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His gaze is on my lips when he responds. “You usually don’t leave until six.”
Okay, fine,twohours early.
“Sounds like you keep careful watch. I’ve often wondered if you can see my desk from your office.”
He looks away, and I try not to smile.
His mention of my leaving early reminds me of the reason behind it.
“I’m sure you’re glad Miranda is in town. She’s beautiful.”
“Beautiful,” he echoes, his gaze on me again. He looks like he’s forgotten who she even is.
I want to press him about their relationship, but I don’t have the guts to ask a question that will break my heart.
Instead, I warn, “People are taking their seats for dinner.”
“Then go,” he says, not moving an inch.
I take a baby step toward him. It’s barely anything, but it’s enough to feel intimate and wrong. If someone were to turn a corner and find us here, it wouldn’t look innocent.
I look him over, taking my time. “I like when you’re dressed like this. This suit fits you to a T. Your tie is done perfectly, your pocket square is folded neatly. You look so proper…” Knowing I’m playing with fire, I lift my finger to trail it down the center of his tie and my eyes follow, but then I pause and let my gaze flit back to his as the truth spills out. “Just like the professor I can’t stop fantasizing about.”
My words are kerosene.
He has me hauled back against the wall behind me so fast I almost whimper, and his hand reaches up to grab my chin in a punishing grip—a grip he knows I like.
“Emelia…I don’t think you understand just how tightly wound I am at the moment. Should I keep on…and keep on…and keep on resisting you?” He sounds exhausted by the prospect. He leans his face down toward mine, our lips almost touching. “When will the torment end?”
“Make it end,” I challenge in a whisper.
“Should I take you just like this, right here in your brother’s home? How depraved.”
His free hand skims up under my dress.
“Please,” I whimper.
Can’t he see how much I want the same thing he does?
I’m transfixed by him.
His hand rounds up over my hip, and his hold is so tight I feel like his handprint will be there hours from now.
Then a voice speaks from down the hall.
“Now, now, Jonathan, surely you know having dessert before dinner is bad form. Especially since my brother has gone through the trouble to get us all here tonight.”
My eyes squeeze shut as I realize the voice I hear, the shadow in my periphery, belongs to Emmett Mercier.
Quickly, Professor Barclay shifts his body, blocking me from view so I’m given some modicum of privacy as I straighten my clothes and gather my wits. The gesture is thoughtful and kind, but I’m still so flushed I feel like I might go up in flames. For as long as possible, I avoid looking at Emmett, hoping perhaps he’ll disappear in a puff of smoke and this won’t be how we end up meeting.
No such luck.
As Professor Barclay steps back, I come face to face with Emmett Mercier for the first time. I thought seeing him in photographs had helped me come to terms with how much he looks like his father, but he’s truly the spitting image, so tall and foreboding my spine wants to bow in reverence.
His hair is as black as his suit. His eyes are nearly the same color. His jaw is clean-shaven so I can see the permanent dimples in his cheeks and his chin. His sharply chiseled face is so utterly French. He’s handsome, extremely so, but I catalogue his beauty the way I would any other family member. He’s my brother, or at least that’s the way I look at him. He’s looking at me not like I’m family, but like I’mnothing. There’s only derision in his gaze.
“Oh.” He smiles cruelly. “I didn’t realize who you had pinned there, Jonathan, but now it makes perfect sense…” Emmett juts his chin out in recognition. “Sweet Emelia. The whore’s daughter.”
