No. I don’t for a second, but I also know some very, very cold, hard facts. She’s eighteen. I’m thirty-fucking-eight. She’s a fucking student, and I’m her principal. And that is all this can be. It doesn’t matter what the hunger inside of me demands or wants. It doesn’t matter that all I want to do is pull her into me again and crush my lips to hers and kiss her until we can’t breathe anymore.
It doesn’t matter because there is no fucking away this can be a thing, and there’s no goddamn way I can kiss her again.
“Weren’t you?”
And there I go, torpedoing this whole thing before it blows up in our faces. Before she temps me into doing something she’ll regret. Before I do something to ruin my career.
Her face darkens when I say it, her eyes narrowing and her sweet, soft, candy lips pursing together.
“No, actually,” she hisses out, her cheeks reddening. “I wasn’t.” She shakes her head, her mouth twisting.
“Jesus, who do you think I am?”
My jaw tightens.
“My student,” I growl. “That’s who I think you are, Brynn.”
She glares at me, her eyes still wild and her cheeks still red before she looks away.
“I’m making scallops and—”
“I’m not hungry.”
This isn’t the road I want to walk down, but I know damn well it’s the only path we have. It’s the only road that isn’t littered with landmines and bear traps.
“Well, if you’re hungry—”
“I’m not.”
I turn, pissed at myself and hating that I’m not scooping her into my arms again and kissing her with every fucking fiber of my being.
…But that can’t happen. It just can’t.
“Goodnight, Brynn.”
She says nothing as I close the door and head downstairs to pour myself a heavy drink.
Hours later, after my drink, and dinner, and then another drink or two, I’m back in my room trying to sleep. And it is not happening. I growl, tossing and turning, my mind whirling and my every damn thought dwelling on the gorgeous, scared, tempting little tease sleeping right down the hall. I groan, and before I can stop myself, I start to wonder things I should not be wondering about.
Things like “what does she sleep in.”
Or worse, what doesn’t she sleep in.
I groan at the image of Brynn curled up naked in that guest bed, and I swear as I sit up and swing my legs out of bed.
Fuck. Sleep is not coming.
I stand and pad out of my room in my boxers and t-shirt. I glance at her doorway down the hall, but it’s closed, the light off under it. I shake my head, growling to myself a I head downstairs to the kitchen. I stare at the kettle, a frown of frustration on my face as I watch the water boil before I pour myself a cup of something calming and decaf. I sit on one of the kitchen stools and take a sip, sighing heavily before I glare at the tea.
…If I’m going to actually sleep tonight, this needs some Irish in it.
The whiskey’s in my office on the bar cart, and I stand with my mug and whirl to go grab it. I stride from the kitchen, and I make it all of one step into the dark hallway before suddenly, I go crashing into something.
…Something that shrieks as hot tea goes splashing all over it and me. Or rather, her and me.
I hiss, the mug shattering to the ground as we both jump back from each other. My hands yank at my t-shirt, wincing as I whip it and the scalding hot tea soaking into it from my body and tossing it aside. Brynn hisses, and when I glance up, in the pale light of the moonlight coming in through the window, I see her doing the same thing.
And suddenly, we freeze, both of us looking up at each other—both of us shirtless, both of us panting, both of us wild-eyed.
…And both of us knowing there’s no power on Earth that’s going to stop this right now.
I growl as I close the distance between us, and she moans as I pull her into my arms and against my bare chest. My lips crush to hers, she moans into my mouth, and when I scoop her up and slam her into the wall behind her, and kiss her with everything I have and everything I am, I know things like “thinking clearly” and “making good decisions” have officially left the building.
And I know something else too: that she’s mine, and I’m not letting anyone hurt her or take her away from me.
…I’m pretty sure that makes me fucked, and I don’t care.