Collide Series Box Set

by J. C. Hannigan

  I forced my fist to relax, letting go of her jacket.

  “Age is but a number…” she said, bringing her face close to mine again. I closed my eyes, inhaling her.

  “I’m your teacher. You’re my student,” I said, reminding us both. Even as I spoke, I ran my hands up her arm.

  “I think we’ve already crossed that boundary,” she whispered. She was right.

  “I won’t lie. I’ve been attracted to you from when I first saw you,” I confessed again, my stupid mouth doing that thing it does when I’m nervous…running off on its own and getting me into further trouble. “But…this can’t happen. I’ll lose my job if anybody finds out. Or worse.”

  “What if nobody finds out?” she whispered, promise behind her words. My dick jumped again, stiff against my jeans.

  “You’re 17,” I sighed, still unable to leave her be. If I was half the man I thought I was, I would be able to resist this. The painful stiffness between my legs wouldn’t let me resist it. I was losing control, if I even had any to begin with. Her words were my undoing, and yet I craved them.

  “I’ll be 18 in January,” she answered, raising an eyebrow. She ran her right hand against the stubble across my jaw, slowly bringing it around and behind my neck. Then she pulled me toward her, joining her other hand on the back of my neck. I came willingly, her body effectively pushing the reservations I had completely from my mind.

  My lips crashed against hers with fevered intensity. I kissed her in all the ways I’d dreamed of, my body responding to her moans and whimpers as she pressed herself against me. I was harder than I had ever been before. I needed her. I felt my resolve weakening.

  “But you’re still my student.” I said, almost pointlessly.

  “And I won’t tell,” she calmly replied. “You’ll be Mr. Bentley at school, and in public, and Iain here…” her offer was so enticing, but I could get into serious legal trouble. I could lose my job and my credibility. Something in me was screaming yes, do it you idiot.

  “Let me know what you decide,” she said, turning around and going for the door. My hand grabbed hers, and she looked back at me. My brows were furrowed with frustration and confusion. I was torn, but I still held on to her hand. I couldn’t let her go. I couldn’t let her walk out that door.

  “I can’t seem to let you walk away…so I guess it’s decided.” I exhaled, running my free hand through my hair. “I can’t get you out of my head…and I want to be with you. And not just…like that,” I added, seeing her heated expression.

  “Then how?” confusion lined Harlow’s face, as if she truly didn’t understand what I meant.

  “You know, be with you. Be yours.” I flushed, embarrassed. I regretted the moment I said the words, but there was no taking them back. I didn’t give her an opportunity to reply. I pulled her against me, my lips crashing against hers passionately. I kissed her until she was weak on her feet.

  “Oh,” she mumbled, almost dazed. I grinned cockily at her, and she laughed. The sound was rich and perfect, and I knew it was rare.

  I gently helped her out of her coat and tossed it on the ground. She kicked off her boots and I picked her up and carried her to the couch. We fell onto it never breaking the kiss. Her hands roamed my body through my clothes, and I did the same to her. The thin cotton material of her shirt did nothing to hide the perfection of her body. She moaned into my mouth, the vibration driving me completely crazy.

  After two weeks of pent up sexual frustration, constantly dealing with my fantasies of her…I was ready to blow. The way she moved her body against mine was definitely not helping.

  “I wanted to wait,” I said heatedly. “But if you keep kissing me like that, I won’t be able to.”

  “Me?” she laughed, trying to duck away from my lips. “You’re the one kissing like that.”

  “Fair enough,” I amended. I couldn’t seem to help myself. “But you’re irresistible.”

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Consumed (The Collide Series, #2)

  Copyright 2016, J.C. Hannigan

  They say it takes a village to raise a child, and I would have to say it takes a village to write a book too. Many thanks to my husband Matt for dealing with my temperamental frenzied writing spells, my inability to stop talking about the characters and the books, and for bringing me chocolate and rocking in the dad department.

  I’d also like to thank Kristen Johnson, Christina Harris, and Lauren Jones for being as invested in my characters as I am and for providing me with helpful tips (they also need to be thanked for keeping my motivation and drive up by providing inspirational Jason Momoa photos).

  Finally, a thousand thanks to Sarah Fader, for inspiring me daily, Yosbe Designs for this beautiful cover, Nikki Colligan, for proofreading (and loving) both Collide and Consumed, and JM Walker of Just write. Creations for formatting this beautiful book.

  I'd also like to thank my FANnigans! You guys have supported me and eagerly awaited each new release, and I couldn’t do it (correction; wouldn’t WANT to do it) without you!

  …to those I am lucky to call my friends; the supporters, the people who choose to lift up instead of bring down.

  “There is nothing on this earth more to be prized than true friendship.” - Thomas Aquinas

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  I had never been the typical female teenager. While I did keep a journal throughout my adolescence, I didn't fill its pages with useless chatter about high school crushes and petty drama; probably because the drama in my life was far from petty. My journal mostly detailed the dark musings of a suffering girl whose first sexual encounter hadn't been consensual, and whose only friend at the time died tragically in a car accident.

  It wasn't until my final year in high school that the pages were filled with the whimsical musings of someone who thought she was in love. The stereotypical, almost nauseating story of how girl meets boy, girl falls for boy and thinks that boy is madly in love with her and would risk anything to be with her. Only my story didn't end the typical way, either. We didn't remain together, which I suppose isn't much of a shocker. Most high school romances do not last beyond the corridors lined with lockers and the smell of sweaty gym feet. Plus, the boy in question wasn't really a boy at all; he was a teacher. My teacher. Ten years my senior, and he ended up in jail because of our relationship.

  High school wasn't that long ago, in retrospect. Two years into University, two years into my Bachelor's of Arts in English. I had one more year to finish up my emphasis on Women's Studies. Then I would be out in the real world trying to figure out exactly what I was to do with a BA in English with an emphasis on Women's Studies.

  In all that time, I hadn't heard a whisper from the person I'd foolishly fallen for. I knew he had been released from jail, I also knew that he definitely wasn't teaching again. I didn't know where he was though, and truthfully...I hadn't bothered to seek him out.

  I wrote him one letter, shortly after I learned of his incarceration. To this day, I still have no idea if he ever received it. He never replied. I told him where I was headed, and the silence on his en
d told me that things weren't exactly as I thought they had been between us.

  It was ridiculous to hope that after his release he'd come to his hometown and find me waiting patiently for him and we could resume exactly where we left off. Hope I did, for the first year, but as the seasons changed and his silence stretched longer still, I knew we could never go back to the way we were. I didn't know if being in jail changed him. I did know that his incarceration had changed me.

  I learned a hard lesson. Pursuing the things that I wanted, when it came to matters of the heart, was dangerous and foolish. I'd only end up hurt.

  My intention was to never let my heart do the thinking again. I never wanted to feel the way I felt in the wake of his silence. The guilt that twisted up my gut when I thought about how ruined his life was all because I just had to act on that chemistry between us.

  My roommate and best friend, Jenna, insisted that I wasn't to blame. He should have known better. Maybe that's true, but I also knew I was playing with fire. I should have had the emotional maturity and clarity to wait. If I had merely waited a year, everything could have been different.

  The first day of my third year of University was not off to a good start. I overslept even though my alarm went off. This prompted me to have to rush my morning routine, my system void of coffee. I hated mornings to begin with, but mornings where I had to rush with zero caffeine in me were the absolute worst.

  "Morning!" Jenna's chipper voice greeted me as I tore my room apart, looking for something to wear. She was paused in my doorway, peering in with just a towel wrapped around her body. I glared at her, resenting her early morning perkiness. Jenna laughed, shaking her head at me as she passed. She didn't take my grumpy mood personally. After two years of living together, she'd long since accepted the fact that I wasn't and would never be a morning person.

  I slapped on some makeup that artfully hid the bags under my eyes, and selected a semi-hot outfit from my wardrobe: a pair of well-worn skinny jeans, a sleeveless black V-neck shirt, and a plaid black and blue button up blouse.

  "Are you ready yet?" Jenna asked, standing in my doorway again and watching me as I ran my fingers through my hair, teasing the slight curls.

  Jenna was dressed in an expensive pair of Guess jeans and an A-line midnight blue shirt paired with a brown jacket. I used to complain about how much she spent on her clothes, until I tried a pair of her Guess jeans on. Even I had to admit they were almost worth the price tag—they were that comfortable.

  "Yeah," I grumbled, still not awake. I threw on my black leather jacket, the same one I'd worn since high school. I couldn't remember a time I hadn't worn it. The leather had seen better days, but I still couldn't retire it to my closet. Jenna had tried for years to get me to hang it up.

  Jenna's thin blond eyebrows arched in question, but she didn't make a smart remark about the jacket. She knew I was ready to kill without my morning caffeine.

  "Let's get coffee before class," Jenna suggested, speaking sweet promises of coffee straight to my soul. I nodded gratefully, grabbing my messenger bag and flicking off my bedroom light as I followed her.

  Our apartment was rather small, but it suited us both well. We each had our own bedroom with large closets. The bathroom was a little cramped, but we managed. The living room and kitchen were open concept, with a flat screen TV and a couch, a coffee table and two end tables from Ikea. All the furniture was second-hand Kijiji finds by me. Jenna was completely wigged out over the idea of second-hand furniture until I mentioned we would be depending less on her dad financially. Then she was into it.

  Jenna's parents paid for the apartment. They didn't want Jenna to have to worry about making ends meet while in school; they wanted her to focus on University. They allowed me to live there rent-free as well, but I still insisted on giving Mr. Burke money each month that I earned from my part-time job. I was used to working and accustomed to taking care of myself.

  Mr. Burke allowed me the illusion of fending for myself, but I knew that he was not-so-secretly putting all the money I gave him for rent in a separate bank account to give back to me after graduation. Jenna had spilled the beans one night, but insisted I keep it secret. I knew that her parents felt indebted to me, so I didn’t say anything.

  I hadn't done a single thing to earn this kind of treatment from them, in my opinion. I stood by Jenna when she needed it. I didn't think I should get a free ride for doing the right thing and being a good friend. Besides, if anyone was indebted to anyone else, it was me to them. They lessened the headache and stress of living expenses, and got me out of my mom and Larry's house.

  My mood darkened slightly at the thought of my mom and Larry. It'd been two years since I'd left home, and I was thankful every day that I was on my own. I still spoke to my mom often, but my trips back to North Bay were becoming less and less frequent. If it weren't for Jenna, I wouldn't return home at all. Unlike me, Jenna wasn't estranged from her parents and enjoyed spending holidays with them.

  "I can't wait to graduate," Jenna remarked, sighing wistfully, and most likely thinking about the year ahead of us. We both had one more year left of classes before our undergraduate studies would be done. After that, it was a free for all. Jenna's goals tended to flip flop all over the place. She didn't really know what she wanted to do. She'd loaded up on a whole bunch of courses, taking several in business.

  Jenna always said she was envious of how solid I was in what I wanted to do, but the truth was, I hadn't the slightest idea of what was going to happen once I graduated. I knew I would always want to write, but I needed something a little more concrete than that to fall back on. It wasn't like they were doling out jobs for writers. Still, I stuck to my goal. The last thing I wanted to hear from my Mom and Larry was "I told you so". They both insisted I should pursue what they considered an "actual" career, like becoming a dental assistant.

  "What's your first class?" I asked Jenna, my voice groggy from lack of use. We descended the stairs and pushed on the doors that led to the street. Our apartment was located in a beautifully renovated Victorian house near Sandy Hill, fifteen minutes away from the University campus. I yawned as the chilly morning air hit my face. Eight in the morning was way too early for classes to start.

  "Accounting, but not until nine," Jenna explained, giving me a sheepish smile. "I'm hoping to run into someone at The Bean though."

  The little coffee shop between our apartment and campus, The Bean, was a quick seven minute walk from the stoop of our apartment a mere five minutes away from campus. I had managed to land a job there shortly after we moved to Ottawa. I absolutely loved working there. Not only was the coffee and food amazing, but my bosses were awesome. The Bean was run by Jamie Hunter and Mark Judge. Mark was the baker and chef, and Jamie ran all of the business end and scheduling. He also worked the front and was by far the customers’ favourite to deal with.

  Aside from Jamie, Mark and I, there was only one other employee, a guy that Jenna had a not-so-secret crush on. His name was Lucas. He was nice, from what I knew of him (which wasn't a lot since we worked on opposite shifts).

  Lucas was cute enough. He was tall and lanky with jet black hair. His eyes were a hazel colour, and he wore black square framed glasses. He reminded me of what Harry Potter might look like in his early twenties. If Harry Potter was a hipster. When Jenna had confessed her new crush to me, I couldn't help but laugh.

  "Were you obsessed with Harry Potter in high school?" I had asked, trying to control my laughter.

  "No." She glared, unimpressed with joke about Lucas’s looks. Moments later, she could no longer hide the smile that revealed her true feelings. "Okay...maybe a little."

  He was not my cup of tea, but Jenna was clearly into whatever he was serving. So much so that she could barely form the words to get her order out when he was at the counter.

  "Why don't you just ask him out?" I grumbled, questioning my friend’s sanity. If I had the option of sleeping in a little longer on Monday mornings, I'd definitely
be taking it. Jenna shrugged, lifting her hand up to touch her short hair. She had recently cut off the length, going for a cute and trendy bob that resembled Victoria Beckham's hair. It suited her, but she was still unsure about it. I knew she was questioning her decision to chop off her hair again, especially with the looming possibility of seeing her crush. "You look fine," I added, rolling my eyes.

  Jenna's insecurities were unfounded. She had that in your face, all-American-girl beauty. Blond hair, blue eyes, killer curves and a dimpled smile. She radiated warmth that you couldn't help but be drawn to. She was a startling contrast to me. I had long dark hair, emerald green eyes, and a sarcastic bite that kept everyone at a safe distance. I had more curves than necessary, and I hadn't grown taller since high school while Jenna had shot up in height.

  Our tastes were vastly different too. Jenna loved bright colours and had a fashion taste that I couldn't understand. I liked nice clothes as much as the next girl, but I couldn't be tempted into splurging on anything. Jenna's look was considered expensive, professional and classy, while mine was more grunge or glam grunge, according to Jenna, and I certainly didn't mind shopping in thrift stores.

  Our walk took less than the predicted seven minutes, and soon we were waiting in the crowded line at The Bean. It was a popular spot for college students; everybody loved the vibe of the shop and how personable Jamie and Mark were. I could hear their playful banter from the kitchen, even if I couldn't see them. It made me smile. Jamie and Mark were madly in love with each other and it was refreshing to see.

  Jenna grasped my upper arm, her nails digging in enough for me to almost wince, even through the leather sleeve of my jacket.

  "It's him," she whispered, delicately nodding her head in the direction of the cash register. I rolled my eyes, exasperated with her.