My eyelids flutter closed, anticipating his touch, the inevitable kiss, the moment that will forever change the nature of our arrangement and rid me of all memories of the bottom-feeding douche canoe I last kissed.
I’m ready for this. I want this, I realize. More than anything. I hold my breath, and…Oh god oh god…
The kiss never comes.
The spell has, somehow, broken.
I open my eyes just as he’s stepping backward.
“Right, then,” he says, clearing his throat. “That was very informative. You… you performed wonderfully.”
“It wasn’t a performance.” It comes out snippier than I intend. A casual onlooker might even assume I’m offended. Or worse, hurt. I cross my arms over my chest.
I’m such an idiot.
Of course he wasn’t going to kiss me. It was all in my stupid head.
“Miss Bonnivarde, I only meant that you performed your duty—assignment. Performed your assignment well. Excelled at it, really, and now we can put together a proper teaching plan that allows you to study the fundamentals while maximizing your innate abilities… yes, that’s all we need. A plan.” He returns to his trusty journal, frantically scribbling. Erasing. Scribbling some more. Muttering to himself about spells and kinetic tests and who knows what all else because all I can think about is that look in his eyes the moment he almost touched me again.
The first time, with the chocolate, was a fluke. A reaction more than an intentional move.
But this one was different. And no, it wasn’t in my head. It couldn’t have been. That look, the longing… Not the simple longing of attraction and lust.ThatI could understand. Get on board with. Right here, right in the woods, grass stains be damned.
I let out a shaky breath. No, Dr. Sutherland wasn’t looking at me like he wanted to fuck me.
He looked at me like he wanted toknowme. Like maybe, somehow, he already does.
I steal a glance at him now, still writing, his brow furrowed, lips pursed in intense concentration. The man is a study in contrasts. The hard angles of his jaw, the lush softness of his lips. The playful swoop of his hair, the stern set of his shoulders. Light, yet dark. Sweet and awkward, yet completely intimidating.
He glances at me over the tops of his glasses. Catches me staring like some crazed fangirl. Then, he smiles. He actually smiles—a big one, too. Well, big for him. It’s warm and kind and just a little bit shy, and I think maybe in another lifetime, we might’ve been friends.
“You’ve done brilliantly, Miss Bonnivarde,” he says. “Surpassed all expectations. Truly.”
Oh. Did I say friends? Because what I’d really like to do, in this moment when he’s tossing around words like “brilliantly” and beaming at me like I’m the only ray of sunshine on this otherwise dreary day in a town as gray and lifeless as dishwater, is pull him behind the nearest hawthorn tree, drop to my knees, and?—
“Are you quite all right?”
“Sorry?” I blink. Smooth my hands over my sweater. Try not to imaginehishands smoothing over my sweater. And under it.
“You’ve just turned a particular shade of crimson that speaks of fever.”
“Oh! I’m… fine. Just… got a little warm. All those tingles. Magic! I mean magic. Magic tingles.” I rub my arms. “Woo! Very tingly. Um. Anyway! Easy peasy, am I right? I thought you said this magic business would be a challenge?”
“We haven’t even begun to tap into it. There will come a day—in the very near future—when you’re all butbeggingme to stop.”
Oh boy.You know, this whole thing would be a lot easier if my brain would stop turning everything he says into an innuendo. He’s a demon, for the love of Satan. And a professor. An uptight one, too. He already outlawed hugs. He probably comes from a time when men offered women handkerchiefs after every sniffle and got hard at the sight of a bare ankle under a skirt. Scandalous!
“What are you thinking about?” he wants to know, pencil poised against paper, ever the observer.
“Just… the feeling. The tug, I mean. Whatever’s happening here. What does it mean?” Evacuating all thoughts of the carnal nature—at least until I’m home under the covers for a little self-care session starring my new hot-for-teacher movie reel—I move closer and peer down at his notes. “Does it make any sense to you?”
“Perfect sense, as a matter of fact.”
God, that smile again. I don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it. It’s just pure, academic joy. I can’t remember when anything lit me up from the inside like that, but this man is nearly vibrating with it.
Speaking of vibrating… did I pack my favorite toy? I must have. I wouldn’t have left it behind. Then again, I left my weed at Brendan’s, so clearly my head wasn’t in the game before I escaped L.A.
Guess I’ll just have to go acoustic.
