He takes a step towards me. ‘Who was that?’
I’m tempted to tell him to go to hell, but then I remember asking him this exact same question a few nights earlier, about the woman in the red dress. His curiosity is natural.
‘A friend,’ I say simply.
‘You saw him on Sunday?’ he prompts, scanning my face.
‘Yes.’ I don’t know why I’m being so non-communicative. I certainly don’t want to mislead Connor but I don’t like the way I’ve been hauled to his office like I’ve done something wrong.
‘Let me be clear about something,’ he says with a nod, and suddenly the man who was looking at me as though I were his dying breath has disappeared and I am faced with Connor Hughes, legal genius. He is calm and analytical. ‘I’m not interested in being a fill-in for some other guy. If you’re seeing him, or anyone else, go fuck them, not me.’
I draw in a shocked breath.
He moves a step closer. A muscle is jerking at the base of his jaw. ‘You don’t leave my class early just so you can run your social life.’
The sheer injustice of his accusation is infuriating. ‘I had to get my laptop back off Pietro,’ I snap angrily. ‘He came out of his way to bring it to me so I had to fit in with his timings, okay?’
‘Why did he have the laptop?’
‘I left it in his car on Sunday,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘He’s a good friend of my cousin’s and always comes to our family lunch. He drops me home most weeks.’
Connor’s eyes narrow slightly. ‘Which brings me back to my original point. If you’re seeing him, that’s fine. But we’re done.’
I don’t even want to analyse why the threat makes me ridiculously pleased—the inference that there’s a ‘we’ and that we’re not currently ‘done’. It’s stupid.
‘I’m not seeing Pietro,’ I say, but I am still angry. ‘But we’ve spent one night together, Connor. You have no right to act like a possessive husband.’
He angles his jaw, as if in silent concession of the point, and then he moves the final step towards me so that his body presses into mine. He pushes me back against the wall, trapping me, and I feel that now familiar, insatiable need to be with him burning through me. ‘I saw you with him and I felt... I feel possessive.’ His eyes bore into mine and I feel a hint of what it would be like to have the full force of his attention in the courtroom. How hard it would be to be questioned by him in a legal setting. ‘If you’re with me, you’re with only me.’
His jealousy is palpable. I wish it annoyed me, but it doesn’t. It’s a rush and I know how easily I could get addicted to having all of Connor’s attention and desire wrapped around me.
‘I want you.’ The words are driven by a dark compulsion, almost as if ripped from him against his will. My eyes flick to the door and he nods. ‘It’s locked.’
I don’t need to be told twice. My hands are at his pants, unbuttoning them, loosening the belt, sliding down the zip. I rush them down at the same time I push him backwards, to the sofa. He’s so hard.
‘Condom.’ The word is husky. I’m impatient, waiting for him to produce one from his wallet and then I run it down his length. My fingers are shaking with the urgency of my need for him. I slide my underwear down my legs and straddle him on the sofa, taking him deep as I slide over him. He throws his head back with relief, his skin white beneath his tan. His fingers dig into my hips as I move myself over him.
He drops his head forward and I move faster. This is not a seduction. This is sex. I am at a fever-pitch of feeling within a minute. I roll my hips and dig my fingers into his shoulders as I explode. It is only when he lifts a hand to my mouth and covers it that I realise I’ve been crying out and these walls are probably paper-thin. At my look of shock, he smiles and begins to move once more, making me ride him, making me soar with all new feelings. I tip over the edge, my orgasm intense, and he comes with me, his eyes holding mine as he explodes.
It is a primal, animalistic, silent coming together. Our angry foreplay after days without each other. We are like oil and flame—explosion inevitable.
But this, being here in his office, while incredibly sexy is also stupid as fuck. When euphoria subsides, I stand up on legs that are shaking in a wholly new way and reach for my underwear. The moment I bend down, there is a knock on his door.
‘You in there, Connor?’
His eyes meet mine and he swears under his breath. I am shaking, terrified. There is no escape. He lifts a finger to his lips and I freeze, deathly still, completely silent.
‘Connor?’ the disembodied voice persists.
Then another adds, ‘I thought I saw him go in there. Maybe he was just picking something up.’
‘Yeah. Okay, I’ll give him a call later.’
I’m jittery as anything. Even after it’s been silent for a full minute, I still feel like we’re hovering on the edge of a warzone, wearing fluorescent jackets, begging to be hit.
I stare at him and don’t move until he does. He stands, stalking across to me, taking my underwear from fingertips which are numb.
He crouches down then and holds my pants for me to step into. I do so, but I can’t believe how close we just came to being caught.
‘That was so stupid,’ I say and I’m angry again. Furious, but with myself now. ‘We can’t do this.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘If we get caught, my God, Connor. If anyone found out...’ My whole life flashes before me. The work I put into being accepted into LLS. The support my parents have given me. Their expectations, their pride. My own desperate need to graduate and get an amazing training contract placement, to establish myself as a success in my own right.
I slept with Connor in part because I wanted to run from my ‘good girl’ instincts, but it turns out you can’t hide from yourself.
‘I don’t think I can do this.’
He stares at me and his expression runs the gamut from argumentative to acceptance in the space of three seconds. ‘You’re right.’ There’s resignation in his voice. ‘That was spectacularly stupid.’
* * *
After Thursday’s class I’m slow to pack up. I am, I suppose, waiting to see what happens. We haven’t spoken since I left his office, days earlier. Since I told him we can no longer do that... Every time I’ve thought of how we were in his office, though, need has hammered me from the inside out.
I stare at him from my seat without really realising that’s what I’m doing. He’s putting away his lecture notes, his iPad, and the room is slowly emptying of students. But I don’t move. I watch him, completely entranced by his economy of movement. I imagine him without the shirt. I see his chest, covered in swirling ink. Stories and mysteries in all those markings.
My stomach twists.
‘Miss Amorelli,’ he says without lifting his head. My heart surges. But we’re not yet alone, and now I desperately want to be.
When I don’t answer, he shifts his gaze to my face. Fire—invisible but no less potent for that—flashes between us.
‘Would you come here, please?’ he says, turning his attention back to the desk. There are other students still milling about, so I make sure to flatten any look of anticipation or desire from my features—aiming instead for nonchalant.
‘We need to have a meeting about your group assignment,’ he says, barely looking at me.
‘Oh. The one I handed in last week?’
Now his eyes briefly spark with mine. ‘Is there another group assignment for this class that I’m not aware of?’ It’s a joke, but it comes off as sarcastic. It hurts.
Perhaps that shows in my face because his expression softens and a tight smile passes across his face, and then I am aware of him sliding something across his desk. I look down at it curiously. It’s an envelope with my initials on the front.
‘Come to my office tomorrow morning,’ he say
s, continuing our earlier conversation with ease. In the periphery of my vision, I see one of my classmates begin to move towards us and I quickly slide my fingertips over the envelope, palming it subtly towards my hip.
His eyes glow when they meet mine and then he’s dismissing me with a curt nod, turning to face the other student.
I leave before I hear their conversation, moving down the corridor and turning into the first ladies’ room I reach. I lock myself in a cubicle and only then do I dare open the envelope. There’s a card inside, like a bank card. When I flip it over I see the branding:
SleepInn Holborn
I recognise the name—it’s a hotel only about a block from the law school. There’s another piece of paper in the envelope. It’s got Connor’s confident writing scrawled across it.
Room 1318. 4 p.m.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I ARRIVE JUST after four and the room is deserted. Which is good, because it’s a hot day and I’ve moved quickly to get here and I need a couple of minutes to cool down. I place my handbag by the door then step into the room. No, it’s more a suite, actually, large and extravagant, with a king-size bed, a crystal chandelier and several large mirrors on the walls. I catch my reflection in one and smile.
I look like a woman on the path to adventure. Maybe not such a good girl after all?
I push the curtains open, revealing the view. London swirls beneath me, a hive of activity as people begin their journeys home. I stare down at the street for a moment, trying to catch a glimpse of Connor, and then move towards a door which I presume will lead to a bathroom.
It’s palatial. An enormous triangular spa bath sits in one corner, a window just above it showcasing an alternative view of town. There’s a shower, too, with two shower heads and a marble vanity unit below a large mirror with an ornate swirling gold frame.
I run some cold water from the tap and splash my neck and arms, refreshing myself and cooling down. I pat myself dry and then move back into the room just as I hear another card in the door’s locking mechanism.
I pause but every cell in my body is leaping with anticipation. My mouth is dry and my pulse is frantic. The door pushes inwards. I wait, my breath held.
Connor strides in and, despite the heat of the day, he looks perfect. His eyes meet mine and my stomach goes into free fall, like I’ve tumbled off the top of a cliff.
I can’t look away. I can only stare. He walks further into the room, shrugging out of his jacket as he does so, placing it over a chair-back to his side. I still don’t move, nor do I speak. I don’t know why I’m struck mute, only that this is the effect he has on me.
‘Hey.’ His voice is thick; my insides tremble.
‘Hey,’ I finally respond, forcing a smile to my lips. I stay where I am, even though my instinct is to launch myself at him. I clear my throat. ‘I thought we decided we couldn’t do this any more.’
‘No.’ His grin is disarming. He doesn’t smile enough. ‘We decided we couldn’t fuck in my office at university, which I should never have let happen.’ Now he moves to me, closing the distance easily. He wraps his arms around my waist, holding me so close I’m sure he must be able to hear my internal relief. ‘It was my fault.’
‘Was it?’
‘Yeah.’ His grin widens and my stomach flips. ‘My fault for not staying longer Saturday night.’ He presses a kiss to my forehead. ‘My fault for waiting until Tuesday to see you. My fault for losing my shit when you were talking to that guy. My fault for wanting you so much I can’t think straight.’
I blink up at him, confusion nipping at my heels. Confusion at what all of this means, at the intensity of what we feel. He’s supposed to be my rebellion, not my reason for breathing.
‘He’s just a friend.’
‘He looked like he wanted to lick you.’
I laugh. Hadn’t I been thinking the same thing? ‘It’s complicated,’ I say after I sober. ‘We go way back.’
Connor nods. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s none of my business. So long as you’re not fucking him, I don’t care.’
The confusion increases. The intensity of what we are apparently doesn’t extend to caring about potential and past boyfriends.
‘We dated a couple of years,’ I say, and I know it’s childish but I kind of hope I’m turning the screws in some way. ‘But it didn’t work out.’
His expression doesn’t shift, the same sexy-as-sin smile on those beautiful lips.
He drops his hands from around my waist and moves towards a glossy benchtop. He presses one of the cupboard doors and it springs open to reveal a miniature fridge. He removes a bottle of champagne and two iced glasses, placing them on the counter before retrieving a plate of fruit.
‘Something you organised earlier?’ I ask, padding over to him, watching as he unfurls the gold foil top from the champagne. His eyes meet mine and there is something in his expression that fires my belly.
‘What do you think of the hotel?’ he asks, without answering my question.
‘It’s nice.’ I shrug.
‘Good. We can meet here.’ He pops the top and reaches for a glass, pouring the frothy liquid into it and handing it to me.
‘We can?’ I sip the champagne just for something to do. He grins at me over the glass.
‘Yeah.’ He tops up the other flute and holds it towards me. I chink mine to the side of his and go to sip it. Our eyes meet and there’s something serious in his expression for a second. ‘I don’t want to stop this,’ he says honestly, and my stomach rolls. ‘But we have to be smarter. No one can ever know about it—about us. Your career would be over before it began.’
I tilt my head to the side. His concern is enormously touching. ‘I’m probably not the first student to sleep with her lecturer,’ I point out.
He nods. ‘Obviously.’
I think about this for a moment. He’s right—we need a way to be together outside of university. A bolthole. A hideout.
‘You think a hotel around the corner from the university is safe?’
He nods slowly. ‘We’ll never arrive together. Never leave together.’ His eyes burn me. ‘And we can get here quickly and easily. Given our schedules, it’s the best option.’
‘And what do I say if someone sees me come here?’
He arches a brow. ‘That you’re meeting a friend for a drink in the restaurant downstairs?’ he prompts and then a distracted smile catches his lips. ‘It’s like you’ve never lied before.’
I feel heat steal into my cheeks and a renewed light of interest flashes in his eyes.
‘Is that a bad thing?’ I ask.
He shakes his head. ‘But you need to be able to keep this secret. Understood?’
He’s right. And there’s something convenient about having this option. I like it. A lot.
Still, his insistence on secrecy has me analysing what we’re doing from every angle. ‘I wonder if it would really be such a big deal. If people found out, I mean.’
He looks like I’ve threatened to jump from the window. ‘Jesus Christ, Olivia. What we’re doing is expressly prohibited by the university code of conduct. I’d lose my teaching job, but that’s not what matters. The Dean also reserves the right to expel any student engaging in inappropriate relations with a faculty member.’
‘I didn’t realise there was actually an official stance on it.’ It sounds naïve, but it’s true.
‘Yeah.’ He nods firmly. ‘And this isn’t like fucking some guy called Bob. People know who I am. If you got expelled because of what we’re doing, it would be in the news. Word would spread even if it didn’t make the papers. Law is a suffocatingly small world. You’d always be the girl who fucked her teacher. Who fucked me.’ He moves closer and it’s ridiculous but the way he’s talking is making me want to fuck him right now.
I wonder once more if it’s the illicitness of this that I f
ind so appealing. Hearing him describe why we need to be careful is making my toes curl in the best possible way.
‘Duly noted, sir,’ I murmur. ‘You know—’ I place my champagne down ‘—this is a very interesting conversation to have with someone I’ve never even kissed.’
He doesn’t acknowledge my comment. ‘This is serious, Olivia. We really can’t do this if you’re not going to toe the line.’
‘Me?’ I ignore the fact he hasn’t taken the bait and kissed me. I now spend a considerable amount of my time imagining what that kiss will feel like. I sway a little closer.
‘Yes.’ He dips his finger into his champagne glass and lifts it to my lips. I open my mouth and taste what he’s offering, moaning a little at the sensuality that engulfs us. He moves his finger lower, running it down my chin to my front, holding it at the pulse point that is rapidly firing at the base of my throat.
‘You’re the one who went all Hulk-green and frogmarched me to your office.’
He laughs at the description. ‘Guilty as charged. But we both have to be more careful. That can’t happen again.’
‘I know.’ I nod. ‘I’ll be good. I swear.’
His eyes glisten as they meet mine. ‘Oh, no, you won’t, Miss Amorelli. This afternoon you’re going to be very, very bad.’ And he scoops me up out of nowhere, lifting me and dumping me in the middle of the king-size bed. ‘Starting right now.’
He spreads my legs and finds my thong, slipping it aside so he can push a finger into my wet, throbbing core. I moan low in my throat at his invasion, and he smiles above me.
‘So you used to date that guy?’
And though his face remains the same, his eyes glitter beyond the façade and I realise he does care after all. He was faking his complacence; I’m unreasonably pleased.
I push up on my elbows, my mind spinning as he moves his finger in small circles, his thumb finding my clit and brushing over it so that I can only whimper in agreement.
‘And you fucked him?’
I tilt my head back as pleasure spreads through me like a tidal wave. It starts low in my abdomen and pulses to all my extremities, making me quiver with a thick, throbbing need.
Her Guilty Secret Page 9
