by Kim Loraine
“You didn’t deny your dukedom.” The way her eyes sparkle as she teases me has me laughing.
“No dukedom. I’m afraid you’re stuck with the British writer.”
“That’s okay. I have a thing for the artistic type. What do you write?”
“Mostly non-fiction. But my newest book is a fictional retelling of the mass hysteria in Salem in 1692.”
“Ah, the witch trials.”
I nod. “And you? What occupies your time, Tillie?”
“Molecular biology.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Really? Do you work at the University?”
“I spend a lot of time there.”
“And why molecular biology? Have you always had an interest?”
“Yes. Since I was a teenager, that’s been my goal. I wanted to be a molecular biologist, so I did it.”
“You’re fascinating.”
“You’re charming.”
I run my finger along the tattoo on her ribs. “And this?”
Her gaze drops from mine. “My twin sister. She loved Tolkien and when we were growing up, our dad read us The Hobbit and The Lord of The Rings. She was obsessed.”
“Was?”
She nods. “Lucy got leukemia when we were twelve. She was fourteen when we lost her.”
My chest tightens at the thought of her hurting so badly. “I’m so sorry.”
With a dismissive shrug, she shakes her head and wipes at her eyes. “I couldn’t help her. Identical twins can’t donate bone marrow because the match is too close.” She shakes her head. “For the first time, being so close to her was a bad thing.”
I press a soft kiss to her forehead, my heart breaking for her. “So that’s why you wanted to go into molecular biology? Cancer research?”
“Exactly. I couldn’t save her, but maybe I can help others.” A heavy sigh falls from her. “I haven’t talked about that in a long time.”
“I’m glad you told me.”
“She was my best friend.” She glides her fingers over the line of script. “And now I’ll always have her with me. This is her handwriting. She would practice and practice until it looked perfect.”
I trace the ink and she shivers under my touch. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
We go silent for a while, hands exploring each other’s curves and ridges. It’s as if we’re learning the map of one another’s body. I know I’ll never forget her. She’s been burned in my memory after one night.
When my hand runs over the swell of her breast and I trace a feather-light circle around her nipple, she lets out a light giggle and slides her fingers up my arm until she cups the back of my neck. “Come here.”
We make love until the sky begins to lighten into the gray of predawn and I finally fall asleep with her in my arms, the sweet scent of her hair easing any tension inside me. I have her here now, and I’m not going to let go until I have no other option.
The bed is cold when I wake. I reach for Tillie, but I know what I’m going to find. I can feel it before I even open my eyes. She’s gone. I hold out hope that I’ll find her though, because I’m a fool, because I can’t accept our connection was one-sided after such an intense night together. But the evidence is there, harsh and clear. She ran. Not even a note left behind.
“Bloody hell,” I mutter, raking a hand through my hair and fighting the wave of crushing disappointment at her absence.
I can still smell her on my skin. Part of me wants to run outside and see if I catch her leaving. I can imagine her long hair blowing in the breeze as she walks away. What would I do? Go after her, make her come back, fix her coffee and breakfast served with a side of forever? If she wanted me she’d have at least given me her number. Instead she snuck out and did the walk of shame. It’s likely I’ll never see this woman again, and that makes my chest ache.
My phone rings and I dash across the room, and dig through my pockets in a desperate attempt to reach the device before the call rolls to voicemail.
“Tillie?” I bark into the phone. Immediately I realize how stupid that is. She doesn’t have my phone number, just as I don’t have hers.
“Nope. Oh, my God, McGinnis, did you get some action last night?” Brett Faulkner, my American literary agent laughs over the line.
“That’s not your business, you twat.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t go all proper British on me. You answer the phone practically panting some chick’s name, I’m gonna think you got some action. Or are at least working on it.”
“Why are you calling, Brett?” The frustration in my voice is undeniable, but I don’t want to be teased about Tillie. I want to fucking find her.
“You’re supposed to be on a run with me, remember? I was calling to get your lazy ass out of bed.”
Fighting a sigh, I glance at the clock and shake my head. The last thing I want is to go on a run with him, but I’m not going to get anywhere sitting around and pining after a woman who didn’t think enough of me to stay. “I’ll be there in five.”
“Fuck yes, you will. We need to talk book tour after you’re done with your Indiana Jones impression.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not playing at being Indiana Jones.”
“Sure, you tell yourself that. I don’t blame you one bit. Indy got all the pussy he could handle.”
Shaking my head, I hang up the phone and head for my closet. The idea of having as many women as I want makes me shudder. There’s only one woman on my mind, and I’m going to find her before my time here is up.
14
Walk of Shame
“Walk of shame this morning?” Stacy’s voice hits me like a bucket of ice water as I head downstairs for a cup of coffee after my shower. I cringe. I’d thought I was quiet and had managed to stay off the radar. But Stacy sees everything. She’s like…a witch or something.
“I might’ve met a hot British man.” My cheeks burn but at the same time a curious pang of longing hits me.
“British? Where did you find him? I want one.”
I laugh, but on the inside I bristle. She can’t have him. “Kit and I went to a whiskey bar in the city last night.”
She cocks an eyebrow. “Is that why you missed the meeting?”
Damn. “We had a meeting?” I try for surprised, but I’m a terrible liar.
“We did. I called you, but you sent me to voicemail.” She grabs a tablet from the table and swipes the screen, brow furrowed as she searches for something. “It’s fine. I emailed you the minutes. We had some last minute changes to the charity haunted house.”
“Oh?”
“You’re on the witch room. We thought you could read fortunes and give people love spells.”
“What?” My eyes widen. “I…I was supposed to be taking tickets. I don’t know anything about—”
“It’s just a tarot reading and a little charm they can buy. I’ve got a sexy costume for you, and every fortune you read brings us more donations. Maybe if you’d been at the meeting you could’ve had more say.”
I don’t have a comeback for that. She’s right. “Fine, but my tarot readings are going to be shitty.”
She shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. This is all for charity anyway. I just need each room to be hosted by one of the girls. You get to be the witch.”
I grit my teeth, but nod. “Is the costume going to at least cover my ass?”
A laugh falls from her. “I promise it will. I went with something a little…different for the witch.”
Relief floods me. “Thank you.”
She winks and walks away, but calls over her shoulder before she leaves, “We’re out of coffee, if that’s where you’re going.”
Damn. I need caffeine after staying up all night with Jude. Pulling my wet hair up into a bun at the top of my head, I run upstairs and slip on a pair of old Converse sneakers before grabbing my purse. My sorority sisters are all bustling around, some dressed for working out, others heading to their weekend jobs. As much shit as sororities get from
the general public, they’re truly great places to live during college…at least, this one is.
“Hey, Tillie, where are you headed?” Samantha asks as I pass her when I come down the stairs. As usual, her blonde hair is piled on top of her head, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose as she works on her laptop.
“Coffee. Want to join me?”
She stares at her computer and sighs. “I can’t. I’ve got so much work to do.”
“That’s going to be me after Monday. I’m six weeks behind in this stupid mythology and occultism class.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Oh, is Professor Monroe back? His wife just had a baby and I guess there were some complications.”
I shrug. “I haven’t heard anything about it being cancelled.”
“Hmm, hopefully that means everything’s good.” She frowns down at her laptop and purses her lips. “Enjoy your coffee. I’m stranded in dissertation hell.”
“I can bring you back a latte if you want.”
A grin lights up her pretty face. “Would you?”
I nod. “Two pumps of vanilla?”
“Yes, please.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
The crisp chill of fall hits me in the face as soon as I step onto the front porch of our sorority house. It’s refreshing and exhausting at the same time. I don’t function well on little sleep, and I can’t stop thinking about Jude. But I made my choice to leave. I’d said he was one night and one night only. That’s the plan I need to stick to.
I walk the ten minutes it takes to get to the coffee shop and when I round the corner I crash straight into a broad chest. The man’s arms go around me to keep me from falling and he says, “Whoa there, I’ve got you.” His voice sends shivers of longing down my spine and I fight the instant reaction my body has to his. Because this isn’t just some guy. This is Jude. I knew it before he spoke. The warm spicy scent of his cologne does…things to me.
“Jude,” I breathe.
“Tillie.” There’s accusation in his tone, but excitement too. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”
In truth, I hadn’t planned on seeing him, but I can’t tell him that. Especially when my body is begging for me to close the distance between us. On reflex, I move to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, but there’s nothing to tuck. I put my hair up.
“I like your hair this way.” His voice is rough and there’s a hint of longing in his eyes.
“Yeah?”
He reaches out and trails his fingertip over my ear. “Yes. I can see all of your beautiful face this way.”
Swoon. This guy is making it really hard for me to walk away. I glance down and take in his clothes. He’s clearly dressed for a run, and he looks hotter than I remembered.
“What are you doing right now?” I ask.
“I’m about to meet my mate for a run. You?”
I gesture to the coffee shop. “Coffee.”
His bashful grin has my belly flipping. I want him to kiss me. “Why did you leave?”
My chest squeezes. “I…it was one time.”
“What if I want more?”
“You’re leaving in a month.”
He leans forward and whispers. “I don’t have to.”
“What?”
“I could extend my stay. I want to see where this goes between us.”
A zing of anxious energy runs through me at that. But he’s right, there is something between us that’s more than a fleeting, passionate tryst. He’s intense and even though we barely know each other, I feel at home in his arms. He sees me.
“We can…see how it goes,” I finally say. I promised myself I’d stay focused, that I’d make up for not being able to help Lucy once I start my career. Meeting a man isn’t part of my plan, but Jude is different.
He leans in and brushes his lips over mine, a soft, chaste kiss. “Tomorrow night?”
I shake my head. “I can’t. I’m crazy busy this week. I’m part of a charity haunted house and I have to get my portion of the work done.”
“So, this weekend.”
“Would you want to come to the haunted house first? We could go out after, but you have to come in costume.”
He nods, pulls out his phone, then says, “Give me your number. I’m not letting you leave without a way to get in touch.”
I can’t help my smile as I rattle off my phone number. Almost immediately, he’s sent me a text message.
I can’t wait to see you.
I respond with the address of the mansion we’re using for the haunted house, and he grins when the message arrives.
Then his phone buzzes over and over in his hand and he frowns. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. My mate is likely to send out a search party if I don’t get my arse over there.”
Taking my lower lip between my teeth, I nod and watch him begin to walk away. But he turns on his heels and jogs back to me. As soon as he clears the distance between us, he cups the back of my head and crushes his lips to mine. A wave of longing hits me hard enough to makes my knees weak. And just like that, he’s walking away again, leaving me breathless and wanting him.
I stare down at his words on my phone and wonder if he just turned everything in my well-ordered life upside down.
15
Your Pants Are On Fire
Monday mornings are usually brutal for me. I’m a night owl, not the kind of guy who rises with the sun, chipper and cheery. I spent most of the night writing because I couldn’t sleep. I was too wrapped up in memories of Tillie to lie in bed. But I have to be presentable at eight this morning whether I’m tired or not.
I pour my tea into a travel mug, then grab a piece of toast with jam to-go. If I don’t leave right now, I’ll be late for my first lecture. I wonder what Tillie is doing right now. Does she rush around in a mad dash to get out the door too? Or is she more pulled together than me?
Thirty minutes later, I’m finishing the last dredges of my tea from behind my desk in the office I’ve been loaned. A soft knock on the door has me glancing at the time.
“Come in,” I call.
The door creaks open to reveal a starry-eyed girl who must be barely eighteen. She smiles and stares at me without speaking.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m sorry, I work in the office two days a week and… I just…can you sign my book before your lecture?”
I let my frustration roll off my back at the interruption. I’m not here to do a book signing, but she’s obviously excited. Nodding, I motion for her to come farther inside and reach for her book.
“What’s your name, love?”
She blushes deep pink. “Hannah.”
I write a short message for her and sign my name before handing the book back to her. “There you are.”
“Thank you so much.” She starts to leave, but turns around again. “Oh, I was actually supposed to tell you that they’re ready to begin.”
My gut clenches as nerves take hold. I’ve done the public speaking bit before, but never on this scale. I straighten my tie and grab my tablet which has all my notes saved, and I hate how my hands shake.
When I walk into the lecture hall, I see rows of chairs arranged in stadium seating, most of them filled with people. People who are here to listen to me speak. I swallow past the lump in my throat and take my place at the lectern.
“Mysticism and occult studies. That’s why you’re all here, right?”
They nod, murmuring in agreement, so I continue. “But there’s more to this subject than incantations, tarot readings, and crystals. In the case of the occult, there’s also mass hysteria and real risk of persecution.” I clear my throat, and take a steadying breath as my nerves dissipate. “For instance, the infamous witch trials of Salem began with—”
The door at the top of the stairs opens and a woman stumbles in, a messenger bag slung across her body, long hair obscuring her face.
“Sorry, oh, God, I’m so sorry I’m late. I went to the wrong classroom.” My hear
t nearly stops at the voice that floats down to me.
“Tillie?” I say and every pair of eyes in the room turns to stare at her.
“Jude?” She glances up and tucks her hair behind her ear, revealing the beautiful face I’ve been fantasizing about seeing. The shock in her eyes says it all.
She’s my student. Oh, fucking hell. I slept with my student.
She rushes out of the lecture hall and all one-hundred students return their focus to me, anticipation humming in the room. They’re waiting to see if I’m going after her. But I can’t. I’ve committed to this class, and I can’t leave no matter how much I might want to.
I clear my throat again and search the screen of my tablet for the last spot in my notes I can remember being on.
“As I was saying…”
But I can’t concentrate. All I see is the betrayal in her eyes. Instead of continuing, I close my tablet and place both hands on either side of the podium. “I’m afraid you’ll have to accept my apologies today. There’s some rather important business I have to see to.”
There’s a collective buzz in the room as the class begins chattering, but I rush to the stairs, taking them two at a time until I reach the door.
“Tillie!” I call, not caring who is watching. “Tillie!”
I don’t see her, and my heart sinks. Bursting out of the building, I run until I reach the center of the courtyard where I see students milling about, studying under trees whose remaining leaves are colored with shades of gold and red. It would be idyllic if I weren’t so distressed.
I scan my surroundings, hoping for a glimpse of her, needing to explain. But she’s gone. The woman is like a damned ghost when she wants to be. I pull out my phone and send her a text message.
Don’t run from this.
Heart in my throat, I wait as the little bubbles dance at the bottom of the screen and tell me she’s responding. It’s a long time before my phone vibrates in my hand with her message.
This isn’t going to happen. You lied to me.
My jaw hurts from clenching it so hard. I didn’t bloody lie to her. I said I was here for work. I said I was a writer. Those are all true.
