playing at telepathy. “Mean what you say?”
“Precisely.”
“Pre-cise-ly,” she mimics, not altogether butchering the accent. “I think that’s your favorite word. I have a favorite, too. Want to hear it?”
“Not really, no. All words have an equal purpose and place. Speaking of purpose, we should probably get on with ours.” I take the final delicious bites of my muffin, a thing that puts Hattie’s to shame, no nonconsensual fondling required, savoring every last morsel, thinking about going for another, the lemon poppyseed perhaps, and then?—
“Orgasmic!” she blurts out, and I damn near choke. “Isn’t that the best?Orgaaaasmic. Just saying it out loud makes me want to have one, and sometimes I can do it too, just from thinking about it and visualizing a really hot guy going down on?—”
“MissBonnivarde.” The heat returns with a vengeance, and I loosen my cravat, lest it further restrict the airflow I so suddenly, desperately need. “As much as I appreciate a student’s vivid imagination, this conversation is not only inappropriate, it’s not at all relevant to our studies.”
Orgasmic. Satan save me.
“It should be, though, is what I’m saying. It’s just another form of magic, Professor Sutherland.” She stuffs in the last of hermuffin. Licks the crumbs from her delicate fingers. Then says, through a full mouth, “You can totally manifest orgasms.”
“Be that as it may?—”
“As what I assume is a lifelong learner, you should be fascinated by this concept. Eager to explore it, even. I’m actually shocked at your lack of enthusiasm for the study of the mind-body connection via this highly intriguing form of mental magic.”
“Yes, well… that’s quite… well and good. Very good.” Why am I suddenly so fixated on her mouth? Those rose-colored lips. The shape of them as she smiles at me, taunting me.
Hellfire. She’s not just a witch, but a dark sorceress bent on my annihilation. I wouldn’t be surprised to discover Matthias has sent me here under false pretenses. A punishment for past transgressions. Maybe even future ones, at this rate.
“Itisgood,” she replies, with a casual toss of her hair that has me wondering what it would feel like to run my fingers through it. The way it catches the light… beautiful. “You should give it a whirl.”
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” I mutter, not entirely for her ears, though she picks it up anyway. Imaginativeandobservant—a dangerous combination. I’ll need to be more careful.
“It’s easy. Just close your eyes, picture getting naked and slipping into a hot, steamy jacuzzi, and then?—”
“Have you spoken with your sisters?” I blurt out, perhaps a bit too abruptly, though it’s an important question. Matthias wants no loose ends left behind, which means training—and then promptly manipulating—all three of them. “Will they be joining us for the lesson?”
The grin vanishes. The hair stops glimmering. The temperature in the air plummets rather significantly, warmth draining from her eyes in a blink.
Fuck.
“Pro tip, Professor,” she quips. “When a girl is talking about manifesting orgasms and getting naked and slipping into a jacuzzi? Don’t mention her sisters. Because much like a dude with an unfortunate case of whisky dick, you are totally killing the vibe.”
